but he was matched with an adversary who had drawn into himself the
endurance of the wilderness and the quick resiliency of the young
spruce tree. Were it only a contest of sheer force, Manson had won
outright. Now, as his veins swelled and his arms stiffened around
Fisette's pliant body, the latter seemed to convert itself into a mass
of steel springs that somehow evaded compression. With feet sinking in
the soft soil, crashing through the under-growth with no words but only
the heart breaking gasp of supreme effort, they fought on. Once Manson
thought he had conquered as his hands, closing behind the breed's back,
locked in a deadly grip, with great muscles contracted, but just as it
seemed the breed's ribs must crack there came an eel-like wriggle. The
constable's arms were empty and again he felt the lean brown fingers at
his bull-like neck. Once more he strove for that crushing clasp and,
as Fisette darted in, opened his arms wide, took the punishment of a
savage blow in the face, and closing his embrace, enwrapped his enemy
in a suffocating hug. It was to the death, for a brown thumb was
digging into his thorax and he felt sick and giddy.

Seconds passed. The violent expansion of Fisette's chest worked
palpitating beneath the great arms, and, just ere endurance reached its
limit and the trees began to swim before Manson's eyes, his little
finger touched the haft of the sheath knife that hung at Fisette's
back. The touch ran through Fisette's laboring frame like fire, for he
had reached the point where the world seemed dipped in blood. Slowly
Manson pushed down his hand, never relaxing his titanic embrace. But
the instant his fingers closed on the knife the half breed's back
curved like a mighty bow, the thick fingers creaked, cracked and
yielded, the deadly grip was burst asunder, and Manson, sick and
staggering, saw Fisette free and crouching in front of him, the knife
in his hand and murder in his eyes. A moment later he looked up.
Fisette was sitting on his chest, and running his thumb along the razor
edge of the blade. There was a little blood at the corner of his mouth
and his cheek was scratched. Otherwise he was undisturbed.

"Well?" he grunted presently, staring through half-closed lids.

Manson was pumping air into a laboring breast.

"I'm licked," he panted after a while.

"Say that again." The breed's eyes opened wider.

Manson said it while his soul revolted within him, but he would