"We're going
some. 'What's the matter with our Mack?'" he shouted.
"'HE'S--ALL--RIGHT!'" came back the chant from the surrounding hills in
hundreds of voices.
"And what's the matter with Duncan Ross?" cried Mack, waving a hand
above his head.
Again the assurance of perfect rightness came back in a mighty roar
from the hills. But it was hushed into immediate silence, a silence
breathless and overwhelming, for Black Duncan had taken once more his
place with the hammer in his hand.
"Oh, I do wish they would hurry!" gasped Isa, her hands pressed hard
upon her heart.
"My heart is rather weak, too," said the M.P.P. "I fear I cannot last
much longer. Ah! There he goes, thank God!"
"Amen!" fervently responds little Mrs. Freeman, who, in the intensity
of her excitement, is standing on a chair holding tight by her husband's
coat collar.
Not a sound breaks the silence as Black Duncan takes his swing. It is a
crucial moment in his career. Only by one man in Canada has he ever been
beaten, and with the powers of his antagonist all untried and unknown,
for anyone could see that Mack has not yet thrown his best, he may be
called upon to surrender within the next few minutes the proud position
he has held so long in the athletic world. But there is not a sign
of excitement in his face.
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