reaves, and he had the will power
to resist the strongest gust of passion that had ever stormed his
breast. If he arose and shot the rustler, that act would defeat his
plan of slipping on around upon the other outposts who were firing at
the cabins. Jean wanted to call softly to Greaves, "You're right about
the half-breed!" and then, as he wheeled aghast, to kill him as he
moved. But it suited Jean to risk leaping upon the man. Jean did not
waste time in trying to understand the strange, deadly instinct that
gripped him at the moment. But he realized then he had chosen the most
perilous plan to get rid of Greaves.

Jean drew a long, deep breath and held it. He let go of his rifle. He
rose, silently as a lifting shadow. He drew the bowie knife. Then with
light, swift bounds he glided up the bank. Greaves must have heard a
rustling--a soft, quick pad of moccasin, for he turned with a start.
And that instant Jean's left arm darted like a striking snake round
Greaves's neck and closed tight and hard. With his right hand free,
holding the knife, Jean might have ended the deadly business in just
one move. But when his bared arm felt the hot, bulging neck something
terrible burst out of the depths of him. To kill this enemy of his
father's was not enough! Physical contact had unleashed the savage
soul of the Indian. Yet there was more, and as Jean gave the straining
body a tremendous jerk backward, he felt the same strange thrill, the
dark joy that he had known when his fist had smashed the face of Simm
Bruce. Greaves had leered--he had corroborated Bruce's vile
insinuation about Ellen Jorth. So it was more than hate that actuated
Jean Isbel.

Greaves was heavy and powerful. He whirled himself, feet first, over
backward, in a lunge like that of a lassoed steer. But Jean's hold
held. They rolled down the bank into the sandy ditch, and Jean landed
uppermost, with his body at right angles with that of his adversary.

"Greaves, your hunch was right," hissed Jean. "It's the half-breed....
An' I'm goin' to cut you--first for Ellen Jorth--an' then for Gaston
Isbel!"

Jean gazed down into the gleaming eyes. Then his right arm whipped the
big blade. It flashed. It fell. Low down, as far as Jean could
reach, it entered Greaves's body.

All the heavy, muscular frame of Greaves seemed to contract and burst.
His spring was that of an animal in terror and agony. It was so
tremendous that it broke Jean's hold.