hairs
were whirled into corners as by magic, and the two were in a ring
formed by a wall of swaying bodies and eager faces, for more than a
few of them had witnessed the previous encounter between the pair and
had been wondering just when the return match would take place.

Phil waited with bated breath for the bull-like rush which he
expected, while Langford's voice could be heard high over the hubbub,
shouting in the Doric to which he had risen in his excitement:--

"Mair room! Gi'e them mair room. Widen oot, can ye no!--widen oot!"

But instead of the rush for grips that Phil anticipated, he found
himself faced by a man, strong as a lion, with arms out in the true
pugilistic attitude. He guessed it for a ruse and a bit of play-acting,
and sprang in. He struck three times for separate parts of the
cowpuncher's body, but each time he struck he encountered a guarding
arm or fist. This more than surprised him, for it was well known that
McGregor's strong and only point was his brute force.

In order to give himself time to think the matter out, Phil sprang
away again.

McGregor's face was sphinx-like in its inscrutable cynicism.

They circled, facing each other like sparring gamecocks of a giant
variety.

Phil, determined on having another try, jumped in on his huge
opponent.

He struck, once--twice. He was about to strike again, when he
staggered back as if he had been hit by a sledge hammer fair on the
chin. The saloon swung head over heels in a whirligig movement. Phil's
arms became heavy as lead and dropped to his side. His legs sagged
under him.

In a state of drugging collapse, he felt himself seized and crushed as
into a pulp; a not unpleasant sensation of swinging, a hurtling
through the air and splintering,--then, well,--that was all.

When he came to, he was being carried up the stairs to his bedroom, to
the accompaniment of Mrs. Clunie's repeated regrets, in broad Scotch,
that it was a pity "weel bred young chiels couldna agree to disagree
in a decent manner, wise-like and circumspectly, withoot fechtin' like
a wheen drucken colliers."

This did not prevent that good lady from washing and binding Phil's
numerous but not very deadly cuts and bruises.

It was two days before he was able to be out of bed, and during these
two days he heard a number of stories, through Mrs. Clunie, of what
had happened at the Kenora Hotel after his hurried exit through the
window. These stories he refused to believ