r his swift excursion to
the borderland of death. He parried a swift blow, giving one in return
that caught Swan on the elbow and knocked the plank out of his hand.
Mackenzie sprang forward to follow up his advantage with a decisive
stroke, when, to his amazement, Mrs. Carlson threw herself between
them, the ax uplifted in her husband's defense.

"No, no!" she screamed; "he is my man!"

Swan Carlson laughed again, and patted her shoulder, stooping to
recover his board. But he flung it down again, taking the ax in its
place, pushing his woman, not without some tenderness in his hand,
back into the corner, throwing himself in front of her, his wild
laugh ringing in the murky room, stifling from the smoke of lantern
and stove.

Mackenzie felt his hope break like a rope of straw at this unexpected
turn of the woman. With those two mad creatures--for mad he believed
the isolation and cruelty suffered by the one, the trouble and terror
of the law by the other, had driven them--leagued against him it
seemed that he must put down all hope of ever looking again upon the
day.

If there was any chance for him at all, it lay in darkness. With this
thought Mackenzie made a quick dash past Carlson, smashing the lantern
with a blow.

There was one window in the room, a small, single-sash opening near
the stove. Even this was not apparent for a little while following the
plunge into the dark; Mackenzie stood still, waiting for his eyes to
adjust themselves to the gloom. No sound but Carlson's breathing came
from the other side of the kitchen. The square of window appeared
dimly now, a little to Mackenzie's left. He moved cautiously away from
it, yet not without noise for all his care. Swan let drive with his
board at the sound of movement. His aim was good; it struck
Mackenzie's shoulder, but fortunately with its flat surface, doing no
hurt.

Mackenzie threw himself down heavily, getting cautiously to his feet
again instantly, hoping to draw Carlson over in the belief that he had
put him out of the fight. But Carlson was not so rash. He struck a
match, holding it up, peering under it, blinking in the sudden light.

Mackenzie was not more than eight feet away. He closed the distance in
a bound, swung the heavy oak table leg, and stretched Carlson on the
floor. Mrs. Carlson began wailing and moaning, bending over her fallen
tyrant, as Mackenzie could gather from her voice.

"You've killed him," she said; "you've killed my man!