with These Hands (Ss) (2002) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Louis L'amour
Flash on the chin, but he set himself and smashed a right to the body, a left to the head, and a right to the body.
Slugging like a couple of madmen, they circled the ring.
Flash hung the Soldier on the ropes and smashed a left to the chin. The Soldier came off the ropes, ran into a stiff left, and went to his knees. He came up slugging and, toe-totoe, the two men slugged it out for a full thirty seconds.
Then Moran threw a left to the Soldier's mouth and the blood started again.
Barnaby broke away from a clinch, hooked a high right to the head, and followed it up with a stiff left to the wind.
They battered each other across the ring and Barnaby split Moran's lip with a left. The Soldier moved in and knocked Moran reeling with another left. Following it up, he dropped Moran to his knees.
There was a taste of blood in Moran's mouth and a wild buzzing in his head as he waited out the count. He could smell the rosin and the crowd and the familiar smell of sweat and the thick, sweetish taste of blood. Then he was up.
But now he had that smoky taste again and he knew he was going to win. The bell rang. Wheeling, they both trotted back to their corners and the whole arena was a bedlam of roaring sound.
The fourteenth round was three minutes of insanity, sheer madness on the part of two born fighters, wild with the lust of battle. Bloody and savage, they were each berserk with the desire to win.
Every one of the spectators was on his feet, screeching with excitement. Even the pale and staring Marollo sat as though entranced as he watched the two pugilists amid the standing figures around him.
The Soldier dropped, got up, and Moran went down. It was bloody, brutal, sickening yet splendid. All thought of money was gone. For Moran and Barnaby there was no crowd, no bets, no arena. They were just two men, fighting it out for the glory of the contest and of winning.
The fifteenth opened with the sound unabated. There was a continual roar now, as of breakers on a great reef.
The two men came together and touched gloves and then, impelled by driving fury, Flash Moran waded in, slugging with both hands.
Barnaby lunged and Moran hit him with a right that shook him to his heels. The Soldier started a left and again Flash brushed it aside and brought up his own left into Barnaby's wind.
Then the Soldier backed off and jabbed twice. After the first jab, he dropped his left before jabbing again. Louis had done that in his first fight with Schmeling. He was tiring now and falling back on habits that were unconscious yet predictable.
Flash Moran backed off and waited. Then that left flickered out. Moran took the jab and it shook him to his heels.
But he saw the left drop before the second jab. In that brief instant, he threw his right and he put the works on it.
He felt the wet and sodden glove smash into Barnaby's jaw and saw the Soldier's knees buckling. He went in with a left and a right to the head. The Soldier hit the canvas and rolled over on his face and was counted out.
It was over! Flash Moran turned and walked to his corner.
In a blur of exhaustion, he felt the referee lift his right hand, and then he slumped on the stool. They put his robe around him and he was half lifted from the stool and as he stepped down to the floor, he saw Ruth and with her was a tall, gray-haired man who was smiling.
"Great fight, son-a great fight. We'd heard Barnaby was to quit in the twelfth. Glad the rumor was wrong, it would have ruined fighting in this state."
Flash Moran smiled.
"He wouldn't quit, sir. Soldier Barnaby's a great fighter."
Moran turned his head then and saw the Soldier looking at him, a flicker of wry humor in his swollen eyes.
The older man was speaking again.
"My name is Rutgers, Moran," he said. "I'm the district attorney, you know. This is my niece, Ruth Connor. But then I believe you've met."
"That's right," Flash said. "And we'll meet again, tomorrow night? Can we do that, Ruth?"
"Of course," she said with
Slugging like a couple of madmen, they circled the ring.
Flash hung the Soldier on the ropes and smashed a left to the chin. The Soldier came off the ropes, ran into a stiff left, and went to his knees. He came up slugging and, toe-totoe, the two men slugged it out for a full thirty seconds.
Then Moran threw a left to the Soldier's mouth and the blood started again.
Barnaby broke away from a clinch, hooked a high right to the head, and followed it up with a stiff left to the wind.
They battered each other across the ring and Barnaby split Moran's lip with a left. The Soldier moved in and knocked Moran reeling with another left. Following it up, he dropped Moran to his knees.
There was a taste of blood in Moran's mouth and a wild buzzing in his head as he waited out the count. He could smell the rosin and the crowd and the familiar smell of sweat and the thick, sweetish taste of blood. Then he was up.
But now he had that smoky taste again and he knew he was going to win. The bell rang. Wheeling, they both trotted back to their corners and the whole arena was a bedlam of roaring sound.
The fourteenth round was three minutes of insanity, sheer madness on the part of two born fighters, wild with the lust of battle. Bloody and savage, they were each berserk with the desire to win.
Every one of the spectators was on his feet, screeching with excitement. Even the pale and staring Marollo sat as though entranced as he watched the two pugilists amid the standing figures around him.
The Soldier dropped, got up, and Moran went down. It was bloody, brutal, sickening yet splendid. All thought of money was gone. For Moran and Barnaby there was no crowd, no bets, no arena. They were just two men, fighting it out for the glory of the contest and of winning.
The fifteenth opened with the sound unabated. There was a continual roar now, as of breakers on a great reef.
The two men came together and touched gloves and then, impelled by driving fury, Flash Moran waded in, slugging with both hands.
Barnaby lunged and Moran hit him with a right that shook him to his heels. The Soldier started a left and again Flash brushed it aside and brought up his own left into Barnaby's wind.
Then the Soldier backed off and jabbed twice. After the first jab, he dropped his left before jabbing again. Louis had done that in his first fight with Schmeling. He was tiring now and falling back on habits that were unconscious yet predictable.
Flash Moran backed off and waited. Then that left flickered out. Moran took the jab and it shook him to his heels.
But he saw the left drop before the second jab. In that brief instant, he threw his right and he put the works on it.
He felt the wet and sodden glove smash into Barnaby's jaw and saw the Soldier's knees buckling. He went in with a left and a right to the head. The Soldier hit the canvas and rolled over on his face and was counted out.
It was over! Flash Moran turned and walked to his corner.
In a blur of exhaustion, he felt the referee lift his right hand, and then he slumped on the stool. They put his robe around him and he was half lifted from the stool and as he stepped down to the floor, he saw Ruth and with her was a tall, gray-haired man who was smiling.
"Great fight, son-a great fight. We'd heard Barnaby was to quit in the twelfth. Glad the rumor was wrong, it would have ruined fighting in this state."
Flash Moran smiled.
"He wouldn't quit, sir. Soldier Barnaby's a great fighter."
Moran turned his head then and saw the Soldier looking at him, a flicker of wry humor in his swollen eyes.
The older man was speaking again.
"My name is Rutgers, Moran," he said. "I'm the district attorney, you know. This is my niece, Ruth Connor. But then I believe you've met."
"That's right," Flash said. "And we'll meet again, tomorrow night? Can we do that, Ruth?"
"Of course," she said with
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