The Blackfoot optimist. [volume] (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1907-1918, 1914-08-20

felt sure of his identity almost at
once; surely he could be no other than
the British agent, whom mademoiselle
held guilty of her fathers murder, the
man who masqueraded under my own
name. l felt my blood grow hot with
anger. He would pass within a yard
of me; he was alone, seeking his way,
endeavoring to plan how he should
lead his savages to an assault. If l
could get him it would be half the bat
tie.
l watched him closely, peering about
the smooth bark of the tree, one foot
advanced ready for a spring Some
instinct of wild life must have told
him of my presence, for he stopped
still. peering about suspiciously. his
rifle flung forward. l dared not delay,
yet swift as l was, his quick eye
caught my movement. The gun butt
swinging through the air met his rifle
barrel, slid along the steel, and struck
a glancing blow He reeled back,
dazed, half stunned. dropping his own
weapon. yet selling the muzzle of mine
to keep from falling. l endeavored to
jerk it free, but he hung to it des-
perately. Scarce knowing how it was
done, we were together, graphing
each other, the disputed gun kicked
aside under our feet.
He swore once, mad English oath,
but l choked it back, clutching his
throat In iron grip, straining to force
him to the fulcrum of my knee. Then
he found grasp of my hair, hurting my
head back until the agony compelled
me to let go. l struck him square in
the face, blow that would have
dropped an ordinary man, but he only
snarled, and closed in, graphing my
wrist with one hand, the other fumb-
ling for knife at his belt. BY Gods
mercy l got it first; yet could not
strike, for he had me foul, gripped to
him as If held in wise. l could feel
the muscles of his chest, the straining
sinews of his arms as they crushed
me. / gave back, down, my limbs
trembling beneath the force with
which he flung the whole weight of his
body against mine. l had met my
match, and l knew it. Yet the knowl-
edge gave me fresh strength, fiercer
determination. The very conception
Of defeat crazed me; my brain held no
thought save a mad impulse to con-
quer him, show him who was the bet.
ter man!
I wrenched aside, breaking that
strangle-hold by sheer strength and
wrestling skill. Again we gripped,
face to face, our muscles straining as
we sought advantage of hold. My
hunting shirt gave, tearing apart like
brown paper, giving me a scant Sec
ond as his grasp slipped. 1t was
enough, l had him locked at my hip;
yet strain as l would his weight baf-
Ned every effort. Back and forth we
struggled. crushing the bushes under
foot. our breath coming in sobs, every
muscle aching under the awful strain.
Neither dared loosen finger grip. Our
eyes glared into each other with saw
age hate. How 1t would have ended
God knows, had the fellow not slipped
on the brush root, SO that the added
weight Of my body flung him head
long. Even as he went over, bearing
me along with him, his head crashing
into the side of q tree as he fell, his
lips gave vent to one wild cry. Then
he lay still, motionless. a huge black
shape outstretched on the ground in
the CHASTITY light of dawn.
l got to my knees. scarcely realizing
what had happened. peering down into
the upturned face, one hand raised to
strike IL the man moved. There was
not motion. l bent lower-the eyes
were closed, blood dripped from his
hair. l turned the head, SO as to bet.