As he spoke he hurled his maul at White, and Ginger dodged. The head missed him but the handle came backhanded and smote Ginger on the nose so that the blood ran.
"Oh, oh," said Ginger as sick as any dog. Simmons leapt off into the very arms of Quin.
"I'll take my money, Mr. Quin," said Simmons.
"Take your hook," said Quin. "Look out, here's White for you with a spanner!"
White came running and expected Simmons to run. But Simmons' face was red where White's was white. He snatched a pickareen from the nearest Chinaman, and a pickareen is a useful weapon, a sharp half pick, and six inches of a pick.
"You——" grinned Simmons, "you——"
And White stayed.
"Yah!" said Simmons, with lips set back. And Ginger White retreated.
"Here, sonny, take your pick," said the Wedger-Off that had been to the Chinaman; "fat chops don't care to face it."
He turned to Quin.