They were both Americans. On their way over the great Southern Cardilleros they had a falling out, and a battle to the death was the result.
One was tall and supple, with powerful limbs and deep chest. The other was thin and slender, and rather sickly-looking, yet he fought with consummate skill and absolute fearlessness.
“Confound you, Royal Harding! You shall never live to reap the benefit of our discovery of the treasure cave of the Incas. It is mine—all mine—and I shall return to New York and claim the heart and hand of beautiful Mabel Dane—not you.”
“Never, Lester Vane! Your plans shall never win success. A great and just God will never permit it.”
“Worm! I can crush you as I would a reed!”
“I shall fight to the last.”
“Over the precipice with you!”
Fiercely they fought. The larger man, who was the first speaker, made a tremendous effort, and suddenly lifted the other like a feather.
One moment he hovered in mid-air, and then over the precipice he went.
A wild, awful cry of anguish and despair went up from the slight man. Down over the edge he went.