But there was the abrupt end of that passage. Smitten cruelly between
the eyes, the fellow grunted thickly and went over backwards like a
bundle of rags, head and shoulders jutting out over the brink of the
precipice so far that, though his body checked perceptibly as it struck
the ground, his own weight carried him on, he shot out into space and
vanished as though some unseen hand had lifted up from these dark
depths and plucked him down to annihilation.

The young girl shrieked again, the woman gave a gasp of horror,
Duchemin himself knew a sickish qualm. But he had no time to spare for
that: it was going ill with the man contending against two. The
adventurer's stick might have been bewitched that night, so magical was
its work; a single blow on the nearest head (but believe it was
selected with care!) and instantaneously that knot of contention was
resolved into its three several parts.

The smitten clapped hands to his hurt, moaning. His brother scoundrel
started back with staring eyes in which rage gave place to dismay as he
grasped the change in the situation and saw the stick swinging for his
head in turn. He ducked neatly; the stick whistled through thin air;
and before Duchemin could recover the other had turned and was running
for dear life.

Duchemin delayed a bare instant; but manifestly his assistance was no
more needed here. In a breath he who had been so recently outmatched
recollected his wits and took the initiative with admirable address.
Duchemin saw him fly furiously at his late opponent, trip and lay him
on his back; then turned and gave chase to the fugitive.

This was the masquerader in the American uniform; and an amazingly