n his hands, to
batter Brodie's brute face into the rocks. They met in their onrush like
two bodies hurled from catapults; they struck and grappled and fell and
rolled together, one now as they strove, locked in the embrace of death.
An embrace in which Brodie's was the greater weight, the greater girth,
the greater strength--and Mark King's the greater sheer, clean manhood.

Gloria ran toward them, the rifle shaking in her hands. Brodie feared
her and strove to turn and twist so that she could not shoot. King saw
her and shouted in a terrible voice which was not like Mark King's
voice:

"Don't shoot--let me--"

She did not heed; she would shoot--if ever she could be sure that she
would not shoot him. But she did not dare--they thrashed about so madly.
They were like octopuses in mortal combat; their arms flailing seemed
more than four arms----

Brodie had his hands at King's throat--King's hands were at Brodie's
throat. She saw Brodie's bestial face gloating. He was so confident now.
She saw his great hands shut down, sinking into the flesh. King's face,
when she got one swift glimpse of it, was set, void of expression.
King's hands, with tendons bursting, sank deeper and deeper. Then she
understood that each man had the grip that he wanted; that it was a mere
matter now of strength and endurance and will--and that glorious thing,
sheer, clean manhood.

They were breathing terribly; they lay stiller, stiller. They did not
thrash about so much. Their eyes were starting out of their sockets;
their faces were turning purple--or was it the firelight? Men's faces
could not look like that--not while the men lived. They gasped now; they
did not breathe.

One of Brodie's hands came away hastily. He began battering at King's
face, battering like a steam-piston. The blows sounded loudly; blood
broke out under the terrific pounding. King's grip did not alter, did
not shift. His eyes were shut but he clung on, grim, looking a dead man,
but a man whose will lasted on after death. Brodie wrenched; they rolled
over. Still King's hands did not leave their grip.

They were on their feet, staggering up and down, two men moulded
together like one man. Brodie struck blow after blow, and with every
thud Gloria winced and felt a pain through her own body. And still King
held his grip, both hands sunk deep into the thick throat.

They were apart, two blind, staggering men. What parted them they did
not know and Gloria could not see