His momentary curiosity caused him to stop conversing and to listen more intently.
One of the voices rose again; there was the distinct sound of the crack of a whip, followed by a high-pitched throaty articulation as of an animal in pain. It sounded so helpless and piteous, that Eileen drew herself up nervously and shuddered. She gripped at Phil’s arm.
Ever suspicious where Brenchfield or any of his followers were concerned, and quickly roused to anger at the slightest abuse shown to any of the lower creation, Phil acted on the impulse of the moment.
“Please stay here for a second, Eil––Miss Pederstone. I am going over to see what is doing there.”
He turned, vaulted the fence, and bending low he crept cautiously over to the barn. At the window, he rose slowly upright and peered inside.
The horror of what he saw there remained focussed on his mind ever afterwards; and always when he turned to that picture in the album of his memory, his gorge rose and a murderlust that could hardly be stifled filled his entire being.
He darted to the door of the barn. It was unfastened. He flung it open and rushed inside, throwing himself with mad fury on Brenchfield, who had his coat off and his sleeves rolled up. He had a long whip in his hand, poised high in the air, and was about to continue his devilish cruelty.
The Mayor swung round and, before Phil got to him, the downward stroke of the whip caught the latter across the head and shoulders. He staggered for the fraction of a second, then closed with his adversary, catching the right arm that held the whip and, turning it smartly over his shoulder in a trick Jim Langford had taught him, 221 had Brenchfield groaning with the pain of the strain on his elbow. He relaxed his fingers and the whip dropped to the strawed floor.
Phil released his hold, whirled round and shot his right fist full in the face of his opponent. His left hand followed, sending Brenchfield backward. Recovering quickly, the Mayor came back at Phil, cursing roundly. But strong and heavy as he was, he was no match now for the sturdy, young blacksmith before him. And it was not very many minutes before he knew it.
They fought around the stable like wild cats. Time and again Brenchfield got in on Phil, but for every time he did Phil got in on him half a dozen. The heavier man’s breath began to give out. His face was cut and bleeding and his vision was becoming more and more faulty as time went on.