Well, he would not let the
Mexican overcome him and regain possession of that radiophone unless
he killed Frank first. With hands gripped about the other's throat and
legs twined about his body, Frank fought as he never thought he could
fight. Morales was a heavy man, heavier even than Von Arnheim who had
overcome Frank in that tempestuous fight in the darkness the night
before. But his senses were still somewhat numbed from the blow on the
head dealt him earlier by Frank, and the boy was fighting with a
strength born of desperate resolve.
Frank's grip on the Mexican's throat tightened. Morales was unable to
pluck those cruel hands away. His face became purple. His eyes started
from his head. Suddenly he went limp beneath Frank, and sank to the
floor.
Frank stood up swaying. The excitement and the strain of the combat
had had their effect on him. There are mighty few boys of his age and
build who could have gone through what he did and still keep their
feet. Dancing points of light swam before his vision. He brushed a
hand across his eyes to clear them. He reeled and would have fallen,
but his hand clutched the table and steadied him.
What was it he must do? There was something which had to be done.
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