A short fight it had been, but already had the swift end come. So hard had that blow been, so tremendous had been the crash against rock and earth when the flung body struck, there appeared to be but a pale flame of life, flickering wanly, in Deveril's body. Timber-Wolf came and stood over him and over Lynette, gloating, mumbling; muttering while his great chest heaved: "Little rat that he is! A man to take advantage when he found me down; a man to cheat me of the she-cat that shot me. I could crush him into the dirt with my boot heel...." "You great big brute!..." It was then that she sprang to her feet and, almost inarticulate with her own warring emotions, grief and fear and anger and hatred, flung the jagged stone full into his face. He was unprepared; the stone struck him full upon the forehead; he staggered backward, stumbling, almost falling; his hands flew to his face. He was near-stunned; blinded. Deveril was on his elbow.... "Come!" she screamed wildly. "Quick! You and I...." "Treacherous devil-cat!" There was his thunderous voice shouting so that she, so near him, was almost deafened. Bruce Standing, wiping the blood from his eyes, his two arms out before him, came back to the attack. Deveril, on his knees, surged to his feet; Standing struck and Deveril went down like a poorly balanced timber falling. Lynette was groping for another stone. Suddenly she felt upon her wrist a grip like a circlet of cutting steel. She was whisked about; Timber-Wolf held her, drawn close, staring face into face. His other hand was lifted slowly; suddenly she felt it caught in her loose hair.... And then, inexplicable to her now and ever after, there was in her ear the sound of Bruce Standing's laughter. The hand at her hair fell away. It went up to his eyes, wiping them clear. And then she saw in the eyes what she had read in the voice ... laughter. "Well, Deveril, what now?" Again Deveril was on his feet. He swayed; his face was dead-white; it was easy to see how fiercely he bent every energy at his command to remain upright. There was a queer look in the eyes he turned upon Timber-Wolf. "I never saw a man ... like you." He spoke with effort; he was like a man far gone in some devastating lung trouble; his voice was windy and vibrant and weak. "Baby Devil!" jeered Standing. "Oh, Baby Devil! And, when it comes to dealing with a real man.... Why, then, less devil than baby! Ho!..." "I am going to kill you...." "God aids the righteous!" Standing told him sternly. "You go. To hell with you and your kind." _God aids the righteous!_ This from the lips of Bruce Standing, Timber-Wolf!... Lynette, her nerves like wires smitten in an electric storm, could have burst into wild laughter.... She wrenched at her wrist; Standing's big hand neither tightened nor relaxed, giving her the feeling of despair which a thick steel chain would have given had she been locked and deserted in a dungeon.