s,
"Wullie, Wullie, let me to ye! let yer man ease ye!" and then, with
a scream and a murderous glance, "By ----, Kirby, I'll deal wi' you
later!"

The uproar was like hell let loose. You could hear the noise of oaths
and blows, as the men fought for the door, a half-mile away. And above
it the horrid bellowing and the screaming of that shrill voice.

Long Kirby was the first man out of that murder-hole; and after him
the others toppled one by one--men and dogs jostling one another in
the frenzy of their fear. Big Bell, Londesley, Tupper, Hoppin, Teddy
Bolstock, white-faced and trembling; and old Saunderson they pulled out
by his heels. Then the door was shut with a clang, and the little man
and mad dog were left alone.

In the street was already a big-eyed crowd, attracted by the uproar;
while at the door was James Moore, seeking entrance. "Happen I could
lend the little mon a hand," said he; but they withheld him forcibly.

Inside was pandemonium: bangings like the doors of hell; the bellowing
of that great voice; the patter of little feet; the slithering of a
body on the floor; and always that shrill, beseeching prayer, "Wullie,
Wullie, let me to ye!" and, in a scream, "By ----, Kirby, I'll be wi' ye
soon!"

Jim Mason it was who turned, at length, to the smith and whispered,
"Kirby, lad, yo'd best skip it."

The big man obeyed and ran. The stamp-stamp of his feet on the hard road
rang above the turmoil. As the long legs vanished round the corner and
the sound of the fugitive died away, a panic seized the listening crowd.

A woman shrieked; a girl fainted; and in two minutes the street was as
naked of men as the steppes of Russia in winter: here a white face at a
window; there a door ajar; and peering round a far corner a frightened
boy. One man only scorned to run. Alone, James Moore stalked down the
centre of the road, slow and calm, Owd Bob trotting at his heels.

It was a long half-hour before the door of the inn burst open, and
M'Adam came out with a run, flinging the door behind him.

He rushed into the middle of the road; his sleeves were rolled at
the wrist like a surgeon's; and in his right hand was a black-handled
jack-knife.

"Noo, by ----!" he cried in a terrible voice, "where is he?"

He looked up and down the road, darting his fiery glances everywhere;
and his face was whiter than his hair.

Then he turned and hunted madly down the whole length of the High,
nosing like a weasel in every cr