They crowded out to the back premises in a body, unhindered by any in authority.
A dingy backyard behind the house furnished ground for the fray.

Here the spectators gathered in a ring around an arc of light thrown by a stable-lamp over the door, and the man they called Samson proceeded with savage energy to strip to the waist.
The young stranger's face grew a shade more disdainful as he noted the action.

He himself removed coat, waistcoat, and collar, all of which he handed to the farmer who had offered to assist him in making good his escape.
"Just look after these for a minute!" he said.
"You're a cool hand," said the other man admiringly.

"I'll see you don't get bullied anyhow." The young man nodded his thanks.

He looked down at his hands and slowly clenched and opened them again.
"Oh, I shan't be bullied," he said, in a tone of grim conviction.
And then the fight began.
It was obvious from the outset that it could not be a very prolonged one.
Samson attacked with furious zest.