Then we all three went down together on the stone roof, Abdul Ali yelling like a maniac, and Grim trying to squeeze the wind out of him.

Even then, as we rolled and fought, I could still hear the thundering on the door.
No doubt the noise they made prevented them from hearing Abdul Ali's yells for help.
The man's strength was prodigious, although he was puffy and short-winded.

It began to look as if we would have to knock him on the head to get control of him.

But even so, there was no rope--no sign of Mahommed ben Hamza and his men.

You can think of a lot of things while you fight for your life eighty miles away from help.