The three fought like fiends, standing back to back, and striking blindly at leaping bodies and clutching hands.

Out of the mist, the mad confusion of breathless combat, one face alone seemed to confront the Sergeant.
At first it was a delirium; then it became a reality.

He saw the shagginess of a buffalo coat, the gleam of a white face.

All else vanished in a fierce desire to kill.

He leaped forward, crazed with sudden hate, hurled aside the naked bodies in the path, and sent his whirling carbine stock crashing at Dupont.