Time and again he was forced to the edge of the fire or the deep snow, and time and again, with the foot tactics of the pugilist, he worked back to the center.  Not a voice was lifted in encouragement, while his antagonist was heartened with applause, suggestions, and warnings.  But his teeth only shut the tighter as the knives clashed together, and he thrust or eluded with a coolness born of conscious strength.  At first he felt compassion for his enemy; but this fled before the primal instinct of life, which in turn gave way to the lust of slaughter.  The ten thousand years of culture fell from him, and he was a cave-dweller, doing battle for his female.

Twice he pricked the Bear, getting away unscathed; but the third time caught, and to save himself, free hands closed on fighting hands, and they came together.

Then did he realize the tremendous strength of his opponent.  His muscles were knotted in painful lumps, and cords and tendons threatened to snap with the strain; yet nearer and nearer came the Russian steel.  He tried to break away, but only weakened himself.  The fur-clad circle closed in, certain of and anxious to see the final stroke.  But with wrestler’s trick, swinging partly to the side, he struck at his adversary with his head.  Involuntarily the Bear leaned back, disturbing his center of gravity.  Simultaneous with this, Mackenzie tripped properly and threw his whole weight forward, hurling him clear through the circle into the deep snow.  The Bear floundered out and came back full tilt.

‘O my husband!’ Zarinska’s voice rang out, vibrant with danger.

To the twang of a bow-string, Mackenzie swept low to the ground, and a bonebarbed arrow passed over him into the breast of the Bear, whose momentum carried him over his crouching foe.  The next instant Mackenzie was up and about.  The bear lay motionless, but across the fire was the Shaman, drawing a second arrow.  Mackenzie’s knife leaped short in the air.  He caught the heavy blade by the point.  There was a flash of light as it spanned the fire.  Then the Shaman, the hilt alone appearing without his throat, swayed and pitched forward into the glowing embers.

Click!  Click!—­the Fox had possessed himself of Thling-Tinneh’s rifle and was vainly trying to throw a shell into place.  But he dropped it at the sound of Mackenzie’s laughter.

’So the Fox has not learned the way of the plaything?  He is yet a woman.

‘Come!  Bring it, that I may show thee!’ The Fox hesitated.

‘Come, I say!’ He slouched forward like a beaten cur.

‘Thus, and thus; so the thing is done.’  A shell flew into place and the trigger was at cock as Mackenzie brought it to shoulder.

’The Fox has said great deeds were afoot this night, and he spoke true.  There have been great deeds, yet least among them were those of the Fox.  Is he still intent to take Zarinska to his lodge?  Is he minded to tread the trail already broken by the Shaman and the Bear?