I gave myself up for lost, when at that very moment I heard Edith's voice behind me saying, "The shovel, quick, the shovel!" The noble girl had rushed back to our encampment and had fetched me the shovel.

"Swat him with that," she cried.

I seized the shovel, and with the roar of a wounded bull--or as near as I could make it--I rushed out from the rock, the shovel swung over my head.
But the fight was all out of Croyden.
"Don't strike," he said, "I'm all in.

I couldn't stand a crack with that kind of thing." He sat down upon the sand, limp.

Seen thus, he somehow seemed to be quite a small man, not a cave man at all.