The combatants said nothing. The faces of both of them were bruised, and
the blood was flowing. Gabriel was clearly flagging; and Abel's face was
furious as he struck his heavy blows, under which the smaller boy
staggered, but did not yet succumb.

"Oh, please! please!" cried Little Malacca, imploringly, the tears
streaming down his face.

At that moment Abel Newt drew back, aimed a tremendous blow at Gabriel,
and delivered it with fearful force upon his head. The smaller boy
staggered, reeled, threw up his arms, and fell heavily forward into
the road, senseless.

"You've killed him! You've killed him!" sobbed Little Malacca, piteously,
kneeling down and bending over Gabriel.

Abel Newt stood bareheaded, frowning under his heavy hair, his hands
clenched, his face bruised and bleeding, his mouth sternly set as he
looked down upon his opponent. Suddenly he heard a sound close by
him--a half-smothered cry. He looked up. It was the Burt carriage, and
Hope Wayne was gazing in terror from the window.




CHAPTER VIII.

AFTER THE BATTLE.