“One—­two—­three—­four,” counted the timekeeper amid the most deathly silence, and, as he added, "five—­six—­Time," a shout arose that was heard for miles.

Trooper Matthewson was saved—­if his seconds could pull him round in time.

At sound of the word “Time,” the seconds leapt into the ring.  Hawker and Bear rushed to the prostrate Dam, hauled him to his feet, and dragged him to the chair which Goate had placed ready.  As he was dropped into it, a spongeful of icy water from Goate’s big sponge brought Dam to consciousness.

“Breave for all y’r worf,” grunted Hawker, as he mightily swung a big bath-towel in swift eddies, to drive refreshing air upon the heaving, panting body of his principal.

Bear and Goate applied massaging hands with skilled violence.

“By Jove, I thought you had him,” panted Goate as he kneaded triceps and biceps.  “And then I thought he had you.  It’s anybody’s fight, Matty—­but don’t try and knock him out.  You couldn’t do it with an axe.”

“No,” agreed Bear.  “You’ve got to keep on your feet and win on points.”

“I’ve got to kill the Snake,” hissed Dam, and his seconds glanced at each other anxiously.

He felt that nothing could keep him from victory.  He was regaining his faith in a just Heaven, now that the Snake had been compelled to face him in the puny form of a wretched pugilist.  Some one had said something about an axe.  It would be but fair if he had an axe, seeing that hitherto the Snake had had him utterly defenceless while exercising its own immeasurable and supernatural powers, when torturing him to its heart’s content for endless aeons.  But—­no—­since it was here in human form and without weapons, he would use none, and would observe the strictest fairness in fight, just as he would to a real human enemy.

“Abaht that there little bet, ’Enery,” observed Seaman Jones, “I fink we’ll alter of it.  I don’t wish to give no moral support to this ’ere Griller.  T’other bloke’s only jus’ fresh from the Novice Class, I reckon, jedgin’ by ‘is innercent young faice, an’ e’s aputtin’ up the werry best fight as ever I see.  We’ll chainge it like this ’ere.  We backs the ’orse-soldier to win, and, if he do, we drinks a gallon between us.  If ’e don’t, we drinks two fer to console ‘im, an’ drahn sorrer, wot?”

“So it are, Will’m,” agreed Henery.  “Then we wins either way! You got a ‘ead fer logger-rhythms.  Oughter been a bloomin’ bookie.  They ‘as to be big an’ ugly——­”

“Seconds out of the Ring,” called the referee, and a hush fell upon the excited throng.

Bear and Goate dropped to the ground, Hawker splashed water all over Dam’s body and, as he rose on the word “Time” snatched away the chair and joined his colleagues, who crouched with faces on a level with the boards.

“Oh, buck him up, good Lord, and put ginger in his short-arm work, and O Lord, take care of his chin and mark,” prayed Trooper Bear, with deep and serious devoutness.