there was the distinct sound of the
crack of a whip, followed by a high-pitched throaty articulation as of
an animal in pain. It sounded so helpless and piteous, that Eileen
drew herself up nervously and shuddered. She gripped at Phil's arm.

Ever suspicious where Brenchfield or any of his followers were
concerned, and quickly roused to anger at the slightest abuse shown to
any of the lower creation, Phil acted on the impulse of the moment.

"Please stay here for a second, Eil--Miss Pederstone. I am going over
to see what is doing there."

He turned, vaulted the fence, and bending low he crept cautiously over
to the barn. At the window, he rose slowly upright and peered inside.

The horror of what he saw there remained focussed on his mind ever
afterwards; and always when he turned to that picture in the album of
his memory, his gorge rose and a murderlust that could hardly be
stifled filled his entire being.

He darted to the door of the barn. It was unfastened. He flung it open
and rushed inside, throwing himself with mad fury on Brenchfield, who
had his coat off and his sleeves rolled up. He had a long whip in his
hand, poised high in the air, and was about to continue his devilish
cruelty.

The Mayor swung round and, before Phil got to him, the downward stroke
of the whip caught the latter across the head and shoulders. He
staggered for the fraction of a second, then closed with his
adversary, catching the right arm that held the whip and, turning it
smartly over his shoulder in a trick Jim Langford had taught him, had
Brenchfield groaning with the pain of the strain on his elbow. He
relaxed his fingers and the whip dropped to the strawed floor.

Phil released his hold, whirled round and shot his right fist full in
the face of his opponent. His left hand followed, sending Brenchfield
backward. Recovering quickly, the Mayor came back at Phil, cursing
roundly. But strong and heavy as he was, he was no match now for the
sturdy, young blacksmith before him. And it was not very many minutes
before he knew it.

They fought around the stable like wild cats. Time and again
Brenchfield got in on Phil, but for every time he did Phil got in on
him half a dozen. The heavier man's breath began to give out. His face
was cut and bleeding and his vision was becoming more and more faulty
as time went on.

"Skookum!" he cried furiously. "What the hell's the matter with you?
Brain this fool with the lantern, can't you?"