Bilkson led the way, his head tied up so he could not wear his hat. Doubtless he exaggerated the severity of his wounds, hoping to get sympathy from the crowd. But be it known this was not a sympathetic assemblage. Scott seemed the only sober man among them, and they kept still crowding near, and still the ribald jeering continued. Scott walked close behind me, and I noticed that he was the only one who carried no weapon--even Bilkson, who walked like a drum major at the head of the procession, carried on his shoulder a fencerail. “The band will now play the wedding-march,” shouted a loud mouthed buffoon. “They took their wedding tower afore the ceremony, didn’t they?” And still the awful obscenity which I dare not think of, still less write, continued. One man, no longer young but drunker than the rest, big, red whiskered and burly, reeled up by my side and endeavored to put his arm around me. “Only one kiss, my dear--just one. Now don’t be frisky,” he hiccoughed. I felt the nauseous hot whisky breath against my cheek. A suppressed scream came from my lips and I started back. Suddenly I saw the right arm of Scott shoot forward. I saw the ruffian dodge and thought Scott had struck at him and missed his mark; but quicker than the flash of thought the tall young man grew a foot taller, the head went back, the chest heaved, the lungs filled, his body seemed to sway to the left and pitch forward, the brawny left fist shot out like a thunderbolt and caught the ruffian square on the angle of the jaw. The man seemed to spring into the air, and as he fell in a heap ten feet away I saw blood gush from his eyes, nose and mouth. The first right hand move of Scott was merely a feint. As the man dodged to the left he ran square against that terrific stroke, which was not a mere hit with the clenched hand, but a stroke backed up by the entire weight of the body. In dodging the blow he had rushed to meet it. As we passed on, scarcely pausing during the incident I have described, I heard a coarse voice behind say, “He is dead! He got that awful left hander! He’s done for sure! What will his wife say to this?” Some fell back to look after the man who was hurt and others dropped off or fell behind one by one. I looked in the east and saw the great red streaks which told of the coming of the day. The stars disappeared. I heard the merry song of birds (how the birds do sing early in the morning!) and when we reached the village the sun was just peering over the far off hills. Bilkson, still with his fence rail, marched ahead. The Man and I walked hand in hand, for my woman’s nature had began to assert itself; although at first I felt strong and able to endure anything, but as we entered the village my hand went out to The Man and I felt his reassuring grasp. This was the first time my hand had touched his, and the only time he had come near me since the first night I saw him, when he passed his hand over my face as I went to sleep.