Then will we fight.

Let each pile his dead according to his own fashion and taste." Then he descended, barking and coughing, and I followed.

I struck the ground an instant after him; we sprang to our appointed places, and began to give and take with all our might.

The powwow and racket were prodigious; it was a tempest of riot and confusion and thick-falling blows.

Suddenly some horsemen tore into the midst of the crowd, and a voice shouted: "Hold--or ye are dead men!" How good it sounded! The owner of the voice bore all the marks of a gentleman: picturesque and costly raiment, the aspect of command, a hard countenance, with complexion and features marred by dissipation.
The mob fell humbly back, like so many spaniels.