back of the car,
kicking and pouring forth a rivulet of soliloquy. But the other dropped
at the interruption, turned upon Turnbull and began a battering bout
of fisticuffs. At the same moment the man crawled out of the ditch in a
masquerade of mud and rushed at his old enemy from behind. The whole
had not taken a second; and an instant after MacIan was in the midst of
them.

Turnbull had tossed away his sheathed sword, greatly preferring his
hands, except in the avowed etiquette of the duel; for he had learnt to
use his hands in the old street-battles of Bradlaugh. But to MacIan the
sword even sheathed was a more natural weapon, and he laid about him
on all sides with it as with a stick. The man who had the walking-stick
found his blows parried with promptitude; and a second after, to his
great astonishment, found his own stick fly up in the air as by a
conjuring trick, with a turn of the swordsman's wrist. Another of the
revellers picked the stick out of the ditch and ran in upon MacIan,
calling to his companion to assist him.

"I haven't got a stick," grumbled the disarmed man, and looked vaguely
about the ditch.

"Perhaps," said MacIan, politely, "you would like this one." With the
word the drunkard found his hand that had grasped the stick suddenly
twisted and empty; and the stick lay at the feet of his companion on the
other side of the road. MacIan felt a faint stir behind him; the girl
had risen to her feet and was leaning forward to stare at the fighters.
Turnbull was still engaged in countering and pommelling with the third
young man. The fourth young man was still engaged with himself, kicking
his legs in helpless rotation on the back of the car and talking with
melodious rationality.

At length Turnbull's opponent began to back before the battery of his
heavy hands, still fighting, for he was the soberest and boldest of the
four. If these are annals of military glory, it is due to him to say
that he need not have abandoned the conflict; only that as he backed
to the edge of the ditch his foot caught in a loop of grass and he
went over in a flat and comfortable position from which it took him a
considerable time to rise. By the time he had risen, Turnbull had come
to the rescue of MacIan, who was at bay but belabouring his two enemies
handsomely. The sight of the liberated reserve was to them like that
of Blucher at Waterloo; the two set off at a sullen trot down the road,
leaving even the walking-stick