jor Devines kept him occupied. While Roy accounted for two
red feathers, the well-matched pair were making a fine fight of it up
and down the field, to the tune of cheers and counter-cheers.

But it was the blue feather that fell; and Lance, swinging round,
charged into the melee--seven reds now, to six blue.

Twice, in the scrimmage, Roy came up against him, but managed to shift
ground, leaving another man to tackle him. Both times it was the blue
feather that fell. Steadily the numbers thinned. Roy's wrist and arm
were tiring, a trifle; but resolve to win burned fiercely as ever. By
now it was clear to all who were the two best men in the field, and
excitement rose as the numbers dwindled....

Four to three; blues leading. Two all. And at last--an empty dusty
arena; and they two alone in the midst, ringed in by thousands of faces,
thousands of eyes....

Till that moment, the spectators had simply not existed for Roy. Now, of
a sudden, they crowded in on him--tightly-wedged wall of
humanity--expectant, terrifying....

The two had drawn rein, facing each other; and for that mere moment Roy
felt as if his nerve was gone. A glance at the crowded tent, the gleam
of a blue-green figure leaning forward....

Then Lance's voice, low and peremptory, 'Come on.'

In the same breath he himself came on, with formidable elan. Their
sticks rattled sharply. Roy parried a high slicing stroke--only just in
time.

Thank God, he was himself again; so much himself that he was beset by a
sneaking desire to let Lance win. It was his weakness in games, just
when the goal seemed in sight. Tara used to scold him fiercely....

But there was Miss Arden, the rosebud....

And suddenly, startlingly, Roy became aware that for Lance this was no
game. He was fencing like a man inspired. There was more than mere skill
in his feints and shrewd blows; more in it than a feather.

Two cuts over the arm and shoulder, a good deal sharper than need be,
fairly roused Roy. Next moment they were literally fighting, at closest
range, for all they were worth, to the accompaniment of yell on yell,
cheer on cheer....

As the issue hung doubtful and excitement intensified, it became clear
that Lance was losing his temper. Roy, hurt and angry, tried to keep
cool. Against an antagonist so skilled and relentless, it was his only
chance. Their names were shouted. _"Shahbash[26] Sinkin, Sahib,"_ from
the men of Roy's old squadron; and from Lance's men, _"Desm