"Now I've got your number," the younger McCaskey cried, in triumph.
"Bah!" The Countess shrugged unconcernedly. "As for the rice being stolen before he—"
"'Countess.' Ha!" Jim burst forth again. "Swell countess you are! The Dyea dance-halls are full of 'countesses' like you—counting percentage checks. Boys, who are you going to believe? She slept all night—"
McCaskey got no further, for with a cry of rage Pierce Phillips set his muscles and landed upon him. It was a mighty blow and it found lodgment upon the side of its victim's face.
Jim McCaskey went down and his assailant, maddened completely by the feel of his enemy's flesh, lunged forward to stamp him beneath his heels. But stout arms seized him, bodies intervened, and he was hurled backward. A shout arose; there was a general scramble for the raised platform. There were yells of:
"Shame!"
"Hang on to him!"
"Stretch him up!"
"Dirty ingrate!"
Phillips fought with desperation; his struggles caused the structure to creak and to strain; men piled over it and joined in the fight. He was whining and sobbing in his fury.