Carette of Sark | Page 9

among which he had
been bred crawled in his back hair and held his breath.
Then a hand dropped out of the darkness and touched his shoulder, and
he sprang at the touch like a coiled spring.
"Diable!"
It was Martel's voice and usual exclamation, and in a moment Hamon
had him by the throat and they were whirling over the floor, upsetting
the table and scattering the chairs, and George Hamon's heart was
beating like a merry drum at feel of his enemy in the flesh.
But wrestling blindly in a dark room did not satisfy him. That which
was in him craved more. He wanted to see what he was doing and the
full effects of it.
He shook himself free.
"Come outside and fight it out like a man--if you are one," he panted.
"And we'll see if you can beat a man as you can a woman."
"Allons!" growled Martel. He was in the humour to rend and tear, and
it mattered little what. For the authorities in Guernsey, after due

deliberation, had decided that what was not good enough for Sercq was
not good enough for Guernsey, and had shipped him back with scant
ceremony. He had been flung out like a sack of rubbish onto the shingle
in Havre Gosselin, half an hour before, had scaled the rough track in
the dark, with his mouth full of curses and his heart full of rage, and
George Hamon thanked God that it was not Rachel and the boy he had
found in the cottage that night.
Hamon slipped on his shoes and tied them carefully, and they passed
out and along the narrow way between the tall hedges. The full moon
was just showing red and sleepy-looking, but she would be white and
wide awake in a few minutes. The grass was thick with dew, and there
was not a sound save the growl of the surf on the rocks below.
Through a gap in the hedge Hamon led the way towards Longue
Pointe.
"Here!" he said, as they came on a level piece, and rolled up the sleeves
of his guernsey. "Put away your knife;" and Martel, with a curse at the
implication, drew it from its sheath at his back and flung it among the
bracken.
Then, without a word, they tackled one another. No gripping now, but
hard fell blows straight from the shoulder, warded when possible, or
taken in grim silence. They fought, not as men fight in battle,--for
general principles and with but dim understanding of the rights and
wrongs of the matter; but with the bitter intensity born of personal
wrongs and the desire for personal vengeance. To Hamon, Martel
represented the grievous shadow on Rachel Carré's life. To Martel,
Hamon represented Sercq and all the contumely that had been heaped
upon him there.
Their faces were set like rocks. Their teeth were clenched. They
breathed hard and quick--through their noses at first, but presently, and
of necessity, in short sharp gasps from the chest.
It was a great fight, with none to see it but the placid moon, and so
strong was her light that there seemed to be four men fighting, two

above and two below. And at times they all merged into a writhing
confusion of fierce pantings and snortings as of wild beasts, but for the
most part they fought in grim silence, broken only by the whistle of the
wind through their swollen lips, the light thud of their feet on the
trampled ground, and the grisly sound of fist on flesh. And they fought
for love of Rachel Carré, which the one had not been able to win and
the other had not been able to keep.
Martel was the bigger man, but Hamon's legs and arms had springs of
hate in them which more than counterbalanced. He was a temperate
man too, and in fine condition. He played his man with discretion, let
him exhaust himself to his heart's content, took with equanimity such
blows as he could not ward or avoid, and kept the temper of his hatred
free from extravagance till his time came.
Martel lost patience and wind. Unless he could end the matter quickly
his chance would be gone. He did his best to close and finish it, but his
opponent knew better, and avoided him warily. They had both received
punishment. Hamon took it for Rachel's sake, Martel for his sins. His
brain was becoming confused with Hamon's quick turns and shrewd
blows, and he could not see as clearly as at first. At times it seemed to
him that there were two men fighting him. He must end it while he had
the strength, and he bent to the task with desperate fury. Then, as he
was rushing