.

"It's a damn lucky thing for you I'm not packing a gun," said Moore,
grimly. "But you knew--or you'd never hit me--you coward."

"I'll make you swallow that," snarled Belllounds, and this time he swung
his fist, aiming a heavy blow at Moore.

Then the cowboy whirled aloft the heavy crutch. "If you hit at me again
I'll let out what little brains you've got. God knows that's little
enough!... Belllounds, I'm going to call you to your face--before this
girl your bat-eyed old man means to give you. You're not drunk. You're
only ugly--mean. You've got a chance now to lick me because I'm
crippled. And you're going to make the most of it. Why, you cur, I could
come near licking you with only one leg. But if you touch me again I'll
brain you!... You never were any good. You're no good now. You never
will be anything but Buster Jack--half dotty, selfish as hell,
bull-headed and mean!... And that's the last word I'll ever waste
on you."

"I'll kill you!" bawled Belllounds, black with fury.

Moore wielded the crutch menacingly, but as he was not steady on his
feet he was at the disadvantage his adversary had calculated upon.
Belllounds ran around the cowboy, and suddenly plunged in to grapple
with him. The crutch descended, but to little purpose. Belllounds's
heavy onslaught threw Moore to the ground. Before he could rise
Belllounds pounced upon him.

Columbine saw all this dazedly. As Wilson fell she closed her eyes,
fighting a faintness that almost overcame her. She heard wrestling,
threshing sounds, and sodden thumps, and a scattering of gravel. These
noises seemed at first distant, then grew closer. As she gazed again
with keener perception, Moore's horse plunged away from the fiercely
struggling forms that had rolled almost under his feet. During the
ensuing moments it was an equal battle so far as Columbine could tell.
Repelled, yet fascinated, she watched. They beat each other, grappled
and rolled over, first one on top, then the other. But the advantage of
being uppermost presently was Belllounds's. Moore was weakening. That
became noticeable more and more after each time he had wrestled and
rolled about. Then Belllounds, getting this position, lay with his
weight upon Moore, holding him down, and at the same time kicking with
all his might. He was aiming to disable the cowboy by kicking the
injured foot. And he was succeeding. Moore let out a strangled cry, and
struggled desperately. But he was held and weighted