Jim Jackson rushed into action, shouting, "No, Adair—no!"
Then came a babble:
"Hold him! Hold him!" and a storm of curses——
At the stove Whittaker still stood motionless but smiling quietly——
And Hector burst out of the crowd like a lion from a thicket of spears, grim, silent, deadly. He tossed Jackson and MacFarlane aside with a great sweep of his arm—the powers of twenty men added to his own giant strength in that moment. The trader's frenzied shriek, "Sergeant—for the love of Christ!" he did not heed at all. Seizing Randall in a grip that brought a scream to his lips, he dragged him swiftly across the counter. The scattered crowd closed in. Seeing them, he swung the trader like a flail through the air, dashing them off their feet. In the cleared space, he shook his victim as if he were a sawdust dummy.
"You dog! You dog!" they heard him crying.
Once more the crowd rushed, to save Hector from murder.
"Get back, damn you! He's mine!" Hector roared, pinning the maddened Randall against the counter and staving them off.
"Say you're a liar, you cur! You swine!" he gasped, "Say it or I'll kill you—I'll kill you——"
"I am! I am!" sobbed Randall. "Sergeant—Sergeant——"