"Well done!" shouted the men; "bravo, Baptiste! _Regardez le nez, mes
enfants!_"
"Hold!" cried Mactavish, vaulting the counter, and intercepting Hugh,
as he rushed upon his antagonist; "no fighting here, you blackguards!
If you want to do _that,_ go outside the fort;" and Peter, opening
the door, thrust the Orkneyman out.
In the meantime, Baptiste gathered up his goods and left the store,
in company with several of his friends, vowing that he would wreak
his vengeance on the "gros chien" before the sun should set.
He had not long to wait, however, for just outside the gate he found
Hugh, still smarting under the pain and indignity of the blow, and
ready to pounce upon him like a cat on a mouse.
Baptiste instantly threw down his bundle, and prepared for battle by
discarding his coat.
Every nation has its own peculiar method of fighting, and its own
ideas of what is honourable and dishonourable in combat. The English,
as everyone knows, have particularly stringent rules regarding the
part of the body which may or may not be hit with propriety, and
count it foul disgrace to strike a man when he is down, although, by
some strange perversity of reasoning, they deem it right and fair to
_fall_ upon him while in this helpless condition, and burst him if
possible. The Scotchman has less of the science, and we are half
inclined to believe that he would go the length of kicking a fallen
opponent; but on this point we are not quite positive.
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