Driscoll, though, had had enough. "Look here Murgie," he said, "if you
keep on crawling, you'll crawl up on a mongoose one of these days, and
_those_ things have teeth."

He might have gone further into natural history, but a sudden commotion
down the street interrupted. "It's a race!" he cried. "No--Lordsake, if
they ain't fighting!"

He drew off his coat, took the pipe from his mouth, and shoved it into
his hip pocket, all with the air of a man who has smoked enough and must
be getting to work. His brown eyes quickened. It was akin to the
satisfaction a merchant feels who scents an unexpected order. He was
ready to deliver the goods instantly. His heavy boots went clattering
and his great spurs jangling, and soon he was stooping over two men
rolling in the dust. But he straightened and thrust his hands into his
pockets. He was disappointed. The unexpected order was a hoax. The
combatants were one to one, and he could not fairly enter into
competition. Then an unaccustomed method for getting into the bidding
occurred to him. He might be peacemaker. He leaned over again, to
separate them. Each long-fingered hand reached for a collar. Yet even as
he caught hold one of his prizes went limp in his grasp. He pulled out
the survivor, who proved to be a ragged Mexican with a knife. The other
was a French sailor. Driscoll shook the native angrily, whereupon the
little demon swung the knife with vicious intent. But Driscoll held him
at arm's length, and the sweeps fell short, to the amazement and rage of
his captive.

"You miserable little chocolate-hided galoot, why couldn't you wait for
me?"

But the chocolate-hided only squirmed to get away. Driscoll glanced up
the street whence the two had come. At the next corner, before a cafe,
he saw things more promising. A ranchero with a drawn revolver was
holding off a young officer in sky-blue uniform, while around them a
swarm of natives and ten or eleven sailors were circling uneasily, as if
waiting for some sign to begin hostilities. The joy of battle dilated
the trooper's nostrils.

"W'y, here I've been wasting time on a smaller edition."

So saying, he flung aside his prisoner; and in another minute he was the
centre of the main affair, and having an excellent time.

CHAPTER VI

A BRUISING OF ARMS FOR JACQUELINE

"Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,
And fetteled him to shoote."
--_Robin Hood._

Into the crowd before t