'I'll deal with you in
half a minute.'

'Release her!' Done was at Quigley's throat with a grip that started
Pete's eyes from their sockets, and the elder digger abandoned his hold
on Aurora to fight for his own breath. There was a brief struggle, and
Jim sent Pete sprawling over a stool.

Quigley picked himself up. He did not rush at Done: he was apparently
composed. He undid the wrist and collar buttons of his jumper, drew the
garment over his head, and threw it on the floor at Jim's feet.

'I suppose you'll take it fighting!' he said. 'If you won't I'll thump
the soul out of you, anyhow.'

Aurora rushed between them, and endeavoured to grapple with Pete again.

'You shall not fight!' she cried. 'You coward! You brute!'

At this juncture Kyley, who had been away replenishing the rum-barrel,
entered the tent. He took in the situation at a glance.

'Look after Aurora, Ben!' ordered Mrs. Kyley, and Kyley calmly took the
struggling girl in his arms, and handed her bodily over the counter into
the washer-woman's gentle care.

Mike was promptly at his mate's back. 'Stave him off, Jim,' he said. 'Use
your straight left, and if he gets in throw him. He's a dirty
in-fighter.' Mike had boxed a good deal with Done lately, and did not
tremble for his friend.

Kyley came forward again. It was no part of his duty to prevent an
honourable settlement of a quarrel between man and man, and very far from
his inclination.

'If yer meanin' fight,' he said, it's got to be fair, square, an' in
order. First man that fouls 'll hear from me. Are you ready?'

The men had formed themselves into ranks along the sides and the end of
the tent, leaving a clear space about eighteen feet square. Jim threw
aside his shirt, and stood erect and composed. The flannel he wore was
sleeveless, and his uncommon length of arm excited the attention of the
cognoscenti, and if there was a miner on Diamond Gully who did not know
the points of a fighter, he was ashamed to admit it. Done had done most
of the windlass work since coming to the field, and his forearm was
corrugated with muscle, while the flexors responded to movements like
balls of iron starting under the brown skin. His shoulders were broad and
set well back, his poise buoyant, and his air of absolute confidence gave
a dubious tone to the words of the quidnuncs who were allowing Quigley
three minutes to whip him out of all recognition. Done looked slight and
small before his big opponent,