"Easy and slow" Mack poises the great hammer in his hand, swinging it
gently backward and forward as if it had been a boy's toy, the great
muscles in arms and back rippling up and down in firm full waves under
his white skin, for he is now stripped to the waist for this throw.
Suddenly, as if at command, the muscles seem to spring to their places,
tense, alert. "Easy." Yes, truly, but by no means "slow." "Easy," the
great hammer swings about his head in whirling circles, swift and ever
swifter. Once--and twice--the great muscles in back and arms and back
and legs knotted in bunches--thrice!
"Ah-h-h!" A long, wailing, horrible sound, half moan, half cry, breaks
from the people. Mack has missed his direction, and the great hammer,
weighted with the potentialities of death, is describing a parabola high
over the heads of the crowding, shrieking, scattering people.
"Oh, my God! My God! Oh, my God! My God!" With his hands covering his
eyes the big man is swaying from side to side like a mighty tree before
a tempest. Cameron and Ross both spring to him. On the hillsides men
stand rigid, pale, shaking; women shriek and faint. One ghastly moment
of suspense, and then a horrid sickening thud; one more agonising second
of silence, and then from a score of throats rises a cry:
"It's all right! All right! No one hurt!"
From five hundred throats breaks a weird unearthly mingling of strange
sounds; cheers and cries, shouts and sobs, prayers and oaths.
Pages:
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300