that it would never
end.

But not for an instant did she cease to follow every tiny variation of the
fray, and of a sudden she gave another cry. Gripped in a fierce embrace,
the two men rolled toward the entrance to the ledge, and all at once Mary
saw one of Lynch's hands close over and instantly seize the revolver Buck
had dropped there.

Instantly she darted forward and tried to wrest it from his grasp. Finding
his strength too great, she straightened swiftly and lifting one foot,
brought her riding boot down fiercely with all her strength on Lynch's
hand. With a smothered grunt his fingers laxed, and she caught up the
weapon and stepped quickly back, wondering, if Lynch came uppermost,
whether she would dare to try to shoot him.

No scruples now deterred her. These had vanished utterly, and with them
fear, nervousness, fatigue, and every thought of self. For the moment she
was like the primitive savage, willing to do anything on earth to
save--her man! But so closely were the two men entwined that she was
afraid if she shot at Lynch the bullet might injure Buck.

Once more the fight veered close to the precipice. Lynch was again
uppermost; and, whether by his greater strength, or from some injury Buck
had sustained against the rocks, the girl was seized by a horrible
conviction that he had the upper hand. Knees gripping Stratton about the
body, hands circling his throat, Lynch, apparently oblivious to the blows
rained on his chest and neck, was slowly but surely forcing his opponent
over the ragged margin of the ledge. It was at this instant that the
frantic girl discovered that her weapon had suffered some damage when it
fell and was quite useless.

Already Buck's head overhung the precipice, his face a dark, strangled
red. Flinging the revolver from her, Mary rushed forward and began to beat
Lynch wildly with her small, clenched fists.

But she might as effectually have tried to move a rooted tree, and with a
strangled cry, she wound her fingers in his coarse black hair and strove
with all her strength to drag Lynch back.

CHAPTER XXXV

THE DEAD HEART

Vaguely, as of a sound coming from far distances, the crack of a
revolver-shot penetrated to the girl's numbed brain. It did not surprise
her. Indeed, it roused only a feeling of the mildest curiosity in one
whose nerves had been strained almost to the breaking-point. When Lynch,
with a hoarse cry, toppled back against her, she merely stepped quic