"Then I must say that Muckle John was mair glib with his tongue than his sword. But I will not say Muckle John--I will say..." "Enough! Let that name bide its time." For a minute Muckle John remained silent, then limping towards the flat place before the cave-mouth, he took a long draught of water. "Come on, sir," he cried, "and you, Rob, guard the pass." He saluted Strange, who had flung off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, but suddenly he lowered his sword. "Should I fall," he said, "what of Rob here?" "He shall go free." With that they fell to, and the rasping of steel upon steel was the only sound in the grim silence. Muckle John, supporting his weight upon one leg, foiled the vicious thrusts of his opponent with steady endurance. That Strange was a skilled fencer of the rapier school he realized at once. That he was also cunning and agile he took for granted. Had he been able to act on the offensive, and bring his vast strength to the attack, no rapier play could have warded off his great blade and iron arm, and yet the growing strain upon his sound ankle was already telling. He was like a man fighting against time. With a feint Strange lunged for his neck--only a flicker of cold steel, but Muckle John was a fraction of a second quicker, and his opponent, recovering, crouched in the moonlight like a panther foiled in its spring. Rob, in the meantime, had striven to watch the passage; but no sign of an attack came to set him on his guard, and few could have turned their backs upon that fierce contest amongst the grey, watching crags. For now Strange had changed his tactics, and strove to lure on Muckle John and catch him off his balance; but there was more in it than that, for nearing the moon sailed a belt of black cloud, and much can be done by one active as a cat in the darkness. But Muckle John was also aware of the cloud and when it drifted over the moon, and they were plunged in darkness, he turned silently to his right, and, kneeling upon one knee, pointed his sword upwards, leaning meanwhile upon his naked dirk. That Strange would attack on his wounded side so as to ensure a speedy dispatch, was more than probable. It was not the first time that Muckle John had fought in the black darkness. A moment, and a whistle of steel passed close to his ear, and lunging upwards with a twist of the wrist, he felt the blade win home, and a dreadful cry broke the stillness. Slowly the moon passed out of the clouds, and streamed its feeble light upon the open space between the rocks. On the smooth surface Strange lay with one arm outstretched and the other clutching his breast. "He fought hard," said Muckle John, staggering to his feet. "I doubt I've killed him." The wounded man began to cough, and then, without a spoken word, turned a little away from them, and with a shudder lay utterly still. For a moment they stood above him, then Muckle John turned to Rob.