Twice Hampton's left drove straight out into that red, gloating face, and then the giant's crushing weight bore him backward.

He fought savagely, silently, his slender figure like steel, but Slavin got his grip at last, and with giant strength began to crunch his victim within his vise-like arms.
There was a moment of superhuman strain, their breathing mere sobs of exhaustion.

Then Slavin slipped, and Hampton succeeded in wriggling partially free from his death-grip.

It was for scarcely an instant, yet it served; for as he bent aside, swinging his burly opponent with him, some one struck a vicious blow at his back; but the descending knife, missing its mark, sunk instead deep into Slavin's breast.
Hampton saw the flash of a blade, a hand, a portion of an arm, and then the clutching fingers of Slavin swept him down.

He reached out blindly as he fell, his hand closing about the deserted knife-hilt.