Twice he pricked me deep enough to draw blood, before I succeeded in twisting backward the arm with which he held the blade.

It was a sailor's trick of last resort, heartlessly cruel in its agony, but I felt then no call to mercy.

He met the game too late, falling half back upon one knee, hoping thus to foil my purpose, yet my greater weight saved me.
There was the sharp crack of a bone, as his useless fingers let the knife drop, a snarled curse of pain, and then, with the rage of a mad dog, Sanchez struck his teeth deep into my cheek.

The sharp pang of pain drove me to frenzy, and for the first time I lost all control, my one free hand seeking to reach the lost knife.

With a thrill of exultation I gripped it, driving instantly the keen blade to its hilt into the man's side.