The soaked powder missed fire, and Kenton uttered a savage growl as he flung the heavy rifle with all his force at his opponent, who was just raising his own weapon to fire back.
The ranger’s rifle hit the other as it went off, with such violence, that the man in the water staggered, slipped in the current, and fell back splashing and going under.
“Now we’re even, durn your painted hide!” yelled the irate Kenton, as he made one tremendous bound off the high bank into the water, drawing his knife as he leaped.
In another moment two strong men were grappling in water nearly up to their armpits, each having a knife in his right hand, and grasping his antagonist’s wrist with his left.
They tripped and stumbled, wrestled and struggled in grim silence, both being equally matched in strength and agility, and fighting with the deadliest ferocity. Twice they went under water, and stumbled up without relaxing their gripe, and still neither had gained the least advantage.
At last, almost at the same moment, Kenton and his foe wrenched away from each other to regain breath, and stood panting and glaring at each other for several seconds at about six feet apart.
The Kentuckian was the first to speak.
“You’re a tough cuss, stranger, I don’t deny it; but you and me’s got to settle this hyar business afore we go home, and by the holy poker, you kurn’t sculp that gal, ef you’re Blackfish hisself. So now.”
The stranger had been entirely silent so far in the struggle. As Kenton finished, he put out one hand and said: