Bronco's ears. He knew that, for some seconds, his foe, be he the strongest man alive, was at his mercy. Springing erect he punched with left and right at his doubled-up and gasping enemy, his arms working like piston-rods and his fists falling like sledge-hammers. The cheering became continuous as Rivoli shrank and staggered before that rain of terrific blows. Suddenly he recovered, drew a deep breath and flung his arms fairly round the Bucking Bronco's waist.
Corpo di Bacco! He had got him! …
Clasping his hands behind the American, he settled his head comfortably down into that wily man's neck, and bided his time. He had got him.… He would rest and wait until his breathing was more normal. He would then tire the scelerato down … tire him down … and then …
This was his programme, but it was not that of the Bucking Bronco, or not in its entirety. He realised that "Loojey had the bulge on him." For the moment it was "Loojey's night ter howl." He would take a rest and permit Loojey to support him, also he would feign exhaustion and distress. It was a pity that it was his right arm that was imprisoned in the bear-hug of the wrestler. However, nothing much could happen so long as he kept his back convex.
Seconds, which seemed like long minutes, passed.
Suddenly the Italian made a powerful effort to draw him closer and decrease the convexity of his arched back. He resisted the constriction with all his strength, but realised that he had been drawn slightly inward.
Again a tremendous tensing of mighty muscles, again a tremendous heave in opposition, and again he was a little nearer.
