Alton had lain with his right arm under him, and the starched shirt he had worn when he left the city showing white where the jacket and blanket had fallen apart, but now the arm was stretched across his body.  Still, his eyes were closed, and the man who surmised that he must have moved while he glanced at the provisions closed with him swiftly, crouching.  He stopped again, stooping further, for the arm and blanket were in the way, and he knew he might have no opportunity for a second thrust.  Something must be risked, and moving his eyes from the sleeper’s face he endeavoured to draw the blanket gently aside.

That was a blunder, for the soil-stained fingers had scarcely touched the fabric when a fist was dashed full in his face, and as he staggered backwards something hove itself partly upright and fell upon him.  After that neither of them knew all that had happened, but the knife fell from a hand whose wrist yielded under a crushing grasp, and was kicked away and trampled on.  Then breathing stertorously they reeled into a fir, and the assailant’s hand was free again, while stones rattled beneath them as Alton, half-suffocated, flung him almost at arm’s length from him.  Then the ground seemed to slip away beneath him, and he wound an arm about his adversary as he smote again.

Faint as he was with the blow, Alton did not, however, strive to shake him off now, but grappled with him the more closely, and next moment they had rolled crashing through a juniper.  Then the other man came down undermost and struck a stone, there was a swift glissade over rattling shingle and through smashing undergrowth, and Alton lay still alone, while something rolled on down the slope beneath him, until hearing a splash below he rose with a little hoarse cry and swung himself off the ledge which had arrested him.  He rolled over several times, but came down, as he discovered later, whole in limb, for he could think of nothing then as he groped in and out amidst the pools and boulders for his enemy.  When he found him the man lay with his face apparently in the water, and only moaned a little when Alton shook him.

Then suddenly his passion fell from him, and with a gentleness that was in no way akin to pity he dragged the limp body from the water, and sat down to wait for morning with the wet head upon his knee.  The morning was also a very long while coming, but at last, when the stars were paling and the dark pines slowly grew into shape and form, there was a sound of footsteps on the heights above and a voice he recognized came down: 

“Come right along.  Here’s his fire, but the man has gone.”

“Charley!” cried Alton, and there was an exclamation of astonishment followed by a scrambling, and presently Seaforth stopped with a little gasp by his comrade.  Alton’s face showed drawn and grey in the creeping light, and there was another more blanched one in the wet fern beside him.

“Good Lord!” said Seaforth.  “What’s the meaning of this, Harry?”