Her eyes shone gloriously, and he laughed.
"You beautiful little fighter," he cried exultantly.

"You--you--" His words were cut short by a snap that was like the report of a pistol close to his ears.

He pitched forward and crashed to the bottom of the scow, Marette's slim body clutched in his arms as he fell.

In a flash they were up, and mutely they stared where the sweep had been.

The blade of it was gone.