A third and a fourth time he came within striking distance, and
escaped. He half drew his knife, and at the movement Dixon sprang back
until his shoulders touched the brush. Smilingly Gravois unsheathed
the blade and tossed it behind him in the trail. His eyes were like a
serpent's in their steadiness, and the muscles of his body were drawn
as tight as steel springs, ready to loose themselves when the chance
came.
There were tricks in his fighting as well as in the other's, and a
dawning of it began to grow upon Dixon. He dropped his arms to his
side, inviting Jean within reach. Suddenly the little Frenchman
straightened. His glittering eyes shot from the Englishman's face to
the brush behind him, and a piercing yell burst from his lips.
Involuntarily Dixon started, half turning his face, and before he had
come to his guard Gravois flung himself under his arms, striking with
the full force of his body against his antagonist's knees.
Together they went down in the trail. There was only one science now--
that of the forest man. The lithe, brown fingers, that could have
crushed the life of a lynx, fastened themselves around the
Englishman's man's throat, and there came one gasping, quickly
throttled cry as they tightened in their neck-breaking grip.
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