Richard Dewey's forbearance was at an end. His eyes blazed with
fury, and, clenching his fist, he dashed it full in the face of the
offending O'Reilly, who not only released his hold on Ki Sing, but
measured his length on the ground.
O'Reilly was no coward, and he possessed the national love of a
shindy. He sprang to his feet in a rage, and shouted:
"I'll murder ye for that, Dick Dewey! See if I don't!"
"A fight! a fight!" shouted the miners, willing to be amused in that
way, since they had voluntarily given up the fun expected from
cutting off the Chipaman's queue.
Richard Dewey looked rather disgusted.
"I don't want to fight, boys," he said. "It isn't to my taste."
"You've got to, you coward!" said O'Reilly, beginning to bluster.
"I don't think you'll find me a coward," said Dewey quietly, as he
stood with his arms folded, looking at O'Reilly.
"You'll have to give O'Reilly satisfaction," said one of the miners.
"You've knocked him down, and he's got a right to it."
"Will it be any satisfaction to him to get knocked over again?" asked
Dewey, shrugging his shoulders.
"You can't do it! I'll bate you till you can't stand!" exclaimed the
angry Irishman.
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