ing
in a frenzy of fear and rage, "will you not keep quiet? Take that then."
And he laid no gentle tap with his baton across the head of his captive.

The Dalmatian staggered to the wall and collapsed. There was a flash
of steel and a click, and he lay handcuffed and senseless at the
Sergeant's side.

"I hate to do that," said the Sergeant apologetically, "but on this
occasion it cannot be helped. That was a good one, Doctor," he
continued, as the doctor planted his left upon an opposing Galician
chin, thereby causing a sudden subsidence of its owner. "These men
have not got used to us yet, and we will just have to be patient
with them," said the Sergeant, laying about with his baton as
opportunity offered, not in any slashing wholesale manner, but
making selection, and delivering his blows with the eye and hand of
an artist. He was handling the situation gently and with discretion.
Still the crowd kept pressing hard upon the two men at the door.

"We must put a stop to this," said the Sergeant seriously.
"Here you!" he called to Jacob above the uproar.

Jacob pushed nearer to him.

"Tell these fellows that I am not wanting to hurt any of them,
but if they do not get quiet soon, I will attack them and will
not spare them, and that if they quit their fighting, none of
them will be hurt except the guilty party."

At once Jacob sprang upon a beer keg and waving his arms wildly,
he secured a partial silence, and translated for them the Sergeant's
words.

"And tell them, too," said the doctor in a high, clear voice,
"there is a man dying over there that I have got to attend to
right now, and I haven't time for this foolishness."

As he spoke, he once more bored his way through the crowd to the
side of Rosenblatt, who was continuing to gasp painfully and spit
blood. The moment of danger was past. The excited crowd settled
down again into an appearance of stupid anxiety, awaiting they
knew not what.

"Now then," said the Sergeant, turning to the Dalmatian who had
recovered consciousness and was standing sullen and passive. He had
made his attempt for liberty, he had failed, and now he was ready
to accept his fate. "Ask him what is his name," said the Sergeant.

"He say his name John Jarema."

"And what has he got to say for himself?"

At this the Dalmatian began to speak with eager gesticulation.

"What is he saying?" enquired the Sergeant.

"Dis man say he no hurt no man. Dis man," pointing to the dead
Pol