pery with short, dry grass. Bert was redoubtable.
"That for you, old girl--my compliments," was his cry, as he shoved the
woman over the edge on to the treacherous slope. Three more men were
emerging from the brush.

In the meantime, Billy had put Saxon in behind the protection of the
picnic table. Mary, who was hysterical, had evinced a desire to cling to
him, and he had sent her sliding across the top of the table to Saxon.

"Come on, you flannel-mouths!" Bert yelled at the newcomers, himself
swept away by passion, his black eyes flashing wildly, his dark face
inflamed by the too-ready blood. "Come on, you cheap skates! Talk about
Gettysburg. We'll show you all the Americans ain't dead yet!"

"Shut your trap--we don't want a scrap with the girls here," Billy
growled harshly, holding his position in front of the table. He turned
to the three rescuers, who were bewildered by the lack of anything
visible to rescue. "Go on, sports. We don't want a row. You're in wrong.
They ain't nothin' doin' in the fight line. We don't wanta fight--d'ye
get me?"

They still hesitated, and Billy might have succeeded in avoiding trouble
had not the man who had gone down the bank chosen that unfortunate
moment to reappear, crawling groggily on hands and knees and showing a
bleeding face. Again Bert reached him and sent him downslope, and the
other three, with wild yells, sprang in on Billy, who punched, shifted
position, ducked and punched, and shifted again ere he struck the third
time. His blows were clean end hard, scientifically delivered, with the
weight of his body behind.

Saxon, looking on, saw his eyes and learned more about him. She was
frightened, but clear-seeing, and she was startled by the disappearance
of all depth of light and shadow in his eyes. They showed surface
only--a hard, bright surface, almost glazed, devoid of all expression
save deadly seriousness. Bert's eyes showed madness. The eyes of the
Irishmen were angry and serious, and yet not all serious. There was a
wayward gleam in them, as if they enjoyed the fracas. But in Billy's
eyes was no enjoyment. It was as if he had certain work to do and had
doggedly settled down to do it.

Scarcely more expression did she note in the face, though there was
nothing in common between it and the one she had seen all day. The
boyishness had vanished. This face was mature in a terrifying, ageless
way. There was no anger in it, nor was it even pitiless. It seemed to
have g