Jack had canted his head a little to one side. "Did you ever see a
horse that was gentle and yet had never been ridden, or his spirit
broke, Pierre--"
Here Pierre made his leap swift as some bobcat of the northern woods;
his hand whipped out as lightning fast as the striking paw of the
lynx, and the gun was jerked from the hands of Jack. Not before the
boy clutched at it with a cry of horror, but the force of the pull
sent him lurching to the floor and broke his grip.
He was up in an instant, however, and a knife of ugly length glittered
in his hand as he sprang at Pierre.
Pierre tossed aside the rifle and met the attack barehanded. He caught
the knife-bearing hand at the wrist and under his grip the hand
loosened its hold and the steel tinkled on the floor. His other arm
caught the body of Jack in a mighty vise.
There was a brief and futile struggle, and a hissing of breath in the
silence till the hat tumbled from the head of Jack and down over the
shoulders streamed a torrent of silken black hair.
Pierre stepped back.
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