His voice was very simple. "I never felt as I do since the day the
coast-guardsmin dropped on me in Ireland far away, an' I drew blood an
every wan o' them--fine beautiful b'ys they looked--stretchen' out on the
ground wan by wan. D'ye know the double-an'-twist?" he suddenly added,
"for it's a honey trick whin they gather in an you, an' you can't be
layin' out wid yer fists. It plays the divil wid the spines av thim. Will
ye have a drop av drink--cold water, man--near, an' a sponge betune
whiles? For there's manny in the play--makin' up for lost time. Come on,"
he added to the two settlers, who stood not far away, "for ye began the
trouble, an' we'll settle accordin' to a, b, c."

Wiley and Hatchett were there. Responding to his call, they stepped
forward, though they had now little relish for the matter. They were
pale, but they stripped their coats and waistcoats, and Wiley stepped
bravely in front of Macavoy. The giant looked down on him, arms folded.
"I said two of you," he crooned, as if speaking to a woman. Hatchett
stepped forward also. An instant after the settlers were lying on the
ground at different angles, bruised and dismayed, and little likely to
carry on the war. Macavoy took a pail of water from the ground, drank
from it lightly, and waited. None other of his opponents stirred.
"There's three Injins," he said, "three rid divils, that wants showin'
the way to their happy huntin' grounds. . . . Sure, y'are comin', ain't
you, me darlins?" he added coaxingly, and he stretched himself, as if to
make ready.

Bareback, the chief, now harangued the three Indians, and they stepped
forth warily. They had determined on strategic wrestling, and not on the
instant activity of fists. But their wiliness was useless, for Macavoy's
double-and-twist came near to lessening the Indian population of Fort
O'Angel. It only broke a leg and an arm, however. The Irishman came out