Carew was still a score of paces distant from the cave mouth. But so startled was he by the sudden appearance of the charging, hostile figure, that Martin had covered half the intervening distance ere Wild Bob's sagging mouth closed. But by then Carew had recognized the oncomer, and realized his danger. He took snap aim with his weapon, and fired point blank at Martin.
The bullet seared Martin's cheek. Behind him, Little Billy, just emerging from the cave in Martin's wake, stopped short in his tracks, clutched at his poor, disfigured breast, and sank slowly to the ground.
Before Carew could shoot again, Ruth reached up her hands and clawed his face. Screaming a curse, Carew threw her from him and staggered back a step.
But Martin was closed with him now. He had Carew's wrist, wrenching it, and the weapon dropped to the sand. He had Carew's throat in his clutch. He was pressing, pressing, forcing the man back.
It was the very fury of his headlong, unreasoned assault that gave Martin initial victory. He was not as large as Carew, nor as strong. But at the moment he had the strength of three men in his body. He was berserk. He had no craft in his fighting; only blind rage and the strength it gave him. His hands were at the throat of the most hateful thing in the world—the man who had harmed loved ones, the man who tried to steal his woman.
Carew's fists battered at Martin's unguarded face. Martin did not even feel these blows. He squeezed and squeezed that cursed neck. Carew gave ground. He bent backwards. His glaring eyes were popping; his mouth was open. He was down.
And then something happened to Martin. He was conscious of pain, of sudden, paralyzing pain that pervaded his whole body. The strength left his fingers; he felt his entire body giving way, slumping weakly.
Now he was on his back, and fingers were at his throat. Carew's face loomed above him, red, contorted, the lips curled into a fiendish snarl, an insane murderous light in his eyes. Martin was choking; a tremendous weight was on his chest. In Carew's hand was a knife descending. Above the ringing in his ears, Martin heard Carew's voice saying, "You shall not have her!"
A sudden roar filled his ears. The weight on his chest jerked suddenly; the knife fell from the up-raised hand, the fingers loosened on his throat. He saw Carew's eyes blinking rapidly, and an expression of stupid surprise succeeded the triumphant ferocity in the man's face. And then Carew rolled off him altogether, and lay quiet on the ground by his side.
Dazed, Martin raised himself on his elbow. He saw the skirt, and then the smoking revolver clutched in the little hand, and, his eyes leaping upwards, Ruth's frightened face and wide open, horrified eyes. The pain still gripped him, but he tried to get up, and he held out his arms to her.