He was not tall, but a stocky, powerful man, and it was all Ken could do
to hold his own. Vaguely he heard shouts and shots, and knew that Dave and
Roy were hotly engaged with the three Turks. But he had no attention to
spare for them. All his energies were needed to cope with his own
opponent.
Ken's first object was to deprive the other of his pistol, and he forced
the man's right arm back with all his strength. Stamping and panting, the
two worked gradually back down the slope until they had passed the clump
of scrub from behind which the German had appeared.
Ken, though breathing hard, was still cool and collected, while the
German, on the other hand, had utterly lost his temper. His big heavy face
was a rich plum colour, and the breath whistled through his teeth.
At last Ken gained his first object. His fierce grip upon the German's
wrist paralysed the muscles of the man's hand, and the pistol dropped from
his nerveless fingers.
Instantly Ken tightened his hold, and tried to back-heel his adversary.
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