fully built, his chest matted with
black hair, his forearms rough with it. Taller than Mormon, he had all
the advantage of reach. He sneered openly at his opponent.

"One thing more," said Mormon. "We ain't fightin' fo' a purse. Roarin'
knows what we're fightin' fo'. A private matter. But we'll put up a
stake, if he's agreeable. Loser leaves the camp."

"When he's able to walk. You slapped my face this morning. This evens
it."

Russell lashed out suddenly, his hand open, striking with the heel of
his palm for Mormon's jaw. Mormon sprang back, warding off, but it was
Pardee who struck aside Russell's blow and sent him reeling back with a
powerful shove.

"Strip down," he said to Mormon. "Both of you keep back of your lines
till I give the word. Sabe?" He scored two lines in the dirt with the
toe of his shoe and waved them behind the marks.

"No rounds to this affairs," he called to the crowd. "Fair fightin',
foul holds and punches barred. Everything else goes. Man down allowed
ten seconds. That's my ruling," he added to the two men.

Mormon looked clumsy as a bear as he waited for the word. He was far
stouter than Russell. His bald pate, with its reddish fringe of hair,
looked grotesque under the moon. The bulge of his stomach seemed a
strong handicap in agility and wind. Yet his flesh was hard and, where
the tan ended on neck and forearms, it held a glisten that caused the
knowing ones to nod approvingly. There was strength in his back, big
muscles shifted on his shoulders and his arms were bigger than
Russell's, if shorter, corded with pack of sinew and muscle. As he toed
his line, swaying from side to side, arms apart, the left a little
forward, he moved with a lightness strange to his usual tread. Russell
crouched a little, his long arms hanging low, knees bent. The two lines
were about six feet apart.

They faced each other in a silence of held breath on all sides. Pardee
stood to one side, equally between them. His arm went up.

"Ready?" he asked. "Let her go!"

A great sigh went up as the two fighters leaped forward. Both seemed
about to clinch, to test their prowess as wrestlers. Murmurs went up
from back of Mormon where his fanciers had ranged themselves. "Russell's
got too many tricks for him," men told each other and then gasped.

Mormon had landed, light as a dancing master, despite his bulk, had
stooped, turned in a flash with his right hand clamped about the right
wrist of Russell, bowing his ba