how long unconsciousness held alagwa she never knew. it could not have been for very long, however, for when she opened her eyes she saw jack and the man in hunter’s costume, the only foe left standing by that short, fierce fight, still facing each other. she saw them dimly, for, though the dawn was merging fast into the full day, to her eyes darkness still impended.
nor were her eyes alone affected; a pall seemed to bind both her mind and her muscles, holding her motionless. idly she watched the two, with a curious sense of detachment; they seemed like figures in a dream whose fate to her meant less than nothing.
the two men had drawn a little apart and were watching each other narrowly. evidently they had been struggling fiercely, for both were panting; alagwa could see the heave of their breasts as they drew breath. the advantage seemed to be with the unknown, for jack was practically unarmed; in his hand he had only a light stick, charred at the end, evidently a survival from some ancient campfire, while the other gripped a pistol.
at last jack broke the silence. “so, captain telfair,” he said. “we meet again!”
[188]slowly into alagwa’s consciousness the meaning of jack’s words penetrated. she did not move; she could not move; but her eyes focused on the man in hunter’s garb who leaned forward, half crouching, and glared into jack’s face.
it was brito. he had not even disguised himself, unless it be counted a disguise to discard his conspicuous red coat in favor of a neutral-tinted shirt and deerskin trousers. had it not been for alagwa’s dazed condition, she would have known him instantly.
as she watched, he threw back his shoulders and laughed with evil triumph.
“yes!” he jeered. “we meet once more—for the last time. your friends hounded me out of wapakoneta. damme! but they timed their actions well! who would have thought they would drive me here just in time to intercept you. the fortunes of war, my dear cousin, the fortunes of war.”
jack did not speak, and the other half raised his pistol and went on, with a sudden change of tone: “you cub,” he hissed, “you’ve got only yourself to blame. i warned you not to come between me and estelle telfair. you came—and now you pay for it. i’d be a fool to let you escape when fortune has delivered you into my hand.”
captain brito’s tones were growing more and more deadly. with each word alagwa expected to hear his pistol roar and to see jack go crashing[189] down. desperately she strove to spring to the rescue. but she could not move; she could not even cry aloud. a more than night-mare helplessness held her fast.
jack faced his foe undauntedly. not for an instant did he remove his eyes from brito’s. despite the disparity in weapons he seemed not at all afraid. “all right!” he said, coolly. “you’ve got the advantage and i don’t doubt you’re cur enough to use it. when you’re ready, stop yelping and blaze away.”
brito flinched at the contempt in the american’s tones, but he held himself in check. “where is the girl?” he rasped. “where is she, d— you? where have you put her? give her up, and i’ll let you crawl home. quick, now, or you die.”
jack’s eyes widened. “the girl?” he echoed. “i haven’t”—he broke off—“find her for yourself,” he finished. alagwa knew that he had begun a denial. why had he stopped? had he suddenly guessed who she was? or was he hoping to trap brito into some admission—playing with him in the chilly dawn in the very face of death?
brito half raised his pistol, then lowered it. “i’ll find out now!” he gritted. “you’re at my mercy. i’ve got a right to kill you and i’ll do it. i’ll count three and then, if you don’t speak, i’ll fire.”
jack shrugged his shoulders. alagwa noticed that he was edging closer and closer to the man who[190] threatened him. “don’t wait for me,” he answered scornfully. “shoot and get it over with, you dog. as for telling you anything, it’s quite impossible. it isn’t done, you know. shoot, you hound, shoot!”
the last words were drowned in the roar of the heavy pistol. brito had taken the lad at his word. but as his finger pressed the trigger, jack struck him swiftly and desperately with his stick across the knuckles of his pistol hand.
the blow was light but it was sufficient. diverted, the ball went wide, burning but not breaking the skin on jack’s side above his heart. before the roar of the pistol had died away, jack had sprung in. his fist caught the englishman between the eyes.
bull as he was, the latter reeled backward. the useless pistol, jerked from his hand, flew through the air and thudded upon the ground. an instant he clutched at the air; then, like a cat, he was on his feet, launching forward to meet jack’s assault.
in england boxing was in tremendous favor, and even in america, prone to more violent methods, it was in high esteem. rich and poor, peer and peasant, alike prided themselves on their strength and quickness in feint and blow. prize fighters were honored, not merely by the rabble but by those who held themselves to be the salt of the earth. brito had fought many a time, both for anger and for pleasure. jack, less quarrelsome and less fond of the sport, was yet well trained in the use of his fists.
