The wolf-skin cap did not put up a fight or try to meet the wrath he
had invoked, but, with his hands shielding his face, strove to retreat.
The crowd called upon him to stand up and fight. He nerved himself to
the attempt, but weakened as the man closed in on him, and dodged away.
"Let him alone. He deserves it," the colonel called to Vance as he
showed signs of interfering. "He won't fight. If he did, I think I
could almost forgive him."
"But I can't see him pummelled," Vance objected. "If he would only
stand up, it wouldn't seem so brutal."
The blood was streaming from his nose and from a slight cut over one
eye, when Corliss sprang between. He attempted to hold the two men
apart, but pressing too hard against the truculent individual,
overbalanced him and threw him to the floor. Every man has friends in
a bar-room fight, and before Vance knew what was taking place he was
staggered by a blow from a chum of the man he had downed. Del Bishop,
who had edged in, let drive promptly at the man who had attacked his
employer, and the fight became general. The crowd took sides on the
moment and went at it.
Colonel Trethaway forgot that the heats of life had passed, and
swinging a three-legged stool, danced nimbly into the fray. A couple
of mounted police, on liberty, joined him, and with half a dozen others
safeguarded the man with the wolf-skin cap.
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