en practically the same hold, except that Malan locked
his fingers, while Jud gripped his left wrist with his right hand. Jud
was perhaps four inches taller, but Malan was heavier by at least twenty
pounds.

We came back and stood by the floor of the bridge, Woodford holding the
lantern with Lem Marks and I beside him. Malan said that the light was
in his eyes, and Woodford shifted the lantern until the men's faces were
in the dark. Then he gave the word.

For fully a minute, it seemed to me, the two men stood, like a big
bronze. Then I could see the muscles of their shoulders contracting
under a powerful tension as though each were striving to lift some heavy
thing up out of the earth. It seemed, too, that Malan squeezed as he
lifted, and that Jud's shoulder turned a little, as though he wished to
brace it against the clubfoot's breast, or was troubled by the
squeezing.

Malan bent slowly backward, and Jud's heels began to rise out of the
dust. Then, as though a crushing weight descended suddenly through his
shoulder, Jud threw himself heavily against Malan, and the two fell. I
ran forward, the men were down sidewise in the road.

"Dog fall," said Woodford; "get up."

But the blood of the two was now heated. They hugged, panted, and rolled
over. Woodford thrust the lantern into their faces and began to kick
Malan. "Get up, you dog," he said.

They finally unlocked their arms and got slowly on their legs. Both were
breathing deeply and the sweat was trickling over their faces.

Woodford looked at the infuriated men and seemed to reflect. Presently
he turned to me, as the host turns to the honourable guest. "Quiller,"
he said, "these savages want to kill each other. We shall have to close
the Olympic games. Let us say that you have won, and no tales told. Is
it fair?"

I stammered that it was fair. Then he came over and linked his arm
through mine. He asked me if I would walk to the horses with him. I
could not get away, and so I walked with him.

He pointed to the daylight breaking along the edges of the hills, and to
the frost glistening on the bridge roof. He said it reminded him how,
when he was little, he would stand before the frosted window panes
trying to understand what the etched pictures meant, and how sure he was
that he had once known about this business, but had somehow forgotten.
And how he tried and tried to recall the lost secret. How sometimes he
seemed about to get it, and then it slipped aw