The rout streamed out of doors, all save the barkeepers and the
singing Bacchuses. Some fleeting thought of saving his own
dignity entered MacDonald's head, for he approached Daylight with
outstretched hand.

"What? You first?" Daylight laughed, clasping the other's hand
as if in greeting.

"No, no," the other hurriedly disclaimed. "Just congratulations
on your birthday. Of course you can put me in the snow. What
chance have I against a man that lifts nine hundred pounds?"

MacDonald weighed one hundred and eighty pounds, and Daylight had
him gripped solely by his hand; yet, by a sheer abrupt jerk, he
took the saloon-keeper off his feet and flung him face downward
in the snow. In quick succession, seizing the men nearest him,
he threw half a dozen more. Resistance was useless. They flew
helter-skelter out of his grips, landing in all manner of
attitudes, grotesquely and harmlessly, in the soft snow. It soon
became difficult, in the dim starlight, to distinguish between
those thrown and those waiting their turn, and he began feeling
their backs and shoulders, determining their status by whether or
not he found them powdered with snow.

"Baptized yet?" became his stereotyped question, as he reached
out his terrible hands.

Several score lay down in the snow in a long row, while many