The crash of Hodges' head on the rock had well been enough to crack an ordinary skull. But his was strong, and the unkempt thatch of hair cushioned it, so that he got no serious hurt. A little dazed by the blow, and by the unexpectedness of the onslaught--nothing more. And he had the bravery of triumphant physical strength. In the instant of attack, he fought back viciously, with blind thrust and clutch. A long, powerful arm writhed around Zeke like a band of steel, and held the assailant immovable. Lying there on his back, the outlaw looked up into Zeke's face, and recognized it, and cursed this unexpected foe obscenely. Zeke wasted no energy in words. He was mad with rage against the man he hated. His one desire was to kill. He twined his fingers in the tangled hair, and beat the head upon the stone floor again and again. But the leverage of his arms was cut down too much. He could not even stun the outlaw, much less kill. He could not reach his rifle, which he had dropped when he sprang to the attack. He could not draw his revolver by reason of the encircling arms. He could only hammer his enemy's head on the rock, with a cruel lust for slaughter that availed nothing except to madden him by its futility. His strength, great though it was, was not enough against the man he fought. Hodges proved the fact presently, for by a tremendous effort, he turned, and pinned Zeke underneath. The force of the impact under the outlaw's heavy weight laid the lad unconscious. The fingers unclenched from his adversary's hair; he lay limp. Hodges rose to his feet, with shambling haste. But, if he meant to kill, fate thwarted him. One foot was placed on the treacherous dampened rock. It slid from under him. He was thrown from his balance, and sprawled at length. He scrambled on all fours toward the other side of the run-way with desperate haste. He did not attempt to rise. A moment later, he slipped slowly over the brow of the cliff. Seth Jones, just issuing from the grove, saw the vanishing of the outlaw, but, at the distance, he could not distinguish the man's identity or that of the other, lying motionless on the sloping rock. For the instant, however, he gave no heed to either for sheer horror of something else he saw--the unconscious girl, moving so inexorably to her doom. He shouted in despair, as he raced toward her. But he knew he must be too late. He was powerless to stay her fall--as was the bull-terrier, which had seized her skirt and still clung, only to be dragged down with her into the void. Before he was come to the beginning of the Slide, girl and dog had traversed it--had shot out into the emptiness of space. CHAPTER XXII