n Francisco Bricklayers, and the picked braves, huge and heavy,
were taking their positions along the rope. They kicked heel-holds in
the soft earth, rubbed their hands with the soil from underfoot, and
laughed and joked with the crowd that surged about them.

The judges and watchers struggled vainly to keep back this crowd of
relatives and friends. The Celtic blood was up, and the Celtic faction
spirit ran high. The air was filled with cries of cheer, advice,
warning, and threat. Many elected to leave the side of their own team
and go to the side of the other team with the intention of circumventing
foul play. There were as many women as men among the jostling
supporters. The dust from the trampling, scuffling feet rose in the air,
and Mary gasped and coughed and begged Bert to take her away. But he,
the imp in him elated with the prospect of trouble, insisted on urging
in closer. Saxon clung to Billy, who slowly and methodically elbowed and
shouldered a way for her.

"No place for a girl," he grumbled, looking down at her with a masked
expression of absent-mindedness, while his elbow powerfully crushed on
the ribs of a big Irishman who gave room. "Things'll break loose when
they start pullin'. They's been too much drink, an' you know what the
Micks are for a rough house."

Saxon was very much out of place among these large-bodied men and women.
She seemed very small and childlike, delicate and fragile, a creature
from another race. Only Billy's skilled bulk and muscle saved her.
He was continually glancing from face to face of the women and always
returning to study her face, nor was she unaware of the contrast he was
making.

Some excitement occurred a score of feet away from them, and to the
sound of exclamations and blows a surge ran through the crowd. A large
man, wedged sidewise in the jam, was shoved against Saxon, crushing her
closely against Billy, who reached across to the man's shoulder with a
massive thrust that was not so slow as usual. An involuntary grunt came
from the victim, who turned his head, showing sun-reddened blond skin
and unmistakable angry Irish eyes.

"What's eatin' yeh?" he snarled.

"Get off your foot; you're standin' on it," was Billy's contemptuous
reply, emphasized by an increase of thrust.

The Irishman grunted again and made a frantic struggle to twist his body
around, but the wedging bodies on either side held him in a vise.

"I'll break yer ugly face for yeh in a minute," h