he found pitted against him a man equally powerful, a man whose
extra reach and weight offset the advantage in skill, a man who gave and
took blows with silent ferocity.

Thompson, in all his carefully ordered life, had never fought. He fought
now as if his life depended upon it. Each blow he gave and took brought
to the surface a furious determination. He was not conscious of real
pain, although he knew that his lips were cut and bleeding, that his
cheeks were bruised and cut where Tommy Ashe's hard-knuckled fists
landed with impressive force, that his heart pounded sickeningly against
his ribs, and that every breath was a rasping gasp. Nor was he conscious
of pity when he saw that Tommy Ashe was in no better case. It seemed fit
and proper that they should struggle like that. There was a strange sort
of pleasure in it. It seemed natural, as natural an act as he had ever
performed. The shock of his clenched fist driven with all his force
against the other man's body thrilled him, gave him a curious
satisfaction. And that satisfaction took on a keener edge when Ashe
clinched and they fell to the earth a struggling, squirming heap--for
Thompson felt a tremendous power in his arms, in those arms covered with
flat elastic bands of muscle hardened by weeks of axe-slinging, of
heaving on heavy logs. He wrapped his arms about Ashe and tried to crush
him.

One trial of that fierce grip enlightened Tommy Ashe. He broke loose
from Thompson by a trick known to every man who has ever wrestled, and
clawed away to his feet. Thereafter he kept clear of grips. Quick, with
some skill at boxing, he could get home two blows to Thompson's one. But
he could not down his man. Nor could Thompson. They struck and parried,
circling and dodging, till their lungs were on fire, and neither had
strength enough left to strike a telling blow.

The rage had gone out of them by then. It had become a dogged struggle
for mastery. And failing that, there came a moment when they staggered
apart and stood glaring at each other, choking for breath. As they
stood, Tommy Ashe spoke first.

"You're a tough bird--for a parson."

He gasped the words.

With the dying out of that senseless fury a peculiar feeling of elation
came to Thompson, as if he had proved himself upon a doubtful matter. He
was ready to go on. But why? That question urged itself upon him. He
recalled that he had struck the first blow.

"I think--I started this, didn't I?" he said. "I'