blow. She made no effort
to reach the ax behind the door; the thought of it had gone,
apparently, out of her mind.

Swan stood within four feet of her, but he gave her no attention.

"When a man comes to my house and monkeys with my woman, him and me
we've got to have a fight," he said.

CHAPTER III

THE FIGHT

Mackenzie got up, keeping the table between them. He looked at the
door, calculating whether he could make a spring for the ax before
Carlson could grapple him. Carlson read in the glance an intention to
retreat, made a quick stride to the door, closed it sharply, locked
it, put the key in his pocket. He stood a moment looking Mackenzie
over, as if surprised by the length he unfolded when on his feet, but
with no change of anger or resentment in his stony face.

"You didn't need to lock the door, Carlson; I wasn't going to run
away--I didn't wait here to see you for that."

Mackenzie stood in careless, lounging pose, hand on the back of his
chair, pipe between his fingers, a rather humorous look in his eyes as
he measured Carlson up and down.

"Come out here in the middle and fight me if you ain't afraid!" Swan
challenged, derision in his voice.

"I'll fight you, all right, after I tell you what I waited here to
say. You're a coward, Swan Carlson, you're a sheepman with a sheep's
heart. I turned your woman loose, and you're going to let her stay
loose. Let that sink into your head."

Carlson was standing a few feet in front of Mackenzie, leaning
forward, his shoulders swelling and falling as if he flexed his
muscles for a spring. His arms he held swinging in front of him full
length, like a runner waiting for the start, in a posture at once
unpromising and uncouth. Behind him his wife shuddered against the
wall.

"Swan, Swan! O-o-oh, Swan, Swan!" she said, crying it softly as if she
chided him for a great hurt.

Swan turned partly toward her, striking backward with his open hand.
His great knuckles struck her across the eyes, a cruel, heavy blow
that would have felled a man. She staggered back a pace, then sank
limply forward on her knees, her hands outreaching on the floor, her
hair falling wildly, her posture that of a suppliant at a barbarian
conqueror's feet.

Mackenzie snatched the heavy platter from the table and brought
Carlson a smashing blow across the head. Carlson stood weaving on his
legs a moment as the fragments of the dish clattered around him,
swaying like a tree that wa