Borne down deeply in the yielding clover, Harlson had little chance to exert his strength, which, with that grip upon his throat, could not last long at most; but he writhed with all the force of desperation, and wrenched loose, at last, one arm, which had been pressed useless against his side.  With the free hand he clutched his adversary’s collar and strained at it, while he heaved with all his power to turn himself below.  The couch was not far from the edge of the great mow, but of that he was not thinking, nor of the fact that the hay had, in the stowing away, been built out, so that the mow well overhung the barn floor.  Well for him that it was so!  There was a sudden loosening and sliding as the struggle in the darkness became fiercer, and then, parting from the mass, a section of the mow, a ton at least in weight, shot downward, carrying upon it the two men, who, as it struck the floor beneath, rolled from its surface through the great open doors, down the steep incline, up which wagons were driven on occasion, and leaped to their feet together, there in the clear moonlight.

They stood glaring at each other.  Grant Harlson gasping, but himself again, as he inhaled the blessed air.  Each stood at bay and watchful.

“Woodell!”

The man glared at him savagely.

“What does it mean!  What were you going to do?”

“I was going to kill you.”

“Then they would have hung you.”

“No, they wouldn’t; they would never have found you.”

“Did you have a knife?”

“I didn’t need one—­if the cursed hay hadn’t come away.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

There was a look in the man’s eyes which showed he was not jesting.  Harlson thought very rapidly just then.  He recognized the earnestness of it all, but his sudden terror was now gone.  Here were light and air and even terms with the other.  The effect of the choking had passed away.  He felt himself a match for Woodell.

With the revulsion of feeling came then suddenly upon him a rage against this would-be midnight slayer so great that he was calm in his very savagery.  He laughed, as was his way.

“You were very foolish.  You should have brought a knife or club.  Kill me!  Why, man, do you suppose if you were to try to get away now I would let you go?  I want you, you murderer, I want you!” And he reached out his hands toward the other and opened and shut them clutchingly; and then with a snarl Woodell leaped forward and the two men grappled like bull-dogs.

Well for Harlson was it that through all the weeks he had been swinging the maul and ax, and that his muscles were hard and his endurance great, for Woodell was counted one of the strong men of the region.  As it was, in point of sheer strength, the two were about evenly matched, but there was a difference in their resources.  One was gymnasium-trained, the other not.