forced
the fighting, Graeme guarding easily and tapping him aggravatingly about
the nose and eyes, drawing blood, but not disabling him. Gradually there
came a look of fear into Slavin's eyes, and the beads stood upon his
face. He had met his master.

'Now, Slavin, you're beginning to be sorry; and now I am going to show
you what you are made of.' Graeme made one or two lightning passes,
struck Slavin one, two, three terrific blows, and laid him quite flat
and senseless. Keefe and Blaney both sprang forward, but there was a
savage kind of growl.

'Hold, there!' It was old man Nelson looking along a pistol barrel. 'You
know me, Keefe,' he said. 'You won't do any murder this time.'

Keefe turned green and yellow, and staggered back, while Slavin slowly
rose to his feet.

'Will you take some more?' said Graeme. 'You haven't got much; but mind
I have stopped playing with you. Put up your gun, Nelson. No one will
interfere now.'

Slavin hesitated, then rushed, but Graeme stepped to meet him, and
we saw Slavin's heels in the air as he fell back upon his neck and
shoulders and lay still, with his toes quivering.

'Bon!' yelled Baptiste. 'Bully boy! Dat's de bon stuff. Dat's larn him
one good lesson.' But immediately he shrieked, Gar-r-r-r-e a vous!'

He was too late, for there was a crash of breaking glass, and Graeme
fell to the floor with a long deep cut on the side of his head. Keefe
had hurled a bottle with all too sure an aim, and had fled. I thought
he was dead; but we carried him out, and in a few minutes he groaned,
opened his eyes, and sank again into insensibility.

'Where can we take him?' I cried.

'To my shack,' said Mr. Craig.

'Is there no place nearer?'

'Yes; Mrs. Mavor's. I shall run on to tell her.'

She met us at the door. I had in mind to say some words of apology, but
when I looked upon her face I forgot my words, forgot my business at her
door, and stood simply looking.

'Come in! Bring him in! Please do not wait,' she said, and her voice was
sweet and soft and firm.

We laid him in a large room at the back of the shop over which Mrs.
Mavor lived. Together we dressed the wound, her firm white fingers,
skilful as if with long training. Before the dressing was finished
I sent Craig off, for the time had come for the Magic Lantern in the
church, and I knew how critical the moment was in our fight. 'Go,' I
said; 'he is coming to, and we do not need you.'

In a few moments more Graeme revi