CHAPTER XVI.
A RETURN TO THE DAY Burke knew better than to attempt running; three steps in the midst of such blinding darkness would have dashed him against unyielding rock.
Instantly, his teeth gripped like those of a bulldog, he clutched at Winston's throat, trusting to his great strength for victory.
Instinctively, as one without knowing why closes the eyes to avoid injury, the engineer dodged sideways, Burke's gripping fingers missed their chosen mark, and the two men went crashing down together in desperate struggle.
His revolver knocked from his grasp in the first impetus of assault, his cheek bleeding from forcible contact with a rock edge, Winston fought in silent ferocity, one hand holding back the Irishman's searching fingers, the other firmly twisting itself into the soft collar of his antagonist's shirt.

Twice Burke struck out heavily, driving his clinched fist into the other's body, unable to reach the protected face; then Winston succeeded in getting one groping foot braced firmly against a surface of rock, and whirled the surprised miner over upon his back with a degree of violence that caused his breath to burst forth in a great sob.

A desperate struggle ensued, mad and merciless--arms gripping, bodies straining, feet rasping along the loose stones, muttered curses, the dull impact of blows.

Neither could see the other, neither could feel assured his antagonist possessed no weapon; yet both fought furiously,--Burke enraged and merciless, Winston intoxicated with the lust of fight.

Twice they reversed positions, the quickness of the one fairly offsetting the burly strength of the other, their sinews straining, the hot breath hissing between set teeth.