Greaves must have heard a rustling--a soft, quick pad of moccasin, for he turned with a start.
And that instant Jean's left arm darted like a striking snake round Greaves's neck and closed tight and hard.

With his right hand free, holding the knife, Jean might have ended the deadly business in just one move.

But when his bared arm felt the hot, bulging neck something terrible burst out of the depths of him.

To kill this enemy of his father's was not enough! Physical contact had unleashed the savage soul of the Indian.

Yet there was more, and as Jean gave the straining body a tremendous jerk backward, he felt the same strange thrill, the dark joy that he had known when his fist had smashed the face of Simm Bruce.