His face
was convulsed by sudden rage. Even while his head swam, he pulled
himself together for a leap at the man who had struck the wanton,
unexpected blow.
Braddock was huge enough and strong enough to crush the infuriated
lad, but drink had made him a coward at heart. He stooped over and
picked up an iron-ringed stake from the ground.
With a little cry of terror his daughter, recovering from her sudden
stupefaction, sprang forward and frantically clutched the man's arm.
Her mother was no less active in putting herself in front of the boy,
staying him with resolute hands. The performers who had followed David
from the room leaped in with clenched fists, glaring hatefully at
their employer. Others, in remote parts of the enclosure, hurried up,
aroused from drowsy meditation by the sharp excitement.
"Don't, father!" cried the girl in the agony of dread.
"Damn him, he may have a gun," exclaimed Braddock. "He's used one
before."
"Why did you strike me?" cried David hoarsely, his lips twitching, his
eyes glowing like coals.
"Aw, none o' that, now, none o' that," snarled Braddock, taking a step
forward.
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