through the crowd and
against Pete Ellinwood with a malice only too plain. But his effort
was attended with failure. Not only did Pete stand like a rock, but he
thrust the other violently back with his shoulder, so that he recoiled
upon those behind him, earning their loud-voiced curses.

"_Mille tonnerres!_" bellowed the Frenchman. "You insult me, _cochon
Canadien_, Canadian pig! The half of sidewalk is mine, eh? You push me
off, eh? You fight, eh?"

Code urged Ellinwood along and interceded personally, knowing that the
big man would not touch him.

But the Frenchman would not be appeased. He was just drunk enough to
become obsessed with the ugly idea that Pete had laid a trap to insult
him, and, regardless of Code, kept after the mate.

By this time, of course, a huge crowd had gathered and was following
Pete's retreat, yelling to both men to fight it out. Many of the mob
knew a few English words, and their taunts reached Ellinwood's ears.

He and Code had not retreated a block before the mate suddenly swung
around on his tormentors.

"I won't stand for that, Code. Did you hear what that big devil called
me?" he demanded.

"What do you care what he called you? Get along to the ship. What
chance have we got with these men?" Code grabbed Pete's arm and kept
him moving away. Beneath his hand he could feel the muscles as hard as
iron.

But every foot the Canadians retreated brought the big Frenchman
nearer, bawling with triumph. At an opportune moment, so close was the
press, he slipped his foot between Ellinwood's legs and gave him a
push. Pete stumbled, almost fell, and recovered himself, raging.

"Get back you!" he bawled, sending half a dozen men spinning with
sweeps of his great arms. "I'll fight this Frenchy. Just let me at
him!"

Code saw the rage in Pete's eyes and recognized that he could do
nothing more to avert the trouble. His part would have to be confined
to seeing that his man got a fair deal. He and Pete were unarmed
except for their huge clasp-knives--much better kept out of sight
under the circumstances.

The crowd fell back, and the two giants stripped off their coats and
shirts. The Frenchman danced up and down, beating his great fists
together in a fine frenzy, but Pete, half-crouched, stepped forward on
his toes, his hands hanging loose and ready at his sides.

"_Allez, donc!_" It was the starting word, and Jean leaped in. Pete
met him with a crashing right to the ribs and dodged out