He scrambled up with bloody mouth.

Kurt was on him again.
"Take that!" cried Kurt, low and hard, as he swung his arm.

The big fist that had grasped so many plow-handles took Nash full on that bloody mouth and laid him flat.

"Come on, German! Get out of the trench!" Like a dog Nash thrashed and crawled, scraping his hands in the dirt, to jump up and fling a rock that Kurt ducked by a narrow margin.

Nash followed it, swinging wildly, beating at his adversary.
Passion long contained burst in Kurt.