Clancy went back in the snow as if he had been hit by an axe. MacNutt, like a dog unleashed, went for McCane. The latter, nothing loath, met him half-way. Clancy staggered up out of the snow spitting blood and broken dentistry, and charged Joe like a bull moose, roaring inarticulate invective. Joe smashed him right and left, took a counter in the face that made his brain swim, was caught in the big man’s arms and fought himself free by straight, hard body punches. Two of McCane’s men ran into the slashing. At sight of the fight they raised a yell and charged.
This yell reached the ears of Kent’s teamster, little Narcisse Laviolette, bending to clutch the butt of a log with a swamp-hook. He straightened himself at the sound.
“Bagosh, some feller mak’ de beeg row!” he muttered. “I see heem dat boss an’ MacNutt pass heemself dat way. Mo’ Gee! mebbe dey ron into plaintee troub’.” He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Ya-hoo-ee! Ya-hoo-ee!” he shouted in a far-carrying cry. Leaving his team to their own devices he turned and ran, shouting at every step.
The buoyant cry went echoing through the forest. It spelt trouble. Man after man left saw in the cut and axe in the limb and ran toward it.
Laviolette bounded into the slashing. In the middle were half a dozen men, fighting fiercely. On the other side, the woods poured forth a yelling crew. Laviolette did not hesitate. He hurled himself through the snow in great leaps, and plunged into the thick of the fray. His heavy “snag-proof” gum boot crashed into one man’s face with all the power of his leg-muscles behind it. He sprang on the back of another and bore him to the ground, gripping one ear and tearing it half away from the head, for little Laviolette was a dirty fighter. Then he was kicked in the throat and stamped into the snow.
Clancy was getting the worst of it from Joe, and MacNutt was holding his own with Rough Shan. The first newcomers turned the scale. Laviolette almost evened it again. Then all were swamped by the rush of McCane’s crew. Kent and MacNutt went down fighting gamely, and were kicked and hammered until the world swam before their outraged senses.
At this stage of the combat Kent’s crew caught sight of the enemy. The roar that went up from them was heard even at the rollways. They charged home. A wave of fighting shantymen surged over Joe, and he raised himself and staggered up as he had often done from the bottom of a scrimmage. Big Cooley raged in the van of the fight, spouting blasphemies and swinging his enormous fists right and left. Beside him Haggarty and Regan found vent for their hatred of the other camp. The fight spread out into a number of single combats, and it was then that Kent’s picked fighters proved their quality. Man after man of McCane’s gang had enough, quit, and ran. The rout became general.
“Burn them out!” was the cry.
Joe turned to MacNutt, who stood beside him gasping for breath and swaying. “Shall I stop them?” he said.
“Stop nothing!” said the foreman. “If I get there in time I’ll touch her off myself!”