ithin him and the college
training was giving way to the might of muscle backed by a will to win.

A dim light gleamed in the cave and he watched outside now, as Gresh on
the April day had watched him inside. Down by a wood fire, whose smoke
was twisting out through a crevice overhead somewhere, little Bug was
sitting on Tom Gresh's big coat, the fire lighting up his tangle of
red-brown curls. His big brown eyes looking up at the man crouching by
the fire were eyes of innocent courage, and the expression on the sweet
child-face was impenetrable.

"He's a Burleigh. He's not afraid," Vic thought, exultingly. "That's
half my battle. I had it out with the rattlesnakes. I'll do better
here."

At that moment the outlaw turned toward the door and leaped to his feet
as Vic sprang inside.

Bug started up with outstretched arms.

"Keep out of the way, Bug," Vic cried, as the two men clinched.

And the struggle began. They were evenly matched, and both had the
sinews of giants. The outlaw had the advantage of an iron strength,
hardened by years of out-door life. But the college that had softened
the country boy somewhat gave in return the quick judgment and superior
agility of the trained power that counts against weight before the
battle is over. But withal, it was terrible. One fighter was a murderer
by trade, his hand steady for the blackest deeds, and here was a man he
had waited long months to destroy. The other fighter was in the struggle
to save a life dear to him, a life that must vindicate his conscience
and preserve his soul's peace.

Across the stone-floored cave they threshed in fury, until at the
farther wall Gresh flung Vic from him against the jagged rock with a
force that cut a gash across the boy's head. The blood splashed on both
men's faces as they renewed the strife. Then with a quick twist Burleigh
threw the outlaw to the floor and held him in a clutch that weighed him
down like a ledge of rock; and it was pound for pound again.

Away from the mass of burning coals the blackness was horrible. Beyond
that fire Bug sat, silent as the stone wall behind him. Gresh gained the
mastery again, and with a grip on Vic's throat was about to thrust his
head, face downward, into the burning embers. Vic understood and strove
for his own life with a maniac's might, for he knew that one more wrench
would end the thing.

"You first, and then the baby; I'll roast you both," Gresh hissed, and
Vic smelled the heat of t