The curses of the first quarter minute of the fight died away.

The breaths of the fighters came wheezingly from their lips and the three chests were straining and heaving.

Pete at intervals gave vent to low, labored hisses, that sounded like a desire to kill.
Jimmie's ally gibbered at times like a wounded maniac.

Jimmie was silent, fighting with the face of a sacrificial priest.

The rage of fear shone in all their eyes and their blood-colored fists swirled.
At a tottering moment a blow from Pete's hand struck the ally and he crashed to the floor.