obert Milton, as you know well
enough."

"Is this another plant arranged for me by you and Selfridge?" demanded
Elliot.

Macdonald ignored the question and lifted his voice. "Come out of that
tent, Holt,--and come with your hands up unless you want your head blown
off."

"Holt isn't in that tent, you damned idiot. If you want to know--"

"Come _now_, if you expect to come alive," cut in the Scotchman
ominously. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and covered the shadow
thrown by the sun on the figure within.

Gordon flung out a wild protest and threw the frozen slab of bacon at
the head of Macdonald. With the same motion he launched his own body
across the stove. A fifth of a second earlier the tent flap had opened
and Sheba had come out.

The sight of her paralyzed Macdonald and saved her lover's life.
It distracted the mine-owner long enough for him to miss his chance.
A bullet struck the stove and went off at a tangent through the tent
canvas not two feet from where Sheba stood. A second went speeding
toward the sun. For Gordon had followed the football player's instinct
and dived for the knees of his enemy.

They went down together. Each squirming for the upper place, they
rolled over and over. The rifle was forgotten. Like cave men they
fought, crushing and twisting each other's muscles with the blind lust
of primordials to kill. As they clinched with one arm, they struck
savagely with the other. The impact of smashing blows on naked flesh
sounded horribly cruel to Sheba.

She ran forward, calling on each by name to stop. Probably neither knew
she was there. Their whole attention was focused on each other. Not for
an instant did their eyes wander, for life and death hung on the issue.
Chance had lit the spark of their resentment, but long-banked passions
were blazing fiercely now.

They got to their feet and fought toe to toe. Sledge-hammer blows beat
upon bleeding and disfigured faces. No thought of defense as yet was
in the mind of either. The purpose of each was to bruise, maim, make
helpless the other. But for the impotent little cries of Sheba no sound
broke the stillness save the crunch of their feet on the hard snow,
the thud of heavy fists on flesh, and the throaty snarl of their deep,
irregular breathing.

Gid Holt, from the window of the cabin, watched the battle with shining
eyes. He exulted in every blow of Gordon; he suffered with him when the
smashing rights and lefts of Macdonald got ho