I crawled over toward the O'Keefe.

He raised his pistol, dropped it.
"Can't hit him without hitting Olaf," he whispered.

Lakla signalled the frog-men; they advanced toward the two--but Olaf saw them, broke the red dwarf's hold, sent Lugur reeling a dozen feet away.
"No!" shouted the Norseman, the ice of his pale-blue eyes glinting like frozen flames, blood streaming down his face and dripping from his hands.

"No! Lugur is mine! None but me slays him! Ho, you Lugur--" and cursed him and Yolara and the Dweller hideously--I cannot set those curses down here.
They spurred Lugur.

Mad now as the Norseman, the red dwarf sprang.
Olaf struck a blow that would have killed an ordinary man, but Lugur only grunted, swept in, and seized him about the waist; one mighty arm began to creep up toward Huldricksson's throat.
"'Ware, Olaf!" cried O'Keefe; but Olaf did not answer.