Both got up, breathing hard, and Festing gasped: "Tell them you're a liar.

It's the last chance you'll get!" Wilkinson did not answer, but struck him before he could guard, and the fight went on again amidst a cloud of dust that rose from the dirty boards.

Then it ended suddenly, for Festing got his left arm free as he forced his antagonist towards the open door.

He struck with savage fury, and Wilkinson, reeling backwards across the narrow veranda, plunged down the stairs and fell into the street.

He did not get up, and Festing leaned against the wall and wiped his bleeding face.
"Pick up the hog and take him to the hotel," he said, and tried to fill his pipe with shaking hands while the rest went out.
Other people joined them in the street, and Festing, stealing away as a crowd began to gather, went to the implement store, where he washed his face and brushed his damaged clothes.