About them, on every hand, the silent, mighty hills
watched--the wild and lonely wilderness waited.
As they drew closer together, they moved, as wrestlers,
warily--crouching, silent, alert. Stripped to their shirts and trousers,
they were both splendid physical types. James Rutlidge was the heavier,
but Aaron King made up for his lack in weight by a more clean-cut,
muscular firmness.
They grappled. As two primitive men in a savage age might have met, bare
handed, they came together. Locked in each other's arms, their limbs
entwined, with set faces, tugging muscles, straining sinews, and taut
nerves they struggled. One moment they crushed against the rocky wall of
the cliff--the next, and they swayed toward the edge of the ledge and hung
over the dizzy precipice. With pounding hearts, laboring breath, and
clenched teeth they wrestled.
James Rutlidge's foot slipped on the rocky floor; but, with a desperate
effort, he regained his momentary loss. Aaron King--worn by his days of
anxiety, by his sleepless nights and by the long hours of toil over the
mountains, without sufficient food or rest--felt his strength going.
Slowly, the weight and endurance of the heavier man told against him.
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