Morgan's feet.

In falling, Craddock dropped his gun. He was scrambling for it when
Morgan, no thought in him of mercy, threw his weapon down for the
finishing shot. The hammer clicked on an empty shell. And Craddock, on
hands and knees, agile as a bear, was reaching one long hairy arm to
clutch his lost gun.

Morgan threw himself headlong upon the desperado, crushing him flat to
the ground. With a sprawling kick he sent Craddock's gun far out of
reach, and they closed, with the weapons nature had given them, for the
last struggle in the drama of their lives.

The stage was empty for them of anything that moved, save only
Craddock's horse, which Morgan's last shot, confident as he was when he
aimed it, had no more than maimed with a broken leg. To the right of
them Fred Stilwell lay, his face in the dust, his arms outspread, his
hat close by; on the other hand the Dutchman's body sprawled, his legs,
flung out as if he had died running. And near this unsightly wreckage of
a worthless wretch Morgan's horse stretched, in the lazy posture of an
animal asleep in a sunny pasture.

Behind them the fire that was eating one side of the square away rose
and bent, roared and crackled, sighed and hissed, flinging up long
flames which broke as they stabbed into the smoke. Morgan felt the fire
hot on his neck as he bent over Craddock, throwing the strain of every
tendon to hold the old villain to the ground.

Craddock writhed, jointless as a snake, it seemed, under the grip of
Morgan's hand at his spiney throat, squirmed and turned and fought to
his knees. They struggled and battled breast to breast, until they stood
on their feet, locked in a clinch out of which but one of them, Morgan
was determined, should come a living man.

Morgan had dropped his empty revolver when he flung himself on Craddock.
There was no inequality between them except such as nature had given in
the strength of arm and back. They swayed in silent, terrible
determination each to have the other's life, and Morgan had a glimpse,
as he turned, of women and children watching them from the corner near
the bank, huddled groups out of which he knew many a hope went out for
his victorious issue.

Craddock was a man of sinews as hard as bow strings; his muscles were
like dried beef. Strong as Morgan was, he felt that he was losing
ground. Then, by some trick learned perhaps in savage camps, Craddock
lifted him, and flung him with stunning force against the har