“Drop that weapon, Raikes. Drop it, or I’ll put daylight through you.”
The command rang sharp and clear.
Raikes made a step forward, still retaining his rifle.
“That you, Kyle Sparwick?” he exclaimed, in a tone of genuine surprise. “This is a nice way to greet an old friend. What’s got over you? Don’t you know me any more?”
“Yes, I know you, Raikes, Bostick, Madden, Gerber, and whatever other names you have,” growled Sparwick. “Sorry I can’t be more polite, but this here is a business matter. Drop that weapon, I say. You ain’t travlin’ any farther jest now.”
At that instant Jerry and Hamp rose up from behind the log, concluding that their services might be needed. Raikes saw them, and his mind grasped the situation.
A brief look of rage and disappointment distorted his features. Then, like a flash, he lifted his rifle, and tried to shoot Sparwick.
But the latter was too quick. With his own rifle, he knocked the other’s weapon upward, and it was discharged harmlessly in the air.
With a savage oath, Raikes sprang at his antagonist. They exchanged a round of heavy blows. Sparwick’s weapon was dashed from his hand. Raikes had nothing left but the shattered stock. Both grappled, and rolled over in the snow.
Jerry and Hamp looked on with suppressed excitement and anxiety. They saw no opportunity of interfering; nor was their aid needed. Sparwick was far more powerful than his opponent. Raikes made a desperate fight, and quickly exhausted his wind and strength. Sparwick tumbled him over on his back, and sat upon him.