o make him
swerve; and at the third charge the animal's foreleg went into the
posthole round which Roger had maneuvered, and the rider shot like a
sprawling puppet from the saddle onto the ground. He was up in an
instant, bewildered but unharmed, and as his eyes ranged from the
struggling horse to Roger, the latter said grimly: "Now we'll talk
business."

A curse hissed from the other's stiff, open lips, and insane with rage,
head down, he threw himself forward. Roger met the rush with a
straight left, which cut through an eyebrow like a knife, and went home
with a crack on a high cheek bone; but no blow could stop the rush of
rage and in another moment the man was on him, grappling for a hold.
The fight for the nonce became a scuffle. The stranger fought as Roger
had never seen a white man fight before; his hard brown fingers were
fixed rigidly like iron claws with which he struck and clutched
spasmodically for a grip on the flesh of face or neck.

"I'll claw the face off you, you sucker! I'll leave you blind for the
vultures to pick."

"Fight like a white man!" cried Roger, throwing him off. "Close your
fists and hit, or, by the eternal, I'll beat you to a pulp."

He caught the wrists of the frenziedly clawing hands as they chopped at
him again and in an instant was forced to let go, as his assailant
kicked with vicious cunning at his groin. Roger drew a great breath,
filling his lungs to their utmost capacity, then, venting his loathing
rage in a rumbling bellow, he dove in regardless. Straight against the
ironlike claws he drove, reckless in the grasp of the anger that had
exploded within him at the unfair trick. Up and back he beat the
clutching hands, and drove his right fist to the lower ribs with a
force that made the victim gasp. Again he struck, bringing his fist
from behind him in an irresistible arc to its mark. Again and again he
struck the cattleman's hardened body and then, sensing his opponent's
wilting, he drove in, both arms working like pistons, literally beating
his man flat to the ground.

Roger stepped back. The tough-bodied fellow on the ground, though
overwhelmed by the relentless shower of blows, was not unconscious and
not whipped. He lay panting and helpless for the moment, his eyes held
fearfully on Roger's boots.

"You hound!" gasped the young man as he understood. "Do you think I'd
kick you when you're down. Get up, get up! You've got only half of
what's coming to you