He kicked like a mule, hard and suddenly, ducking his head, and then diving backward between the German’s legs that were outspread to give him balance and leverage for the fist-blow.  Schillingschen pitched over him head-forward, landing on both hands with one shoulder in the hole out of which the box had come.  With the other arm he reached for the knife that Coutlass had laid on the loose earth.  Coutlass reached for it, too, too late, and there followed a fight not at all inferior in fury to the battle of the lions.  Humans are only feebler than the beasts, not less malicious.

Will reached for the tin box, opened it, took out the diary, closed it again, put the diary in his own inner pocket, and returned the box; but they never saw or heard him.  The German, with an arm as strong as an ape’s, thrust again and again at Coutlass, missing his skin by a bait’s breadth as the Greek held off the blows with the utmost strength of both hands.

Suddenly Coutlass sprang to his feet, broke loose for a second, landed a terrific kick in the German’s stomach, and closed again.  He twisted Schillingschen’s great splay beard into a wisp and wrenched it, forcing his head back, holding the knife-hand in his own left, and spitting between the German’s parted teeth; then threw all his weight on him suddenly, and they went down together, Coutlass on top and Schillingschen stabbing violently in the direction of his ribs.

Letting go the beard, Coutlass rained blows on the German’s face with his free fist.  Made frantic by that assault Schillingschen squirmed and upset the Greek’s balance, rolled him partly over and, blinded by a very rain of blows, slashed and stabbed half a dozen times.  Coutlass screamed once, and swore twice as the knife got in between his bones.  The German could not wrench it out again.  With both hands free now, the Greek seized him by the throat and began to throttle him, beating with his forehead on the purple face the while his steel fingers kneaded, as if the throat were dough.

We were not at all inclined to stop Coutlass from killing the man.  We came closer, to see the end, and Coutlass caught sight of us at last.

“Shoot him!” he screamed.  “Gassharamminy!  Shoot him, can’t you, while I hold him!”

As he made that appeal the German convulsed his whole body like an earthquake, wrenched the knife loose at last, and as Coutlass changed position to guard against a new terrific stab rolled him over, freed himself and stood with upraised hand to give the finishing blow.  Then suddenly he saw us and his jaw dropped, the beastly mess that had been his well-kept beard dropping an inch and showing where the Greeks fist had broken the front teeth.  But that was only for a second—­a second that gave Coutlass time to rise to his knees, and dodge the descending blow.