rifle. She rode away, taking
the other horses with her.

When she was out of sight in a dip of the draw, Harrison spoke.

"Well, what is it to be? I see you got your gats yet. Going to shoot me
down like a coyote?"

"That's what you deserve. That's what you'd get if the Lazy B boys got
hold of you. But I'm going to kill you with my bare hands, you wolf."

With what seemed a single motion of his hands he unbuckled the revolver
belt from his waist and flung it from him. Crouched like a tiger, he
moved slowly forward, the flow of his muscles rhythmic and graceful.

The prizefighter could scarce believe his luck. He threw out his salient
chin and laughed triumphantly. "You damned fool! I've got you at last.
I've got you."

Light as a panther, Yeager lashed out with his left and caught flush the
point of that protruding chin. The grinning head went back as if it had
been on hinges. Shoulders, buttocks, and heels hit the ground together.
The range-rider was on him as a terrier lights on a rat. Jarred though
his brains were, the instinct of self-preservation served the man
underneath. He half turned, flung an arm around the neck of his foe, and
clung tightly even while he covered up. Steve's fist hammered at the
back of the close-cropped head. The prizefighter swung over, face down,
rose to his hands and knees by sheer strength, then reached for his neck
grip again.

Yeager eluded him, throwing all his weight forward to force his opponent
down again. Harrison gave suddenly. They rolled over and over, fighting
and clawing like wild cats, two bipeds in a death struggle as fierce and
ruthless as that between wolves or grizzlies. No words were spoken. They
were back in the primitive Stone Age before speech was invented.
Snarling and growling, they fought with an appalling fury.

Presently they were back on their feet again. Toe to toe they stood,
rocking each other with sledgehammer blows. Blood poured from the beaten
faces of both. Harrison clinched. They staggered to and fro before they
went down heavily, Yeager underneath. The prizefighter thrust his right
forearm under the chin of his enemy and with his left thumb and middle
finger gouged at the eyes of the man beneath him. Steve's legs moved up,
encircled those of the rustler, and swiftly straightened. With a bellow
of pain Harrison flung himself free and clambered to his feet. The legs
of his trousers had been ripped open for a foot. Blood streamed from his
calves