Wildly Harry yelled as he shot blow after blow into the face of an ancient enemy.

High went Fairchild's voice as he knocked Blindeye Bozeman staggering for the third time against the hanging wall, only to see him rise and to knock him down once more.

And from the edge of the zone of light came a feminine voice, almost hysterical with the excitement of it all, the voice of a girl who, in her tensity, had dropped the piece of stone she had carried, to stand there, hands clenched, figure doubled forward, eyes blazing, and crying: "Hit him again! Hit him again! Hit him again--for me!" And Fairchild hit, with the force of a sledge hammer.

Dizzily the sandy-haired man swung about in his tracks, sagged, then fell, unconscious.

Fairchild leaped upon him, calling at the same time to the girl: "Find me a rope! I 'll truss his hands while he 's knocked out!" Anita leaped into action, to kneel at Fairchild's side a moment later with a hempen strand, as he tied the man's hands behind his back.
There was no need to worry about Harry.