The two men faced each other closely, scowling above the light. Raging and voluble, Tony had spoken with more and more odd turns of voice and gesture, as though anger stirred his blood to a southern heat. Now he stepped forward quickly, and, half crouching, shook his raised fingers at arm’s length, with all the intensity of a Latin. “_Via, via!_” he cried. “You speak so of the dead! You--you scut! Never in a thousand years you would understand such a man! Say so again, and I knock off your head!” The Yankee recoiled, but spat out intolerable filth. “Ye don’t bully me!” he snarled. “You big-bugs is no better’n the rest of us--him nor you! All knows he was a skinflint, an old--” Both figures suddenly reeled past the lantern, a tangled silhouette, which broke apart at the hard, quick slap of an open palm. Abram fell staggering, but sprang back as on the rebound. Something flashed in his hand. The two shapes joined again, struggling, with grunts and curses. In the same instant Miles felt himself shoved aside, and recovered barely in time to seize his companion’s cloak and thrust her back. She would have rushed in straightway. He plunged forward himself, but as quickly halted. The smaller of the combatants had shot clear of the ground, and landed with a hollow shock against the chest. “Knives, would you?” panted the sailor. “You came to the right shop!” He stooped, placed his foot on the blade, which he snapped in one powerful wrench; then rising, tossed the haft away, and spoke as cool and scornful as any Saxon. “Next time try steel, not a piece of tin.” His breath streamed white before him, as he added, in a voice of meditation, “I don’t see yet what stopped me driving it into you. You’ve that girl to look out for. Huh! Poor thing! But to tell the truth, I never thought of that. Just luck, I suppose. Thank your stars, it’s only your nose that’s bleeding.” The fallen man, concealed below the bank, whimpered and snuffled. “Come, come, brace up,” advised his master. “You’re well out of a scrape, Abe. I didn’t see you were fighting drunk.” He bent again, this time as if to ransack the chest. “I’ll carry what’s left, and do the rowing. You can sit still, and think it over.” A growl was the only answer. “Don’t bear malice,” Tony protested lightly. “Can’t afford that. Better stay by me. Where else would the money come from? That’s the talk, up and doing! You’re all right. Now, then, dowse your lantern, and carry on.” Darkness fell. The dry crunch of moccasins on frosty snow passed away into silence.