“It's a lie, you common cur!” cried the other wildly, but before the words were well out of his mouth, Sheeley's mighty right arm had shot out across the table and struck him in the face. “Sheeley! For God's sake, don't you see Dillingham's drunk?” protested the other young man whom Chick recognized as his friend of the afternoon. “Drunk or no drunk, he can't call me a liar!” yelled Sheeley, and the next instant Chick, with his heart pounding madly between him and the floor, was in his element. It was a fight! A real one, in which the hero of Billy-goat Hill held his own against two opponents. The tumblers and the whisky bottles went first, the liquor dripping from the table to floor; then a chair was overturned, and a window-pane shattered to the ground below. The thin young man hadn't sense to stop; again and again he flung his insults at the infuriated Sheeley, impatiently fighting off the efforts of his companion who sought to part them. Suddenly Chick saw him step back, while the others were grappling, and fumble in his rear pocket. He saw him steady himself against the door jamb, not four feet away, and raise a pistol. There was a sharp report, a smothered groan, then a heavy fall. The man with the pistol flung it through the broken window, then staggered to the table where he sank down with his head on his arms. What had happened in the corner, Chick could not tell, but in a few minutes _his_ young man came swiftly into his line of vision, and shook the limp figure half lying on the table. “Get up, Dill! For God's sake! Are you too drunk to crank up your machine? As soon as I can get that blood stopped I must go for a doctor.” The dazed eyes of the drunken man looked at him in helpless terror! “I can't stay here!” [Illustration: There was a sharp report, a smothered groan, then a heavy fall.] “You've got to stay here! Can't you see you are in no fix to run a machine? Brace up, you idiot; we've got to _do_ something and do it quick. Go down and try to crank up. Here's the door key! I'll be there as soon as I can get the blood stopped!” The man at the table staggered to the door, passed through the hall, so close to Chick that he almost trod upon him, then went swaying down the stairs, steadying himself by wall and banister. Chick heard the side door slam, and the chug of the machine, then realized that it was turning the corner. The young man in the room rushed frantically to the window and leaned out, then he said something savage under his breath, and plunged out into the passage and headlong down the steps. Chick heard the side door bang again, and a moment later the gallop of a horse. Then everything was still, but the noisy beating of his heart that threatened to burst its confines. Through the crack he saw the table with its broken tumblers, and the whisky drip, dripping on the floor; he saw the chairs overturned, and the gas-jet flickering in the wind from the broken window.