Like a frightened rabbit, the mad roar at his heels, the young
man tore up the track to an open space on the hillside, up which
he clawed and disappeared among the trees. Behind him toiled a
hundred vengeful runners.

"It's too bad he's missing the rest of it," Billy said. "Look at
'em goin' to it."

Bert was beside himself. He leaped up and down and cried
continuously.

"Look at 'em! Look at 'em! Look at 'em!"

The Oakland faction was outraged. Twice had its favorite runner
been jobbed out of the race. This last was only another vile
trick of the Frisco faction. So Oakland doubled its brawny fists
and swung into San Francisco for blood. And San Francisco,
consciously innocent, was no less willing to join issues. To be
charged with such a crime was no less monstrous than the crime
itself. Besides, for too many tedious hours had the Irish
heroically suppressed themselves. Five thousands of them exploded
into joyous battle. The women joined with them. The whole
amphitheater was filled with the conflict. There were rallies,
retreats, charges, and counter-charges. Weaker groups were forced
fighting up the hillsides. Other groups, bested, fled among the
trees to carry on guerrilla warfare, emerging in sudden dashes to
overwhelm isolated enemies. Half a dozen special policemen, hired
by the Weasel Park management, received an impartial trouncing
from both sides.