The conductor paid no apparent attention to the breaking of the glass.
"If you haven't any ticket, you'll have to get off," said he.
The big man straightened up.
"You go to hell!" he snorted, and with the sole of his spiked boot delivered a mighty kick at the conductor's thigh.
The official, agile as a wild cat, leaped back, then forward, and knocked the man half the length of the car.

You see, he was used to it.
Before Jack could regain his feet the official stood over him.
The three men in the corner had also risen, and were staggering down the aisle intent on battle.

The conductor took in the chances with professional rapidity.
"Get at 'em, Jimmy," said he.
And as the big man finally swayed to his feet, he was seized by the collar and trousers in the grip known to "bouncers" everywhere, hustled to the door, which someone obligingly opened, and hurled from the moving train into the snow.

The conductor did not care a straw whether the obstreperous Jack lit on his head or his feet, hit a snowbank or a pile of ties.

Those were rough days, and the preservation of authority demanded harsh measures.
Jimmy had got at 'em in a method of his own.