arrows and his scalping-knife. But the space was too narrow and Beverly
was upon him with a shout.

"I told you I'd make a sieve or you the next time you tried to see me,
and I'm going to do it."

He seized the Indian's knife and flung it clear into the river, where
it stuck upright in the sands of the bed, parting the little stream of
water gurgling against it; and with a powerful grip on the Apache's
shoulders he wrenched the arrows from their place and tramped on them
with his heavy boot.

The Indian's surprise and submission were gone in a flash, and the two
clinched in combat.

On the one hand, jealousy, the inherited hatred of a mistreated race,
the savage instinct, a gloating joy in brute strife, blood-lust, and a
dogged will to trample in the dirt the man who made the sun shine black
for the Apache. On the other hand, a mad rage, a sense of insult, a
righteous greed for vengeance for a cruel deed against an innocent
woman, and all the superiority of a dominant people. The one would
conquer a powerful enemy, the other would exterminate a despicable and
dangerous pest.

Back and forth across the narrow space hidden from the trail by fallen
rock they threshed like beasts of prey. The Apache had the swiftness of
the snake, his muscles were like steel springs, and there was no rule of
honorable warfare in his code. He bit and clawed and pinched and
scratched and choked and wrenched, with the grim face and burning eyes
of a murderer. But the Saxon youth, slower of motion, heavier of bone
and muscle, with a grip like iron and a stony endurance, with pride in a
conquest by sheer clean skill, and with a purpose, not to take life, but
to humble and avenge, hammered back blow for blow; and there was
nothing for many minutes to show which was offensive and which
defensive.

As the struggle raged on, the one grew more furious and the other more
self-confident.

"Oh, I'll make you eat dust yet!" Beverly cried, as Santan in triumph
flung him backward and sprang upon his prostrate form.

They clinched again, and with a mighty surge of strength my cousin
lifted himself, and the Indian with him, and in the next fall Beverly
had his antagonist gripped and helpless.

"I can choke you out now as easy as you shot that arrow. Say your
prayers." He fairly growled out the words.

"I didn't aim at her," the Apache half whined, half boasted. "I wanted
you."

At that moment Beverly, spent, bruised, and bleeding with fighti