As he turned again to meet Ivanitch he had a vision of Tanya with arm upraised and heard her clear voice above the tumult.
"Picard! Issad! Stop! I command you!" And then, "Kirylo! Monsieur Rowlan'! It is madness."
Madness it was, but none of Phil Rowland's choosing. They had fought to a point just below the mound of earth on which he had first seen Tanya by the tree and it was at the foot of the steps that Ivanitch again rushed at him. Rowland's blow staggered him but he came on furiously, and as the arm of the Russian went high over his head, the American caught the glint of sunlight on a weapon and threw up his arm, catching the force of the blow upon his elbow. But he felt a stinging pain in his shoulder and clutched the man's arm as he raised it to strike again. Up the slope of the mound they struggled, breathlessly intent, the one to murder, the other to save himself. Rowland fought coolly now, grimly, smiling as a soldier of the Legion must, aware that only as long as the threatening right arm of the Russian was pinioned was he safe from the treacherous knife. But it was right arm against left and too close to strike. Rowland avoided the stone bench toward which the Russian had forced him, and twisting suddenly freed his right arm and struck the Russian a fearful blow in the body. He felt the arm of Ivanitch relax and in a second had torn the weapon from his clasp and sent it flying into the bushes. Ivanitch came at him again--and again Rowland struck--each time with greater precision. Ivanitch rushed him against the tree, a branch of which was torn off in Rowland's hand.
The American caught the glint of sunlight on a weapon.
He heard a cry behind him and a whimper as of an animal in pain from Ivanitch. "The Bough!" he cried. "The Bough!" But as he came on again, Rowland stepped aside and hit him as he passed. The Russian staggered sideways, his head striking the stone bench, rolled down the slope of the mound and lay still.
The American slowly straightened and glanced around him. A sudden silence had fallen. At the foot of the steps stood Tanya Korasov, a revolver in her hand and beside her the scarecrow in black, and the two others, inert, horrified. Rowland breathing hard from his exertions stared stupidly at the misshapen bundle of clothing at the foot of the slope and then down at the branch of the tree which he still held in his hand.
"The Bough!" the shock-headed man muttered in an awed whisper, "the Golden Bough!"
Rowland raised the branch of the tree, looked at it curiously and then dropped it to the ground.
"You saw?----" he gasped to the motionless group below. "You saw? He attacked me. It was self-defense. It was not my fault."