The man was unmistakably a Spaniard, and from his hands there fell a round shell, that rolled away across the ground. The encounter was startling to both, but Clif was the first to recover his wits. His quick eye detected the fallen shell, and he divined the fellow's purpose. Before the other could recover from his evident fright, Clif sprang upon him. "So you have found it!" he muttered, as he closed in upon the Spaniard, "but finding's not keeping's this time." Clif's attack brought the Spaniard quickly to his senses, and he was not slow to defend himself. In a flash he drew his revolver, but Clif was too quick for him. The latter knocked the weapon from the fellow's grasp before he had a chance to fire it. Clif's own weapon was within easy reach, but for several reasons he did not care to use it. He wanted, among other things, to avoid a pistol shot which might attract others to the spot. The contest must be one of muscle against muscle; and to unusual strength Clif added a surprising agility that came in good stead in such a struggle. They grappled, and there in that enclosure formed by the mounds of earth on several sides the two began a furious hand to hand battle, the result of which long hung in doubt. The Spaniard was no mean opponent, and fought with enraged fury. Clif's astounding exertions during the past hours had been enough to exhaust the strongest and sturdiest, and he was compelled to acknowledge to himself, as the battle progressed, that it had made inroads upon his strength. Back and forth across the little enclosure the pair fought fiercely. Once Clif slipped and fell beneath his opponent; but an instant after he was upon his feet. His keen eye followed his antagonist's every move. He was watching for a chance to deliver one blow that would settle the combat. Several times he had landed upon the Spaniard's head and face, inflicting severe punishment, but not enough. At last the moment came. The opening presented itself in the Spaniard's guard, and with all the strength that was in him, Clif shot out his right hand. It went home. With a force that seemed to lift the fellow high into the air, his fist met the Spaniard's chin, and the latter fell backward to the ground. It was a clean knockout. Breathing heavily, the fellow lay where he had fallen, unconscious of his surroundings. Clif was panting from the exertion. He had received some punishment, and the wound in his arm was throbbing fiercely. But he paused only long enough to see that the fellow would not give him further trouble, and then hurried toward the spot where the shell had rolled. "I guess that'll hold you for a while," he muttered, looking at his fallen foe as he started away. "But he'll come out of it after a time," he added. "Gorry! how my arm aches all the way up to the elbow." It took but a moment for him to find the shell, for he had seen it roll from the other's hand.