tretched hand, having
previously rolled up his sleeve and bared his brown, sinewy arm.

Massetti stooped and took up the knife from where it lay. He also bared
his arm, nervously grasping the hilt of the weapon.

Pasquale Solara's eyes gleamed like those of a tiger seen through the
darkness of a Hindoostan jungle. They had a terrible, a bloodthirsty
gleam. The shepherd now felt sure of his ground. With a pistol he was
nothing, with a knife he was a power! Giovanni could not cope with him;
he would fall an easy victim to his skill and cunning!

The Viscount watched the old scoundrel with feverish anxiety, fully
realizing what was passing through his mind. That Pasquale would
vanquish him, kill him, he could not doubt, for he knew no more about
fighting with a knife than an infant in its cradle. However, his courage
did not desert him, and he resolved to sell his life as dearly as
possible.

Seeing Giovanni take the knife and prepare for the combat, Solara bent
partially forward and rushed upon him. The long, keen blades met with a
flash of fire. The young Italian confined himself to acting upon the
defensive, the utmost activity and watchfulness being required on his
part to parry and ward off his opponent's skilful and incessant thrusts.
The shepherd fought with the bewildering rapidity of the lightning's
flash and seemed to be in a thousand different places at once so swiftly
did he advance, retreat and spring aside. His excitement made him forget
his hurts.

At length Massetti's arm became so strained and fatigued that it was
impossible for him to hold out much longer. His hand was tightly
clutched about the haft of his knife, but it was so benumbed that he
could not feel the weapon. Still with the energy and resolution of
despair he continued the unequal conflict, hoping against hope that some
unexpected turn of affairs might give him the advantage.

Meanwhile old Solara, fiendishly confident, was steadily and surely
closing upon him, narrowing the limit of his retreat after each blow.
Finally he retreated no more, but began pressing his adversary backwards
towards the chestnut grove, the while delivering blow after blow. Then
he suddenly gave his wrist a dextrous twirl and Giovanni's knife was
torn from his grasp, falling about ten feet away. Instantly the young
man was forced to the ground and old Pasquale stood over him with his
legs wide apart, firmly planted to give the death-dealing thrust. As
Massetti l