MacCracken swept away the first three men with swinging cuffs. He was
thinking of his reputation at home. The taunt pricked him.
"Call 'em off--call 'em off, sir," pleaded Davis. "I've been trying to
get these men out of your yard. I don't approve of Niles. Let's have our
politics clean, Mr. Thornton. I'm willing to argue with you. But don't
let's have it said outside that Fort Canibas' politics is run by
plug-uglies."
"He's right, Thelismer; you're letting them score a point on you,"
protested Presson.
But Thornton had been too grievously wounded that day to be able to
listen to peace measures. He strode down off the porch, shouting
commands. His men were willing, and MacCracken's defiance gave them the
provocation they wanted.
"If it's fight you're looking for, you spike-horn stag," announced the
boss, bursting through the press to reach the Jo Quacca champion, "we
can open a full assortment, and no trouble to show goods."
He knocked MacCracken flat, reaching over the heads of the smaller men,
and the next moment the Canadians swarmed on the fallen gladiator like
flies, lifted him and tossed him into the road.
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