od very stiff, with muscles braced, looking down
at Wilkinson.

"Get up, you slanderous brute, and tell them it's a lie," he said.

"I'll be shot if I will!" said Wilkinson, who got on his feet
reluctantly. "You know it's true."

Then he flung up his arm, a second too late, for Festing struck him a
smashing blow and he staggered, with the blood running down his face.

He recovered in a moment, and seizing a billiard cue brought the thick
end down on Festing's head. Festing swayed, half-dazed, but grasped
the cue, and they struggled for its possession, until it broke in the
middle, and Wilkinson flung his end in the other's face. After this,
for a minute or two, the fight was close and confused, and both made the
most of any advantage that offered.

In Western Canada, personal combat is not hampered by rules. The main
thing is to disable one's antagonist as quickly as possible, and Festing
knew that Wilkinson would not be scrupulous. He must not be beaten,
particularly since his defeat would, to some extent, confirm the
slander.

He grappled with Wilkinson as a precaution, because another cue stood
near, and with a tense effort threw him against the empty stove. The
shock was heavy enough to bring the stove-pipe down, and a cloud of soot
fell upon the struggling men, while the pipe rolled noisily across the
floor. Wilkinson, however, stuck to him, and they reeled up and down
between the wall and table, getting an arm loose now and then to strike
a blow, and scattering the chairs. Nobody interfered or cleared the
ground, and by and by Wilkinson caught his foot and fell down, bringing
Festing with him. After this, they fought upon the floor, rolling over
among the chairs, until their grip got slack. Both got up, breathing
hard, and Festing gasped:

"Tell them you're a liar. It's the last chance you'll get!"

Wilkinson did not answer, but struck him before he could guard, and
the fight went on again amidst a cloud of dust that rose from the dirty
boards. Then it ended suddenly, for Festing got his left arm free as he
forced his antagonist towards the open door. He struck with savage fury,
and Wilkinson, reeling backwards across the narrow veranda, plunged
down the stairs and fell into the street. He did not get up, and Festing
leaned against the wall and wiped his bleeding face.

"Pick up the hog and take him to the hotel," he said, and tried to fill
his pipe with shaking hands while the rest went out.

Other pe