The nature of the struggle was made clear by a
glance at the dead man's throat and face. While
breast and hands were white, those were purple--
almost black. The shoulders lay upon a low mound,
and the head was turned back at an angle otherwise
impossible, the expanded eyes staring blankly back-
ward in a direction opposite to that of the feet. From
the froth filling the open mouth the tongue pro-
truded, black and swollen. The throat showed hor-
rible contusions; not mere finger-marks, but bruises
and lacerations wrought by two strong hands that
must have buried themselves in the yielding flesh,
maintaining their terrible grasp until long after
death. Breast, throat, face, were wet; the clothing
was saturated; drops of water, condensed from the
fog, studded the hair and moustache.
All this the two men observed without speaking--
almost at a glance. Then Holker said:
'Poor devil! he had a rough deal.'
Jaralson was making a vigilant circumspection of
the forest, his shotgun held in both hands and at full
cock, his finger upon the trigger.
'The work of a maniac,' he said, without with-
drawing his eyes from the enclosing wood. 'It was
done by Branscom--Pardee.'
Something half hidden by the disturbed leaves on
the earth caught Holker's attention. It was a red-
leather pocket-book. He picked it up and opened it.
It contained leaves of white paper for memoranda,
and upon the first leaf was the name 'Halpin Fray-
ser.
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