It cost him a painful effort, but his arm shot out, landing a back-hand blow on the black's mouth.
"What name you, Angara ?" he shouted.

"What for talk 'long you, eh?
I knock seven bells out of you, too much, quick!" With the automatic swiftness of a wild animal the black gathered himself to spring.

The anger of a wild animal was in his eyes; but he saw the white man's hand dropping to the pistol in his belt.

The spring was never made.

The tensed body relaxed, and the black, stooping over the corpse, helped carry it out.