by an equally unexpected pile-driver jolt from McGinnis.

"Ye big murdhering spalpeen," burst out the angry Irishman, "ye think
it's a fine thing to try and shtop a man that's trying to do his duty,
and think yerself a fightin' man, bekass ye can lick a man that doesn't
want to fight. This isn't any Forest Service scrap, mind ye, and I'm
saying nothing about logs. I'm talking about your hittin' a weak,
half-crazed boy. Ye're a liar and a coward, Peavey Jo, and a dirty one
at that."

"Keep quiet, McGinnis," said Merritt, who was stooping down over the
insensible lad, "we'll put him in jail for this."

"Ye will, maybe," snorted the Irishman, "afther he laves the hospital."

"You make dis your bizness, hey?" queried the mill-owner.

"I'll make it your funeral, ye sneaking half-breed Canuck! How about
it, boys," he added turning to the crowd, "do I get fair play?"

A chorus of "Sure," "'Twas a dirty trick," "The kid didn't know no
better," and similar cries showed how the sentiment of the crowd lay. In
a moment McGinnis and the Frenchman had stripped their coats and faced
each other. The mill-owner was by far the bigger man, and the play of
his shoulders showed that his fearful strength was not muscle bound, but
he stood ponderously; on the other hand, the Irishman, who, while tall,
was not nearly as heavy, only seemed to touch the ground, his step was
so light and springy.

The Frenchman rushed, swinging as he did so. A less sure fighter would
have given ground, thereby weakening the force of his return blow should
he have a chance to give it. McGinnis sidestepped and cross-jolted with
his left. It was a wicked punch, but Peavey Jo partly stopped it. As it
was, it jarred him to his heels.

"Lam a kid, will ye, ye bloated pea-jammer," grinned McGinnis, who was
beaming with delight now that the fight was really started.

"You fight, no talk," growled the other, recovering warily, for the one
interchange had showed him that the Irishman was not to be despised.

"I can sing a tune," said McGinnis, "and then lick you with one hand--"
He stopped as Peavey Jo bored in, fighting hard and straight and showing
his mettle. There was no doubt of it, the Frenchman was the stronger and
the better man. Twice McGinnis tried to dodge and duck, but Peavey Jo,
for all his size, was lithe when roused and knew every trick of the
trade, and a sigh went up when with a sweeping blow delivered on the
point of the shoulder, the Frenchman