doggedly to receive the smashing fist of the champion. No one would take the freely offered odds of thirty to five against King; ten to one was called and no takers. Then the crowd shouted to Mace to "finish him!" And Mace, smilingly and confidently, prepared. The blind man came staggering toward him with the same awful courage and determination which had upheld him so long; and Mace threw out his left preparatory to giving him the coup de grace with his right. But at that moment King stiffened like a man of cast-steel. His time had come. He got within distance, and his right hand shot out like a flash of lightning, cross-countering Mace with appalling directness and force.
It was the blow he had waited for and sparred for under all the terrible punishment. It was worth all the blows of the fight massed into one. Mace fell as if he had been struck with a mallet, bleeding from mouth, eyes, and nose. He lay like a log for some seconds. "The champion is beaten!" was the astonished cry. But no, he struggled up again, reeled toward King, and was easily struck again to the earth. Once more the shattered champion staggered toward the blind conqueror, who, in pity, would not strike him, but gently pushed him into his corner, and the fight was won.
