The Dalmatian staggered to the wall and collapsed. There was a flash
of steel and a click, and he lay handcuffed and senseless at the
Sergeant's side.

"I hate to do that," said the Sergeant apologetically, "but on this
occasion it cannot be helped. That was a good one, Doctor," he
continued, as the doctor planted his left upon an opposing Galician
chin, thereby causing a sudden subsidence of its owner. "These men
have not got used to us yet, and we will just have to be patient
with them," said the Sergeant, laying about with his baton as
opportunity offered, not in any slashing wholesale manner, but
making selection, and delivering his blows with the eye and hand of
an artist. He was handling the situation gently and with discretion.
Still the crowd kept pressing hard upon the two men at the door.

"We must put a stop to this," said the Sergeant seriously.
"Here you!" he called to Jacob above the uproar.

Jacob pushed nearer to him.

"Tell these fellows that I am not wanting to hurt any of them,
but if they do not get quiet soon, I will attack them and will
not spare them, and that if they quit their fighting, none of
them will be hurt except the guilty party."

At once Jacob sprang upon a beer keg and waving his arms wildly,
he secured a partial silence, and translated for them the Sergeant's
words.