of last resort, heartlessly cruel in its agony, but I felt then no
call to mercy. He met the game too late, falling half back upon one
knee, hoping thus to foil my purpose, yet my greater weight saved me.
There was the sharp crack of a bone, as his useless fingers let the
knife drop, a snarled curse of pain, and then, with the rage of a mad
dog, Sanchez struck his teeth deep into my cheek. The sharp pang of
pain drove me to frenzy, and for the first time I lost all control, my
one free hand seeking to reach the lost knife. With a thrill of
exultation I gripped it, driving instantly the keen blade to its hilt
into the man's side. He made no cry, no struggle--the set teeth
unlocked, and he fell limply back on the sand, his head lapped by the
waves.

I remained poised above him, spent and breathless from struggle,
scarcely conscious even as to what had occurred so swiftly, the
dripping knife in my hand, blood streaming down my cheek, and still
infuriated by blind passion. The fellow lay motionless, his face
upturned to the sky, but invisible except in dim outline. It did not
seem possible he could actually be dead; I had struck blindly, with no
knowledge as to where the keen blade had penetrated--a mere desperate
lunge. I rested my ear over his heart, detecting no murmur of
response; touched the veins of his wrist, but found there no answering
throb of life. Still dazed and uncertain, I arose staggering to my
feet, conscious at last that the man must actually be dead, yet, for
the moment, so surprised by the discovery as to scarcely realize its
significance. Not that I regretted the act, not that I experienced the
slightest remorse, yet, for an instant, the shock seemed to leave me
nerveless and unstrung. Only a moment since I was engaged in desperate
struggle, and now I could only stare down at the dark lines of that
motionless body outstretched upon the sand.