He knew what was passing in their minds
and in the low whispers from lip to lip. They were pitying him.
Now that he stood stripped, with only a few paces between him and
the giant figure of St. Pierre, the unfairness of the fight struck
home even to Concombre Bateese. Only Carrigan himself knew how
like tempered steel the sinews of his body were built. But to the
eye, in size alone, he stood like a boy before St. Pierre. And St.
Pierre's people, their voices stilled by the deadly inequality of
it, were waiting for a slaughter and not a fight.
A smile came to Carrigan's lips as he saw Bateese hesitating to
drop the handkerchief, and with the swiftness of the trained
fighter he made his first plan for the battle before the cloth
fell from the half-breed's fingers, As the handkerchief fluttered
to the ground, he faced St. Pierre, the smile gone.
"Never smile when you fight," the greatest of all masters of the
ring had told him. "Never show anger, Don't betray any emotion at
all if you can help it."
Carrigan wondered what the old ring-master would say could he see
him now, backing away slowly from St. Pierre as the giant advanced
upon him, for he knew his face was betraying to St.
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