He questioned with
himself if he could be full grown.
Now or never was his chance, though a slender one at that, even if he
escaped immediate detection. He gathered himself together, and sprang
upon his unsuspecting foe.
He aimed at the native weapon, knowing the dexterity with which this
could be shortened and brought into action, but it was wrenched from him
before he could securely grasp it.
The man wriggled round like an eel, and in a moment the point was at his
throat. Herne flung up a defending arm, and took it through his flesh.
He knew in an instant that he was outmatched. His previous struggles had
weakened him, and his adversary, if slight, had the activity of a
serpent.
For a few breathless seconds they swayed and fought, then again Herne
was conscious of that deadly point piercing his shoulder. With a sharp
exclamation, he shifted his ground, trod on a loose stone, and sprawled
headlong backward.
He fell heavily, so heavily that all the breath was knocked out of his
body, and he could only lie, gasping and helpless, expecting death. His
enemy was upon him instantly, and he marvelled at the man's strength.
Sinewy hands encompassed his wrists, forcing his arms above his head.
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