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Rh the whole company stood as if bulldozed into silence. Almost instantly the glass was tossed in empty, the door closed, and heavy footsteps departed.

So strange was the episode that Archer had almost forgotten his own predicament. He turned to find his enemies dispersed,—part of them, led by the young man of the jack-o'-lantern mouth, already slinking into corners.

Tardy and timid, the bartender piped up:—

"No more o' this, boys. The Old Man's round. He don't stand fer no rows, some nights."

Needless enough the warning seemed, for the men sat cowed. Silence fell again, except for a hiccough or two from the bench. Archer found himself once more the centre of hostile eyes, glowering through the smoke.

"There's no need of any rows," he spoke out. "I didn't come in here to start one. This man here," he said, nodding toward his broad-faced antagonist, "this man here got no worse than he gave me. If he wants it to go farther, all right; if he does n't, all right. I don't bear any grudge. And all I