From a wound in the neck the blood was still spouting. Quickly the Sergeant was on his knees beside the wounded man, his thumb pressed hard upon the gaping wound. But still the blood continued to bubble up and squirt from under his thumb. All around, the earthen floor was muddy with blood.
"Run, some of you," commanded the Sergeant, "and hurry up that Dr. Wright, Main Street, two corners down!"
Jacob Wassyl, who had come in from the room above, understood, and sent a man off with all speed.
"Good Lord! What a pig sticking!" said the Sergeant. "There is a barrel of blood around here. And here is another man! Here you!" addressing Jacob, "put your thumb here and press so. It is not much good, but we cannot do anything else just now." The Sergeant straightened himself up. Evidently this was no ordinary "scrap." "Let no man leave this room," he cried aloud. "Tell them," he said, addressing Jacob, "you speak English; and two of you, you and you, stand by the door and let no man out except as I give the word."
The two men took their places.
"Now then, let us see what else there is here. Do you know these men?" he enquired of Jacob.
"Dis man," replied Jacob, "I not know. Him Polak man."
The men standing about began to jabber.
"What do they say?"
"Him Polak. Kravicz his name. He no bad man. He fight quick, but not a bad man."