[191]furiously the two men crashed together, brito striving to crush his foe beneath his greater weight, and jack striving vainly to gain room for a clean, straight stroke. swift and brutal came the blows, short half-arm jabs, cruel and punishing. once jack was beaten to his knees, but he struggled up, striking blindly but so furiously that brito staggered back.
but for the moment jack had no breath left to follow up his advantage and brito none to renew the assault. face to face they stood, with blood-streaked faces, gaping mouths, and sobbing chests, each glad of the respite but each determined that it should not be for long.
for an instant brito’s eyes wandered about the ground, seeking a weapon; for an instant jack’s eyes followed the englishman’s and in that instant he saw alagwa where she lay crumbled against the rampart. a yell of fury burst from his lips and he sprang forward. brito saw him coming and threw his weight into a blow that would have ended the fight if it had gone home. but it did not go home! jack dodged beneath it and drove his right with deadly force against the other’s thick neck. then as brito swung round, giddy from the impact, jack struck him on the chin and sent him reeling back a dozen feet, clawing at the air, till he stumbled across the body of an indian and fell upon his back.
jack bent above him, fist drawn back. “surrender,”[192] he panted. “surrender! or by god——”
“not yet!” brito’s outflung hand had closed upon a hatchet that had fallen from the dead brave’s hand. upward he hurled it with despairing fury.
whether directed by chance or by skill the cast went home. the head of the whirling axe struck jack squarely upon his forehead, just at the roots of his hair. he gasped, wavered, flung up his hands, and sank down.
something snapped in alagwa’s brain. the night-mare numbness that had held her vanished. together mind and straining body burst the bonds that had held them. mad with fury she sprang to her feet and hurled herself at brito, striking blindly with bare, harmless, open hands. no thought of self was in her mind. jack was dead; she thought only to avenge him.
brito was scrambling to his feet. even half risen, his great bulk towered above the girl’s slender form. but so sudden and so furious was her assault that he tottered backward. but as he reeled he clutched at her left wrist and held it, dragging her with him, striking, struggling, fighting like a trapped wolverene. he reached for the other wrist, but before he could grasp it, the girl set her knee inside of his and tripped him, hurling him headlong. but his grip upon her did not relax, and together on the ground the two rolled, desperately locked. had brito been less exhausted[193] and the girl less maddened the end would have come instantly; only her fury postponed it.
suddenly her chance came. beneath her straining body she felt a weapon and caught it up. it was brito’s pistol. as she raised it brito snatched for it. his grip fell short and, overbalanced, he left his head unguarded. before he could recover alagwa had struck him across the forehead with the heavy barrel and had torn herself free.
like a cat she sprang to her feet. but brito was up, too, nearly as quickly; and she had no strength left to renew her assault.
for a moment the englishman stood, rocking slowly to and fro, striving to clear his eyes of the blood that was trickling from the furrow the pistol had traced across his forehead. then he gave a great shout:
“estelle!” he cried. “estelle! damme! it’s estelle.” he paused, staring. then he laughed hoarsely. “plucky, too!” he cried. “a true telfair, fit mate for a man.” he flung out his hands. “to me! little one!” he cried. “to me! i liked you when i saw you first. but now—by god! you’re a valkyrie, a boadicea. to think of your daring to fight with me. you! a woman and a hop-o’-my thumb. by god! i love you for it. come to me.” he stumbled forward.
alagwa sprang away. as she did so her hand touched the powder-horn that had clung to her belt[194] through all that furious encounter. her bullet-pouch, too, was in place. lithely she dodged brito’s rush, and as he blundered past she poured a charge of powder into the mouth of her pistol and rammed home the wad.
brito saw and read her motion. the man’s pluck was good, for he lurched toward her, laughing. “no! no! no! estelle!” he cried. “don’t shoot! you’ve lost one kinsman already”—he glanced towards jack’s silent form—“and you can’t afford to lose another. come! lady! cousin! come to me. i’ll take you to england. i’ll make you queen of them all”—he broke off. alagwa had forced home the bullet and had primed the pan. now she raised the pistol.
brito saw it and changed his note. “d— you, you hussy!” he yelled. “i’ll choke——”
the pistol roared and he reeled back, clutching at his side. then he crashed down.
for an instant alagwa stared at him, noting the red stain that was widening on his shirt beneath the heart. then she let the pistol fall and turned away. staggeringly she made her way to jack’s side and sank down beside him. into his torn hunting shirt she slipped her hand till it lay above his heart.
no faintest throb rewarded her. no quiver of lip or eye negatived the red wound upon his brow. silently her head fell forward. it was all over. jack was dead. without a gasp hope died.
