He had, however, forgotten the smith, who pulled a glowing iron from the fire.
"You can quit now; I butt in here!" he said, holding the iron close to Driscoll's chest.

Then he turned to Drummond.

"Put that cutter down! I don't: want to see you killed in my smithy." All were quite still for a moment, and then Driscoll moved, as if he meant to get round the anvil, but the smith held him back.
"Try it again and I'll surely singe your hide!" he shouted, and swung round as he heard Drummond's cautious step.

"If you sling that cutter at him, I'll put you on the fire.

Get out now; I'm coming to see you go!" Drummond backed to the door, with the red iron a few inches from his face, and when he had gone the smith signed to Driscoll.
"You're not going yet! Sit down right there and take a smoke." A few moments later Thirlwell joined Drummond, who was waiting near the smithy.