Bloody Moon
(Continued from page 16)
ibility and endurance; his overseas service had taught him some tricks of this fighting game. He beat out with his fists; he took the clenches and played for blood. Always the hands worked for his throat.
And what curious hands they were—long and murderous, with nails like razors! Once they caught in his face, and he felt the warm blood drip upon his defending arms. For a moment he fancied he had gained the ascendancy when, by a terrific blow with no better aim than blind instinct, he smashed the unseen face. The thing staggered back. But he had hardly regained his own scattered faculties before the battle was resumed, with bloody determination. He sidestepped whenever possible, retreating as opportunity offered. He had to feel his way carefully, however, for the jump-off is always a menace in cave exploration, and he was satisfied that there was a subterranean cliff leaping down to the waters of Lost River.
As he retreated, he became aware that the roar of the stream was increasing in intensity. He sloshed into some water once, by which token be knew the passage was going farther down into the earth. A sudden fear, such as takes possession of one in the darkness when he imagines that he is in the act of stepping off, compelled him to hands and knees.
He put his foot back. Less than a yard back his toe went suddenly over an edge! His instinct and knowledge of caverns had not played him false. Had he stayed on his feet and continued his retreat, he would have crashed to his doom far down into the hole through which the waters of Lost River now roared.
Had the woman paused, expecting him to go over the ledge? He remembered now. Several yards back he had sensed a branching of the passages. Cool air came from one direction; warm air from another. The cool air, it was evident, blew from the water whose roar filled his ears. The warm air doubtless came from an inlet somewhere at the surface.
The thought that had he gone the other way he might beat up to freedom sickened him. There was nothing to do now but renew the attack and gain the other passage, the mouth of which she was probably guarding. Every instant when he was fighting the creature he expected to feel a sharp thrust, and a death reaction to some poison such as had probably taken off his father and grandfather.
But he could not wait long here in inaction. Already his muscles were stiffening, and the bruises and abrasions about his body growing painful.
He swore under his breath. Old Alligator Pearson had been slain, back there in those distant days, and he had deserved his punishment. Why couldn't the curse have stopped with the real offender? That was the trouble with one of those crimes—they somehow were never expiated until about the tenth generation.
There remained nothing but to return to the battle. He got his blood going by waving his arms and flexing his muscles, and then he started cautiously forward.
He was making his way steadily along when suddenly he all but stumbled over the woman! The sound of his footfalls had been muffled by the roar of Lost River, and she had not heard his approach until he was upon her.
The battle recommenced with a fury that brooked no quarter. The rest that had chilled and stiffened him more than it had refreshed him, appeared to have been as wine to the
