its the last blow of the ax to determine
which way it will fall. Mackenzie threw the fragment that remained in
his hand into Carlson's face, laying open a long gash in his cheek. As
the hot blood gushed down over his jaw Carlson steadied himself on his
swaying legs and laughed.

Mrs. Carlson lifted her face out of the shadows of the floor at the
sound. Mackenzie glanced at her, the red mark of Swan's harsh blow
across her brows, as he flew at Swan like a desert whirlwind, landing
heavily on his great neck before he could lift a guard. The blow
staggered Carlson over upon his wife, and together they collapsed
against the wall, where Carlson stood a breath, his hand thrown out to
save him from a fall. Then he shook his haughty, handsome, barbarian
head, and laughed again, a loud laugh, deep and strong.

There was no note of merriment in that sound, no inflection of
satisfaction or joy. It came out of his wide-extended jaws with a
roar, no facial softening with it, no blending of the features in the
transformation of a smile. Mrs. Carlson struggled to her knees at the
sound of it, lifting her moaning cry again at the sight of his gushing
blood. Swan charged his adversary with bent head, the floor trembling
under his heavy feet, his great hands lifted to seize and crush.

Mackenzie backed away, upsetting the table between them, barring for a
moment Swan's mad onrush. In the anger-blind movements of the man he
could read his intention, which was not to strike foot to foot, knee
to knee, but to grapple and smother, as he had smothered the
sheepherders in the snow. Across the overturned table Mackenzie landed
another blow, sprang around the barrier out of the pocket of corner
into which Carlson was bent on forcing him, hoping by nimble foot work
to play on the flockmaster for a knockout.

Swan threw a chair as Mackenzie circled out of his reach with nimble
feet, knocking down the stovepipe, dislodging a shower of tinware from
the shelves behind. Carlson had him by the shoulder now, but a deft
turn, a sharp blow, and Mackenzie was free, racing over the cluttered
floor in wild uproar, bending, side-stepping, in a strained and
terrific race. Carlson picked up the table, swung it overhead until it
struck the ceiling, threw it with all his mighty strength to crush the
man who had evaded him with such clever speed. A leg caught Mackenzie
a glancing blow on the head, dazing him momentarily, giving Carlson
the opening he desired.