That was the commencement of a very grim struggle.  The stranger was wiry and vigorous, but the terrible hard fingers clung to his throat, and a leg was wound about him, while as he panted and smote he felt something was ripping his clothing.  Instinctively he jammed the hand that held it down, rolled over on his antagonist, and then shook himself almost free again half-choked, as something that stung it sank into his shoulder.  Next moment he smote fiercely at a dim white face, knowing that a bone had turned the blade, but that the result would have been different had it entered a few inches lower.

His fist came down smashing, but the terrible fingers were clinging still, and the man’s face was purple when they rolled together out of the briars and into the widening strip of radiance where the moon shone down.  Alton’s hand was free now, and with arm bent between his enemy and the ground he thrust upwards with the last of his strength.  There was a crash, the man writhed backwards, the rancher’s fingers slipped from their grasp, and a figure that rose partly upright reeled into the fern, while Alton felt the barrel of a rifle under him.  He rolled on his side, and clawed for it, almost sightless, with one hand, and laughed harshly as he raised himself a trifle.  There was a flash and a concussion, the trigger-guard sank into his nerveless finger, and a smashing amidst the undergrowth was followed by footsteps that were presently lost in the roar of the river.

Alton drew one knee under him, and listened until the sound grew altogether bewildering and the dim trunks reeled about him.  Then he lurched over and lay where he fell, sensible only that it was bitterly cold.  It was still night when he awakened from sleep or stupor, but the moon shone down and he saw that there was white frost on the fern.  His hands were also stiffened, and there was a horrible ache in every limb, while he groaned as the cold struck through him.  Twice he essayed to raise himself and fell back again, but at last by an effort crawled towards a tree and leaned his back against it while he stretched out one numbed and useless limb into the silver light.  The long boots were curiously smeared, the overalls above them stiffened and crusted, while following the movement he made there was a swift spreading of the stain.

Alton shivered and set his lips as he groped for his handkerchief, then groaning the while dragged at it until it was knotted above his knee.  After that he laid his finger on the overalls and saw that the stain spread past it more slowly.  Then he felt for the matches in one pocket, and finding them, turned over cautiously and dragged himself towards a fallen fir.  He knew where to find the resin, and tore at the smaller branches fiercely, flung them together, and striking a match, watched the flame that spread from splinter to splinter and crawled amidst the twigs.  At last it sprang aloft in a great crackling blaze, and Alton swayed unevenly and fell over on his side again.  After that he remembered nothing until he saw that the sun was in the sky, and dragged himself to the thicket for an armful of frosted fern.  When he had piled it on the fire a gauzy blue column that rose straight between the firs replaced the flame, and the man who watched it vacantly for a while dragged himself back groaning for another armful of the fern.