Both men rolled over and over like shot rabbits. There followed an interval during which the one took no thought of hostilities, and the other had no interest in flight. O’Shea sat up at length, grunted once or twice, and rubbed his head in a dazed manner. The pile of kindling had been scattered, but a fragment of newspaper was burning and he brought his heel down on it. His quarry now began to realize that his back was not broken and he showed signs of life. The pair sat glaring at each other, speechless, endeavoring to regain the wind that had been knocked out of them. As tough as sole-leather was Captain O’Shea, and not to be put out of commission by so trifling a mishap as this. His head was spinning like a top and he felt sick and weak, but he had a job on hand and he meant to finish it. The revolver was missing from his pocket. It had been dislodged by his tumble and it was useless to grope for it in the darkness. By now the other man had found his feet and was moving unsteadily toward the end of the barn. O’Shea made for him and they clinched in a clump of burdocks. Neither was in the best of condition to make a Homeric combat of it. To O’Shea’s dismay he discovered that he had caught a Tartar as collision-proof as himself. He tried to grip the fellow by the throat and to throw him with a heave and a twist, but a pair of arms as muscular as his own flailed him in the face and hammered his ribs. Then the brawny young shipmaster let fly with his fists and broke his knuckles against a jaw which seemed to be made of oak. “If the both of us was ship-shape we would make a grand fight of it,” panted O’Shea with the shadow of a grin. “’Tis no time for etiquette and I will stretch him before he does the same for me.” “Wait till I set my teeth in you,” growled his adversary, finding speech for the first time. “I’ll tear your windpipe out,” and he followed the horrid threat with a string of oaths that chilled O’Shea’s blood, although he had heard profanity over all the seven seas. The accents were so hoarse and savage as to be even more alarming than the words. The shipmaster ceased to regard the fight in the light of a diversion. He was convinced that he had a madman to deal with. Keeping clear, he turned and made for the wood-pile, a few yards distant. Groping for a moment, he was fortunate enough to catch up a four-foot length of hickory sapling, as handy a bludgeon as he could desire. As if at bay, the other man made no effort to escape during this respite, but lunged after O’Shea, who wheeled in the nick of time and found room to swing his hickory club. It rose and fell only once. The madman toppled over and collapsed among the burdocks. “He will stay there for a while,” said the weary O’Shea. “I caught him fair over the ear, and ’tis a safe bet that I put a dent in him.”