The gloomy-eyed man said no more, for a roar went up at his words.
"Ye drunken Democrat," cried some one, "take that!"
With which a heavy pitcher of molasses struck the gloomy-eyed man above the ear, smashed, and sent him down senseless. His big companion sprang up like a cat, drew back his arm, and a knife flashed across the room in a flame of glittering light. It did no harm, save to precipitate a general fight. Norton was just rising to escape, when a deep cold voice broke in upon the uproar:
"Gentlemen, make way!"
Norton started. He looked up to see the figure of Duval entering the door, against which two fighting cursing men had reeled. Duval took them by the shoulders and tore them apart; one went spinning down the room; the other crashed into the wall, and the lawyer strode forward.
That display of strength was not lost upon John Norton, nor the calm which instantly followed. Instead of being mobbed, Duval seemed to inspire these rivermen with fear—all save the big hairy man opposite Norton. He alone paid no heed; having caught the man who had laid out his companion, he was administering a sound thrashing when Duval caught him by the shoulder and tore him loose.
"Go to your seat," commanded Duval, cold and immobile. The other glared at him.
"Who the devil are yew?" he demanded hoarsely. "Take yer hand off'n me—I'm liable to sculp ye! Yew hear me! I'm gwine to lay out this cussed Federal. I don't care ef he's Blacknose hisself!"
A startled silence fell, while Duval still gazed coldly into the big man's eyes. There was something terrible in the lawyer's immobility; then Norton saw that he was holding a small pistol against the big man's chest.
"Go to your seat," he repeated icily. The other felt the pistol, glanced down at it, and obeyed sullenly. Norton felt a hand on his arm.