He
pulled himself out, foot by foot, until fresher air struck his nostrils,
and dragged himself nearer and nearer to the edge of the chasm. He could
not rise. His limbs were paralyzed. His knife arm dragged at his side. He
opened his eyes and found that he could see. Where they had fought was
the smoldering ruin of a great tree, and standing out of the ruin of that
tree, half naked, his hands tearing wildly at his face, was O'Grady.
Jan's fingers clutched at a small rock. He called out, but there was no
meaning to the sound he made. Clarry O'Grady threw out his great arms.
"Jan--Jan Larose--" he cried. "My God, don't strike now! I'm
blind--blind--"
He staggered back, as if expecting a blow. "Don't strike!" he almost
shrieked. "Mother of Heaven--my eyes are burned out--I'm blind--blind--"
He backed to the wall, his huge form crouched, his hands reaching out as
if to ward off the deathblow. Jan tried to move, and the effort brought a
groan of agony to his lips. A second crash filled his ears as a second
avalanche of fiery debris plunged down upon the trail farther back. He
stared straight up through the stifling smoke. Lurid tongues of flame
were leaping over the wall of the mountain where the edge of the forest
was enveloped in a sea of twisting and seething fire. It was only a
matter of minutes--perhaps seconds. Death had them both in its grip.
He looked again at O'Grady, and there was no longer the desire for the
other's life in his heart.
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