“You’d better by far be reasonable, Bradley Headstone, Master,” said Riderhood, passing him, “or I’ll drain you all the dryer for it, when we do settle.—Ah! Would you!”
Bradley had caught him round the body. He seemed to be girdled with an iron ring. They were on the brink of the lock, about midway between the two sets of gates.
“Let go!” said Riderhood, “or I’ll get my knife out and slash you wherever I can cut you. Let go!”
Bradley was drawing to the lock-edge. Riderhood was drawing away from it. It was a strong grapple, and a fierce struggle, arm and leg. Bradley got him round, with his back to the Lock, and still worked him backward.
“Let go!” said Riderhood. “Stop! What are you trying at? You can’t drown Me. Ain’t I told you that the man as has come through drowning can never be drowned? I can’t be drowned.”
“I can be!” returned Bradley, in a desperate, clenched voice. “I am resolved to be. I’ll hold you living, and I’ll hold you dead. Come down!”
Riderhood went over into the smooth pit, backward, and Bradley Headstone upon him. When the two were found, lying under the ooze and scum behind one of the rotting gates, Riderhood’s hold had relaxed, probably in falling, and his eyes were staring upward. But, he was girdled still with Bradley’s iron ring, and the rivets of the iron ring held tight.