“Go 'way!” McGuire replied. “You can't touch us. We ain't on your job.”
“Stop that, McGuire! Get out, quick, or I'll throw you out!”
McGuire laughed. Hunch went to him and pulled him to his feet.
“Le' go o' me!” said McGuire. “Take your hand off o' me!”
Hunch began dragging him away. McGuire hung back protesting and threatening. Bruce walked slowly after them, shaking his head and talking to himself. McGuire braced his feet. Hunch gave him a wrench that nearly threw him, and McGuire struck at him. Bruce watched the struggle, the old drunken cunning in his eyes, then he ran forward and jumped on Hunch's back, pounding him about the face and head. Hunch staggered, but recovered and caught McGuire with his knuckles squarely on the side of the jaw. McGuire staggered back. Bruce had both arms around Hunch's neck and was trying to choke him. Hunch gripped Bruce's wrists, and slowly pulled them forward, until their hold was loosened; then he turned quickly, took hold of Bruce's shoulders, and threw him against a pile of cut timber. Bruce struck hard and seemed for a moment to be clinging to the pile, then he fell on his face.
Some of the men were running toward them. One was calling:
“I seen it, Hunch! It weren't your fault! I seen it!”
Hunch stood panting as the men gathered around.
“Better see if he's hurt,” he said.
They rolled Bruce over. His face was covered with blood. One of the men brought some water from the river in his hat, and washed it off.