The second affray came very near resulting seriously, and was a consequence of the first. At about nine A.M. of the last day of the show, the defeated constable returned to the fair grounds, in company with six or seven other men, of about the same ugly appearance. McKenna was at that time attending a booth for one Whalen, who was absent. They came up exhibiting knives and other weapons, and swearing they would kill the man who had beaten their friend. The detective had been deserted by the Mollies, knew not which way to turn for support, and so determined to help himself. Rushing out of the stand, he seized a small wooden bench, which was kept for the convenience of customers, and swinging it wildly about his head, hit the first Dutchman, who fell; he struck the rest in rapid succession, and soon four were knocked over before they could use their weapons. The others fled, leaving him, for the moment, master of the situation. Then, knowing that they would still make good their threats, if he waited for their courage to muster, he ran, jumped into a passing wagon loaded with country people and was driven rapidly away. After that, whenever McKenna wanted anything in Ringtown, there were plenty who would run to his assistance. In this way he added to his reputation—or kept it up—as the wildest Irishman of the mountains, and the most unprincipled Mollie in the whole country. When he got back to Shenandoah and visited the post-office for letters, McKenna found, to his extreme satisfaction and relief, that he had a missive from the Philadelphia Agency. As he handed it to him, the clerk remarked, exhibiting a second missive enclosed in the same kind of an envelope, apparently superscribed by the same hand, but addressed to “James McParlan, Shenandoah.” “Here is a letter I hardly know what to do with; but it is not for you! It has been here several days, and is still uncalled for. Perhaps you know something about it, as I see it seems, from the hand-writing and post-mark, to have come from the party that has been writing you!” The clerk looked at the uncouth young man very critically, and, as he imagined, very suspiciously. The operative “thought of ten thousand things at once,” as he described his sensations to me afterward, but Irish wit and readiness for reply did not desert him in the emergency.