rive in the right, it was
blocked, and Randerson's right, crooked, rigid, sent with the force of a
battering ram, landed fairly on Masten's mouth, with deadening, crushing
effect.

It staggered Masten, sent him back several feet, and his legs shook under
him, sagging limply. His lips, where the blow had landed, were smashed,
gaping hideously, red-stained. Randerson was after him relentlessly.
Masten dared not clinch, for no rules of boxing governed this fight, and
he knew that if he accepted rough and tumble tactics he would be beaten
quickly. So he trusted to his agility, which, though waning, answered
well until he recovered from the effects of the blow.

And then, with the realization that he was weakening, that the last blow
had hurt him badly, came to Masten the sickening knowledge that Randerson
was fighting harder than ever. He paid no attention to Masten's blows,
not even attempting to fend them off, but bored in, swinging viciously.
His blows were landing now; they left deadened flesh and paralyzed
muscles as marks of their force.

Masten began to give way. Half a dozen times he broke ground, or slipped
to one side or the other. It was unavailing. Blows were coming at him now
from all angles, ripping, tearing, crashing blows that seemed to increase
in force as the fight went on. One of them caught Masten just below the
ear on the right side. He reeled and went to his haunches, and dizzy,
nauseated, he sat for an instant, trying to fix the world correctly in
his vision, for it was all awry--trees, the plains, himself--all were
dancing. Dimly he sensed the form of Randerson looming over him. He still
was able to grasp the danger that menaced him, and reeling, he threw
himself headlong, to escape Randerson, landing on his side on the ground,
and with an inarticulate shriek of fury, he pulled the small caliber
pistol from his hip pocket, aimed it at the shadowy form of his adversary
and pressed the trigger.

And then it seemed that an avalanche had struck him; that he was whirled
along by it, then buried under it.

Evidently he had been buried for a long time, for when he opened his eyes
the dense blackness of the Western night had descended. He felt a dull,
heavy pain in his right wrist, and he raised it--it seemed to have been
crushed. He laid the hand down again, with a groan, and then he heard a
voice. Looking up, he saw the shadowy figure of his conqueror standing
over him.

"I reckon I've handed it to