“You are asking me a good deal, Mack,” he said at length, “but you are a gallant lad and I am an older man and—”
“Aye! And a better!” shouted Mack.
“And so I will agree.”
Once more the field was cleared. And now there fell upon the crowding people a hush as if they stood in the presence of death itself.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” said the M.P.P. “Do you realise that you are looking upon a truly great contest, a contest great enough to be of national, yes, of international, importance?”
“You bet your sweet life!” cried the irrepressible Fatty. “We're going some. 'What's the matter with our Mack?'” he shouted.
“'HE'S—ALL—RIGHT!'” came back the chant from the surrounding hills in hundreds of voices.
“And what's the matter with Duncan Ross?” cried Mack, waving a hand above his head.
Again the assurance of perfect rightness came back in a mighty roar from the hills. But it was hushed into immediate silence, a silence breathless and overwhelming, for Black Duncan had taken once more his place with the hammer in his hand.
“Oh, I do wish they would hurry!” gasped Isa, her hands pressed hard upon her heart.