iron, did I?"

"No. But see here. If I'm attacked I'm not going to leave the choice
of my means of defence to the enemy. Not much. How would that pan out
for an idea in fighting old Kreli, for instance?"

"Of course," struck in Errington. "That's sound sense, and you know it
is, Jackson. You and Milne have had a bit of a scrimmage and you've got
the worst of it. It might easily have been the other way. So don't let
us have any grudge-bearing over it. Take another drink, man," pouring
out a liberal modicum of whiskey into the cup of the flask, "and shake
hands and make it up."

The man, who was not a bad fellow at bottom, gave a growl as he tossed
off the tendered potion. Then he held out his hand to Eustace.

"Well, Mister, I don't bear no grudge. If you'll jest say you're sorry
you hit me--"

"I'll say that with pleasure, Jackson," replied Eustace, as they shook
hands. "And look here, if you still feel a bit groggy on your pins,
jump on my horse and ride home. I'll walk."

"No, thanks. I'm all right now. Besides I ain't going your way. My
waggon's outspanned yonder on the flat. Good-night."

"I stand very much indebted to you, Errington, for two services
rendered," said Eustace as they rode towards the township. "And I'm not
sure that the last isn't by far the most important."

"Pooh! not at all, my dear fellow. That howling rabble wouldn't have
come within twenty yards of you."

"I don't know about that. The vagabonds were rather beginning to
realise that twenty to one meant long odds in favour of the twenty, when
you came up. But the deft way in which you smoothed down our friend
with the broken head was diplomatic to a degree. I hate rows, and the
knowledge that some fellow is going about day and night seeking an
opportunity of fastening a quarrel upon you unawares is tiresome.
Besides, I'm nothing of a boxer, and if I were should hate a shindy just
as much."

"I quite agree with you," said the other, who _was_ something of a
boxer. "To form the centre of attraction to a howling, yahooing rabble,
making an undignified exhibition of yourself bashing and being bashed by
some other fellow like a couple of butcher's boys in the gutter, is
bound to be a revolting process whichever way you look at it. Even the
law of the pistol seems to be an improvement on it."

"I think so, too. It puts men on better terms of equality. Any man may
become a dead shot and a quick drawer, but not one