nce. _Vae Victis!_ Down, down, down
with the defeated! Victory is the only ultimate fact. Carthage _was_
destroyed, the Red Indians are being exterminated: that is the single
certainty. In an hour from now that sun will still be shining and that
grass growing, and one of you will be conquered; one of you will be the
conqueror. When it has been done, nothing will alter it. Heroes, I give
you the hospitality fit for heroes. And I salute the survivor. Fall on!"

The two men took their swords. Then MacIan said steadily: "Mr. Turnbull,
lend me your sword a moment."

Turnbull, with a questioning glance, handed him the weapon. MacIan took
the second sword in his left hand and, with a violent gesture, hurled it
at the feet of little Mr. Wimpey.

"Fight!" he said in a loud, harsh voice. "Fight me now!"

Wimpey took a step backward, and bewildered words bubbled on his lips.

"Pick up that sword and fight me," repeated MacIan, with brows as black
as thunder.

The little man turned to Turnbull with a gesture, demanding judgement or
protection.

"Really, sir," he began, "this gentleman confuses..."

"You stinking little coward," roared Turnbull, suddenly releasing his
wrath. "Fight, if you're so fond of fighting! Fight, if you're so fond
of all that filthy philosophy! If winning is everything, go in and win!
If the weak must go to the wall, go to the wall! Fight, you rat! Fight,
or if you won't fight--run!"

And he ran at Wimpey, with blazing eyes.

Wimpey staggered back a few paces like a man struggling with his own
limbs. Then he felt the furious Scotchman coming at him like an express
train, doubling his size every second, with eyes as big as windows and
a sword as bright as the sun. Something broke inside him, and he found
himself running away, tumbling over his own feet in terror, and crying
out as he ran.

"Chase him!" shouted Turnbull as MacIan snatched up the sword and joined
in the scamper. "Chase him over a county! Chase him into the sea! Shoo!
Shoo! Shoo!"

The little man plunged like a rabbit among the tall flowers, the two
duellists after him. Turnbull kept at his tail with savage ecstasy,
still shooing him like a cat. But MacIan, as he ran past the South Sea
idol, paused an instant to spring upon its pedestal. For five seconds
he strained against the inert mass. Then it stirred; and he sent it over
with a great crash among the flowers, that engulfed it altogether. Then
he went bounding after the runaway.