“His eagerness for war will probably be gratified in a few minutes, by the look of things,” replied the lieutenant.
The Gatineaus were crowding around, and had evidently made up their minds to bring the Ottawa champion to the dust. That they were numbers to one mattered not at all. There was little chivalry in a shantymen's fight.
“Ha! Rather a good one, that,” exclaimed the lieutenant, mildly interested. “He put that chap out somewhat neatly.” He lit a cigar and stood coolly watching the fight.
“Where are the Ottawas—the fellow's friends?” said Harry, much excited.
“I rather think they camp on another street further down.”
The Ottawa champion was being sorely pressed, and it looked as if in a moment or two more he would be down.
“What a shame!” cried Harry.
“Well,” said the lieutenant, languidly, “it's beastly dirty, but the chap's done rather well, so here goes.”
Smoking his cigar, and followed by Harry, he pushed across the street to the crowd, and got right up to the fighters.
“Here, you fellows,” he called out, in a high, clear voice, “what the deuce do you mean, kicking up such a row? Come now, stop, and get out of here.”