Startled as he was by the sudden appearance of the man, and hardly
recovered from his hard fight with the messenger, Cummings was too brave
and too daring to yield so tamely. Dropping his valise, he sprang upon
the audacious stranger so suddenly that he was taken completely by
surprise. The sharp report of the revolver rang out upon the quiet
night, and the two men, Cummings uppermost, fell upon the grading of the
road. The men were very evenly matched, and the fortunes of war wavered
from one to the other. The hoarse breathing, the muttered curses, and
savage blows told that a desperate conflict was taking place. Clasped in
each other's embrace, the men lay, side by side, neither able to gain
the mastery. Far around the curve the rumbling of an approaching freight
train was heard. Nearer and nearer it came, and still the men fought on.
With a grip of iron Cummings held the stranger's throat to the rail, and
with arms of steel clasped around Cummings, his assailant pressed him to
the ground.

It was an even thing, a fair field and no favor, when the sudden flash
of the headlight of the approaching engine, as it shot around the curve,
caused both men to lose their hold and spring from the track. The
strong, clear light flooded both with its brilliancy, and in that
instant mutual recognition took place.

"Wittrock!"

"Moriarity!"

The train swept by, and the darkness again settled around the late
combatants.

Cummings was the first to speak.