't a-hankerin'
none fer ther task."

"Thet's a lie, too. Ye come hyar a-seekin' of _evidence_ because ye're
harborin' a grudge erginst me an' ye dastn't satisfy hit no other way."

There was a pause, then Webb said slowly, and with a half-heartedness
from which all the effrontery had ebbed:

"I 'lows ter go on erbout my business now, but if either one of ye
moves from whar ye're standin' twell I'm outen range I aims ter kill ye
both."

Shifting his revolver to his right hand and feeling behind him with his
left, he began backing away, still covering his retreat and edging a
step at a time toward the corner of the shack, but at the second step,
with a swiftness which vindicated his name, the Bear Cat sprang.

The old miller shook his head, but made no outcry. He heard the thud of
two bodies and the grunt driven from a chest by the impact of charging
shoulders. He saw two figures go down together while a tongue of flame
and a muffled roar broke belatedly from the mouth of the pistol.

Whether the bullet had taken effect or, if so, who was its victim, he
could not at first distinguish. Two human beings, muscled like
razor-backs were writhing and twisting in a smother of dust, their
limbs clinched and their voices mingled in snarling and incoherent
savagery. The mountain ethics of "fist and skull" impose no Queensbury
restrictions. Tooth and knee, heel and knuckle may do their best--and
worst.

But the pistol itself flew clear and the old miller picked it up,
turning again to observe the result of the encounter.

The fighters had struggled up again to their feet and were locked in a
bone-breaking embrace of hatred. For the moment the advantage seemed to
rest with Webb, who was clutching Turner's head in the distressing
chancery of his powerful right arm and doing his utmost to break the
neck. Bear Cat's breathing was a hoarse and strangling agony, but his
fists battered like unremitting flails against the ribs and kidneys of
his antagonist. As they swayed and tottered their brogans were
ploughing up the hard soil and, totally blinded by sweat and rage, they
wavered perilously close to the edge of the huge rock--with its
ten-foot drop to the mill race.

Even as Old Bud gave his warning cry, they went down together--and fell
short of the brink, escaping that danger. Stacy writhed free from the
neck-grip, and both came up again, leaping into a fresh embrace of
panthers, with eyes glaring insanely out of blood-smeare