Orkney had passed the limits of endurance. Rage seized Sam. To be charged with mercenary motives was more than he could bear. He sprang at Tom, and at the same instant that vigilant youth leaped to meet the attack. There was a furious exchange of blows, each combatant seeking to inflict punishment and making no effort to avoid it. Then the pair grappled, and swayed back and forth, struggling desperately for the mastery. It was a fight, and a real fight; but one carried on under unusual conditions. Both boys were in heavy winter clothes; there had been no time to discard overcoats or jackets, or even the thick gloves they wore. So they were, in some degree, like armored knights of old, come to grips in full panoply, by which they were at once hampered and protected; while the yielding snow offered most uncertain footing. Now they were in the tracks of the tote road; now they had reeled into snow that rose above their plunging knees; now they were floundering back to the path. Sam, slipping, went to his knees. Orkney, over-eager to press his advantage, lost it; for though he landed a blow on his opponent’s forehead, it was at cost of the precious “under hold.” Sam’s arms were locked about Tom’s waist; his chin was pressing hard against the other’s shoulder. Orkney swayed backward under the pressure. He made a frantic effort to break free; failed; lost footing. Down he went into the deep snow, Sam falling upon him and still holding him fast. But the battle was far from ended. Orkney writhed and twisted. He struck at Sam, raining ineffective blows upon his head and shoulders. He kicked furiously, sending the snow flying in showers. Indeed, he fought determinedly but vainly, until at last Sam, keeping his wits, had slowly shifted position, and was astride his prostrate foe’s body. Then, with one of Sam’s hands at his throat, and the other hand clenched and poised above his unprotected face, Orkney sullenly accepted defeat and ceased to struggle. “You--you had enough?” Sam panted. “Y-Yes!” gasped Orkney with all imaginable reluctance. “Give up?” “Yes.” It was barely a whisper, but Sam caught the word. “All--all right!” he said, breathlessly but cheerfully, and got upon his feet. Orkney sat up, but did not attempt to rise. His expression betrayed intense chagrin. “I--I won’t admit you--you licked me, but--but you got me down,” he said brokenly. “And--and I gave up. But that--that doesn’t settle anything.” To his surprise Sam laughed. “Sure settles one thing, Orkney! You said you--you wanted to fight me, but couldn’t--’member? Well, somehow, we seem to have dodged the difficulty.” Tom seemed to find a certain grim consolation in this aspect of the case. “That’s so. But--but what do you want me to do now?”