stopped him. Again the left flashed into the
battered face, and again. Roger was fighting with the desperation of
his last remnants of strength. One hand was useless, his leg was
stiffening rapidly, but his left worked havoc with the other's features.

Garman drew back. His eyes gleamed with comprehension and triumph.
Maddened and reckless Roger rushed and struck and got away; and then
suddenly, in one uncontrollable spasm of rage Garman went wild. His
tone became an animal roar of rage, his fighting that of a beast. And
as Roger side-stepped and dodged he knew that the end had come. He
floundered and stumbled; his right leg was fast becoming useless.

Garman had only to keep on rushing.

Roger slipped on something hard and realized that it was the rifle. As
he leaped up and away he saw Garman's eye catch a glint of the weapon.
With a terrific effort Roger lunged forward. Too late. Garman had
stooped to dig the weapon from the trodden sand. Roger struck with the
desperation of life or death behind his blow. His fist landed full on
the neck below the ear; Garman grunted bestially and pitched forward on
his face. The sight seemed to flood Roger's body with unbounded
strength, the strength of hope reborn after despair has held sway. He
jerked the rifle from his opponent's hands. Garman was on his hands
and knees, sneering grotesquely at Roger's face above the leveled
barrel. And suddenly Roger swung the rifle round and threw it out of
reach in the palmetto scrub.

"Get up!" he panted hoarsely. "I've got you now."

Garman rose on tottering legs and came on. He could not fight any
longer, but he could blaspheme, and the foulest curses rolled from his
lips. Finally he uttered Annette's name. Roger set himself and drove
his fist to the point of the heavy, fat jaw. And as a marionette falls
when its suspending strings are cut, so Garman collapsed and lay a
huge, shapeless heap in the reddened sand.

XXXV

Hours later Roger found himself on the bank of the river far below
Garman's house. He had wandered wildly, avoiding paths, dodging
clearings, holding to dark, shaded jungle-land, like a hurt animal
seeking to hide its wounds from the light of day. The joy of victory
over Garman glowed steadily in his bosom, yet though he knew that
Garman now was a broken man and that he no longer would attempt to play
king in the district, he also knew that the fruits of the victory were
like ashes upon hi