roughly from the heap.

"Hello! What's this? Why, God bless my soul! The man is dying!"

From a wound in the neck the blood was still spouting. Quickly the
Sergeant was on his knees beside the wounded man, his thumb pressed
hard upon the gaping wound. But still the blood continued to bubble
up and squirt from under his thumb. All around, the earthen floor
was muddy with blood.

"Run, some of you," commanded the Sergeant, "and hurry up that
Dr. Wright, Main Street, two corners down!"

Jacob Wassyl, who had come in from the room above, understood,
and sent a man off with all speed.

"Good Lord! What a pig sticking!" said the Sergeant. "There is a
barrel of blood around here. And here is another man! Here you!"
addressing Jacob, "put your thumb here and press so. It is not much
good, but we cannot do anything else just now." The Sergeant
straightened himself up. Evidently this was no ordinary "scrap."
"Let no man leave this room," he cried aloud. "Tell them," he said,
addressing Jacob, "you speak English; and two of you, you and you,
stand by the door and let no man out except as I give the word."

The two men took their places.

"Now then, let us see what else there is here. Do you know
these men?" he enquired of Jacob.

"Dis man," replied Jacob, "I not know. Him Polak man."

The men standing about began to jabber.

"What do they say?"

"Him Polak. Kravicz his name. He no bad man. He fight quick,
but not a bad man."

"Well, he won't fight much more, I am thinking," replied the Sergeant.

A second man lay on his back in a pool of blood, insensible. His
face showed ghastly beneath its horrible smear of blood and filth.

"Bring me that lantern," commanded the Sergeant.

"My God!" cried Jacob, "it is Rosenblatt!"

"Rosenblatt? Who is he?"

"De man dat live here, dis house. He run store. Lots mon'.
My God! He dead!"

"Looks like it," said the Sergeant, opening his coat. "He's got a
bad hole in him here," he continued, pointing to a wound in the
chest. "Looks deep, and he is bleeding, too."

There was a knocking at the door.

"Let him in," cried the Sergeant, "it is the doctor. Hello, Doctor!
Here is something for you all right."

The doctor, a tall, athletic young fellow with a keen, intellectual
face, pushed his way through the crowd to the corner and dropped on
his knees beside the Polak.

"Why, the man is dead!" said the doctor, putting his hand over the
Polak's heart.

Even as he spoke, a s