But for the moment Jack had no breath left to follow up his advantage and Brito none to renew the assault. Face to face they stood, with blood-streaked faces, gaping mouths, and sobbing chests, each glad of the respite but each determined that it should not be for long. For an instant Brito’s eyes wandered about the ground, seeking a weapon; for an instant Jack’s eyes followed the Englishman’s and in that instant he saw Alagwa where she lay crumbled against the rampart. A yell of fury burst from his lips and he sprang forward. Brito saw him coming and threw his weight into a blow that would have ended the fight if it had gone home. But it did not go home! Jack dodged beneath it and drove his right with deadly force against the other’s thick neck. Then as Brito swung round, giddy from the impact, Jack struck him on the chin and sent him reeling back a dozen feet, clawing at the air, till he stumbled across the body of an Indian and fell upon his back. Jack bent above him, fist drawn back. “Surrender,” he panted. “Surrender! Or by God----” “Not yet!” Brito’s outflung hand had closed upon a hatchet that had fallen from the dead brave’s hand. Upward he hurled it with despairing fury. Whether directed by chance or by skill the cast went home. The head of the whirling axe struck Jack squarely upon his forehead, just at the roots of his hair. He gasped, wavered, flung up his hands, and sank down. Something snapped in Alagwa’s brain. The night-mare numbness that had held her vanished. Together mind and straining body burst the bonds that had held them. Mad with fury she sprang to her feet and hurled herself at Brito, striking blindly with bare, harmless, open hands. No thought of self was in her mind. Jack was dead; she thought only to avenge him. Brito was scrambling to his feet. Even half risen, his great bulk towered above the girl’s slender form. But so sudden and so furious was her assault that he tottered backward. But as he reeled he clutched at her left wrist and held it, dragging her with him, striking, struggling, fighting like a trapped wolverene. He reached for the other wrist, but before he could grasp it, the girl set her knee inside of his and tripped him, hurling him headlong. But his grip upon her did not relax, and together on the ground the two rolled, desperately locked. Had Brito been less exhausted and the girl less maddened the end would have come instantly; only her fury postponed it. Suddenly her chance came. Beneath her straining body she felt a weapon and caught it up. It was Brito’s pistol. As she raised it Brito snatched for it. His grip fell short and, overbalanced, he left his head unguarded. Before he could recover Alagwa had struck him across the forehead with the heavy barrel and had torn herself free. Like a cat she sprang to her feet. But Brito was up, too, nearly as quickly; and she had no strength left to renew her assault.