fight had begun.

Lord Redcar, I believe, had jumped down from his car and felled
Mitchell, and men were already running out to his assistance from
the colliery gates.

I had some difficulty in shoving through the crowd; I can still
remember very vividly being jammed at one time between two big men
so that my arms were pinned to my sides, but all the other details
are gone out of my mind until I found myself almost violently
projected forward into the "scrap."

I blundered against the corner of the motor-car, and came round it
face to face with young Verrall, who was descending from the back
compartment. His face was touched with orange from the automobile's
big lamps, which conflicted with the shadows of the comet light,
and distorted him oddly. That effect lasted but an instant, but it
put me out. Then he came a step forward, and the ruddy lights and
queerness vanished.

I don't think he recognized me, but he perceived immediately I
meant attacking. He struck out at once at me a haphazard blow, and
touched me on the cheek.

Instinctively I let go of the pistol, snatched my right hand out
of my pocket and brought it up in a belated parry, and then let
out with my left full in his chest.

It sent him staggering, and as he went back I saw recognition mingle
with astonishment in his face.

"You know me, you swine," I cried and hit again.

Then I was spinning sideways, half-stunned, with a huge lump of a
fist under my jaw. I had an impression of Lord Redcar as a great
furry bulk, towering like some Homeric hero above the fray. I went
down before him--it made him seem to rush up--and he ignored me
further. His big flat voice counseled young Verrall--

"Cut, Teddy! It won't do. The picketa's got i'on bahs. . . ."

Feet swayed about me, and some hobnailed miner kicked my ankle and
went stumbling. There were shouts and curses, and then everything
had swept past me. I rolled over on my face and beheld the chauffeur,
young Verrall, and Lord Redcar--the latter holding up his long
skirts of fur, and making a grotesque figure--one behind the other,
in full bolt across a coldly comet-lit interval, towards the open
gates of the colliery.

I raised myself up on my hands.

Young Verrall!

I had not even drawn my revolver--I had forgotten it. I was covered
with coaly mud--knees, elbows, shoulders, back. I had not
even drawn my revolver! . . .

A feeling of ridiculous impotence overwhelmed me. I struggled
painfully