he wood flame.

But who had counted on Bug? He had watched this fearful grapple,
motionless and terror-stricken, and now with a child's vision he saw
what Gresh meant to do. Springing up, he caught the heavy coat on which
he had been sitting and flung it on the fire, smothering the embers and
putting the cavern into complete darkness.

Vic gained the vantage by this unlooked for movement and the grip
shifted. The fighters fell to the floor and then began the same kind of
struggle by which Burleigh had out-generaled big, unconquerable Trench
one day. The two had rolled and fought in college combat from the top
of the limestone ridge to the lower campus and landed with Burleigh
gripping Trench helpless to defend further. That battle was friend with
friend. This battle was to the death. The blood of both men smeared the
floor as they tore at each other like wild beasts, and no man could have
told which oftenest had the vantage hold, nor how the strife would end.
But it did end soon. The heavy coat, that had smothered the fire and
saved Vic, smoldered a little, then flared into flame, lighting
the whole cave, and throwing out black and awful shadows of the two
fighters. They were close to the hole in the inner wall now. Gresh's
face in that unsteady glare was horrible to see. He loosed his hold a
second, then lunged at Vic with the fury of a mad brute. And Vic, who
had fought the devil in himself to a standstill three hours ago, now
caught the fiend outside of him for a finishing blow, and the strength
of that last struggle was terrific.

Up to this time Vic had not spoken.

"I killed the other snakes. I'll kill you now," he growled, as he held
the outlaw at length in a conquering grip, his knees on Gresh's breast,
his right hand on Gresh's throat.

In that weird light the conqueror's face was only a degree less brutal
than the outlaw's face. And Burleigh meant every word, for murder was
in his heart and in his clutching fingers. Beneath the weight of his
strength Gresh slowly relaxed, struggling fiercely at first and groping
blindly to escape. Then he began to whine for mercy, but his whining
maddened his conqueror more than his blows had done. For such strife is
no mere wrestling match. Every blow struck against a fellowman is as
the smell of blood to the tiger, feeding a fiendish eagerness to kill.
Beside, Burleigh had ample cause for vengeance. The creature under his
grip was not only a bootlegger through whose evi