"There is nothing more terrible than when two men struggle for life or
death with their bare hands.
"Juon Tare's tremendous strength was unable to crush Fatia Negra. The
herdsman might perhaps have been a little exhausted by his swift run,
but the robber was skilful and opposed a steel-like elasticity to the
herdsman's massive weight.
"Now the one, now the other was forced down upon his knee, only to bound
instantly back again. The grass was rooted up by their stamping feet.
Tightly embraced, with straining shoulders, with their fists tearing at
each other's bodies, their faces were pressed so closely together that
the two heads seemed but one.
"Now and then they would pause for an instant to take breath and at such
times would gasp out short, fierce words.
"'Who are you?' growled Juon. 'Who are you that you can resist the arm
of Juon Tare? Who are you that Juon Tare cannot put to silence?'
"'What is it you want, you fool?' the robber gasped back. 'Has that two
hundred ducats, the price set on my head, tempted you? Is that why you
want to catch me? Let me go, and I will give you five hundred.'
"'I will not let you go. I want neither your money, nor yet the money of
the magistrates. Your destruction is all that I want. You should not
escape from these hands if you were thrice a devil.'
"'We will see.'
"And again the tussle began.
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