In the Brooding Wild

by Ridgwell Cullum

Nick made no audible reply. His face looked the words his lips did not frame. He was ready, and the passion in him was more than willing. Once, before he closed with his opponent, he glanced round at Aim-sa. It may have been that he sought one look of encouragement, one smile; it may have been. But the beautiful face he looked upon had no smile for either. It was dead white under its tanning, and the blue eyes were widely staring. Ralph did not take his eyes from his brother’s face, and the fierce light in them was as the gleam in the eyes of the timber-wolf prowling at night around a camp-fire in the forest.

For a moment a heavy cloud spread itself over the face of the sun, and the grey daylight of winter again covered the mountains. Instantly the forest lost its look of spring, and the air returned to the chill of the darker months. The bald break in the forest looked more cheerless than a waste ground in a city, and those who stood about to fight for life became savage images that looked something less than human. Nick, larger than his brother, was a tower of thew and muscle. As he stood there, clad in a cotton shirt and trousers belted at the waist, he was the figure of a perfect man. His shaggy head was thrown back, but his handsome face was distorted by its expression of hate. Ralph was the smaller by inches, but his muscles were as fine-tempered steel. There was even more of the wild in his expression than in that of his brother. The ferocity in his face was wolfish, and not good to look upon.

Both had bared their hunting-blades, long knives at once vicious and coldly significant.

There was no further word. The men bent low and moved circling round each other. Their attitudes were much those of wrestlers seeking an advantageous “holt.” By common consent they avoided the tree, keeping to the oozing soil of the open.

Ralph displayed the more activity. His lesser stature inclined to a quickness his brother did not possess. He sought to use art to draw the impetuosity of the other, and kept up a series of feints. But strangely enough Nick displayed a control which was surprising. He had a full appreciation of the life and death struggle. He had faced it too often with the dumb adversaries of the forest. It was Ralph who became incautious. His fury could not long be held in check, and his cunning at the start of the fight soon gave place to a wild and slashing onslaught, while Nick fought on the defensive, reading in his brother’s eyes the warning of every contemplated attack.

But Ralph’s swift movements harassed Nick; they pressed him sorely, and often drove him to extremity in his defence. For long he kept distance, knowing that while the other was wasting strength his own was being carefully husbanded.

Ten minutes passed. Still they had not come together. Ralph charged in with upraised knife; the blow was warded, and he passed on only to swing round on the instant and repeat the attack from the opposite direction. But always Nick faced him, grim, determined, and with deadly purpose. Once the latter slipped; the footing was none too secure. Instantly Ralph hurled himself upon him and his blade scored his brother’s arm, leaving a trail of blood from elbow to wrist. That one touch let loose Nick’s pent-up fury and he allowed himself to be drawn.

The two came together with a terrific impact. Nick slipped again. This time he could not save himself. His feet shot from under him and he went down backwards. In his fall he seized Ralph’s knife-arm at the wrist, and the same time aimed a slashing blow at his face. But Ralph’s agility was as furious as it was full of force. In turn he caught Nick by the wrist, and, with a great wrench, sought to dislocate his shoulder.

As well try to tear a limb from the parent oak. Ralph’s effort died out, and they lay upon the ground fighting to free their weapons. Now the life and death struggle had begun. It was a hideous battle, silent, ominous. But the horror of it lay, not in the deadly intent, the flashing steel, the grim silence. These men were brothers; brothers whose affection had stood them through years of solitary labours, trials, and privations, but which had changed to a monstrous hatred because a woman had come into their lives.

As the moments swept by, the brothers rolled and writhed, with every faculty at terrible tension. Now Ralph was uppermost; now Nick sought to drive the downward blow. Now Ralph strained to twist his knife-arm free from the iron grip that held it; now Nick slashed vainly at the air, seeking to sever the sinewy limb that threatened above his face.