had left Flambeau without weapon of any kind, for in his mind such
things were superfluous, and he had never fought with any but those
God gave him, nor found any living thing that his hands could not
master. Therefore, he had rushed headlong against this armed and
waiting man, reaching for him ever closer and closer till the
burning powder stung his eyes. They grappled and fought, alone and
unseen, and yet it was no fight, for Runnion, though a vigorous,
heavy-muscled man, was beaten down, smothered, and crushed beneath
the onslaught of this great naked fellow, who all the time sobbed
and whined and mewed in a panting fury.

They swung half across the spit to the farther side, where they fell
in a fantastic convulsion, slipping and sliding and rolling among
the rocks that smote and gouged and bruised them. The gambler fought
for his life against the naked flesh of the other, against the
distorted face that snapped and bit like the muzzle of a wolf, while
all the time he heard that fearful, inarticulate note of blood-
hunger at his ear. The Canadian's clenched hands crushed whatever
they fell upon as if mailed with metal; the fingers were like
tearing tongs that could not be loosed. It was a frightful combat,
hideous from its inequality, like the battle of a man against a
maddened beast whose teeth tore and whose claws ripped, whose every
move was irresistible. And so it was over shortly.

Poleon rose and ran to the fallen girl, leaving behind him a huddled
and twisted likeness of a man. He picked her up tenderly, moaning
and crooning; but as her limp head lolled back, throwing her pale,
blind features up to the heavens, he began to cry, this time like a
woman. Tears fell from his eyes, burning tears, the agony of which
seared his soul. He laid her carefully beside the water's edge, and,