"I must kill you!" he yelled. "I am the one chosen to do it! Your time has come!"
The torch fell to the floor and lay there, spluttering and flaring. By this dim and flickering light a fearful struggle took place.
Ridgeway had obtained a powerful clasp on Del Norte's throat, and the Mexican could not hurl him off. They staggered against the wall, which seemed to fling them off. They swayed from side to side, once staggering over the spot where the torch lay.
Then the Mexican succeeded at last in drawing something from his bosom. It flashed brightly in the dim torchlight as he struck with it. There was the impact of a muffled blow, and Ridgeway gave a great start, seeming to grow suddenly straight and tall.
Again the Mexican struck, but now, instead of growing straighter, the other man seemed suddenly to collapse. His breath escaped from his lips in a husky groan, and he dropped in a sprawling heap on the ground at Del Norte's feet.
The man who remained erect backed off a little, staring at the other.
"I had to do it!" whispered Del Norte. "The fool drove me to it! He was mad! He had me by the throat, and he would have killed me! I had to do it!"
Over and over he kept repeating those words:
"I had to do it!"
He felt himself shaking from his head to his feet. On his forehead were great, cold beads of perspiration. His heart seemed choking him.