ect terror, crouched her younger sister, Helen.

All this she beheld at the first glance. Then, keeping clear of the
fighters she darted around to the terrified girl. With a cry Helen
scrambled to her feet and clung to her sister's arm, and began to pour
out a stream of hysterical thankfulness.

"Oh, stop them," she cried. "Oh, thank God, thank God! Stop them, or
they'll kill each other. Pete will kill him. He----"

But Kate had no time for such feminine weakness. She dragged the girl
away out of sight, and left her while she returned to the affray.

Once in full view of it she made no effort to stop it. She stood
looking on with the critical eye of an interested spectator, but her
hand was grasping her revolver, nor was her forefinger far from the
trigger of it.

The men rolled this way and that, while deep-throated curses came up
from their midst with a breathless, muttered force. But through the
tangle of sprawling bodies and waving limbs Kate's quick eyes
discovered all she required to satisfy herself. She saw no real life
and death struggle here. Maybe, had the circumstances been changed, it
would have been so, but one of the combatants was far too experienced
a rough and tumble fighter for those circumstances to mature.

The man on top at the moment had the other in a vice-like grip by the
right wrist, keeping the heavy revolver, which the underman had in his
hand, from becoming a serious danger. With the other hand he was
dealing his adversary careful, well-timed smashes upon his bruised and
battered face, with the object of warding off a fierce attack of
strong, yellow teeth.

The man on top had his adversary's measure to a fraction. He was
dealing with him almost as he chose, and the onlooker knew that it
could only be moments before the other finally "squealed," and
dropped the murderous weapon from his hand.

Down came the fist, a great, white fist, with a soggy sound upon the
man's pulpy features, its force increased a hundred per cent. by the
resistance of the hard ground on which his adversary lay. A fierce
curse was the response, and a wild upward slash at the big face above.
Then the big fist went up again.

"Drop it, you son-of-a-moose," Kate heard, in Big Brother Bill's
fiercest tones. "Drop it, or I'll kill you!"

Down came his fist with a fearful smash on the other's gaping mouth.

A splutter of oaths was his reply, and an even greater effort to throw
the white man off.

But the effort