I had no thought of glancing about; I can scarcely conceive even now that I did, yet my eyes must have wandered an instant, for Nichols had the wrist of my pistol hand in his grip, and jerked me half off my feet. Even as I staggered, I struck out with my left, landing fairly on his face, and he went back over the chair, crushing it beneath him. But as he fell he dragged the revolver from my fingers, and sent it spinning across the floor. The next instant we clinched, our bodies pressed half way into the fireplace. There was a moment of fierce, breathless struggle, during which we rolled out against the table, our limbs interlocked, our hands gripping for advantage. The girl never screamed or emitted a sound. Some dim consciousness told me she was held prisoner between the table and wall, the revolver on the floor beyond her reach. I had no time to think, to do aught but fight desperately. He had my throat in a grip like iron, and my fingers were twined in his hair. But my left arm was free, and I drove my fist again and again into his face in short jabs that brought blood. The fellow possessed no skill, but the wiry strength of a tiger. I found his eyes with my fist, and dazed, his hands released their grip, and I broke loose, my throat livid from his finger marks. The flap of a gray skirt touched my face, and a blow fell—the man went limp un-
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