however, for the long legs of the young men were after them.  Young blood is hot, and the savage fight that had been forced upon these boys had aroused all that was savage in them.  In an instant they overtook two of the fleeing men, but neither could strike an enemy in the back.  Throwing aside their clubs, each seized his enemy by the shoulder, turned him face to face and smote him sore, each after his fashion.  Then they laughed, took hold of hands, and walked wearily back to the carriage.  Jarvis’s face was covered with blood, and Jack’s neck and shoulders were drenched,—­his wound had bled freely.  Lars had relieved the ladies on the box after administering kicks and blows in generous measure to the dazed and crippled miners, who were crawling off the road or staggering along it.  The Swede had a strain of fierce North blood which was not easily laid when once aroused, and he glared around the battle-field, hoping to find signs of resistance.  When none were to be seen, he donned his coachman’s coat and sat the box like a sphinx.

The girls went quickly forward to meet the men.  They said little, but they put their hands on their battered champions in a way to make the heart of man glad.  The men were flushed and proud, as men have been, and men will be, through all time, when they have striven savagely against other savages in the sight of their mistresses, and have gained the victory.  Their bruises were numb with exultation and their wounds dumb with pride.  There was no regret for blows given or received,—­no sympathy for fallen foe.  The male fights, in the presence of the female, with savage delight, from the lowest to the highest ranks of creation, and we must forgive our boys for some cruel exultation as they looked on the field of strife.  Better feelings will come when the blood flows less rapidly in their veins!

“We must hurry home,” said Jane, “and let papa mend you.”  Then she burst into tears.  “Oh, I am so sorry and so frightened!  Do you feel very bad, Jack?  I know you are suffering dreadfully, Mr. Jarvis.  Can’t I do something for you?”

“My arm is bruised a bit,” said Jarvis; “if you don’t mind, you can steady it a little.”

Jane’s soft hands clasped themselves tenderly over Jarvis’s great fist, and she felt relieved in the thought that she was doing something for her hero.  She held the great right hand of Hercules tenderly, and Jarvis never let her know that it was the left arm that had been broken.  She felt certain that he must be suffering agony, for ever and anon his fingers would close over hers with a spasmodic grip that sent a thrill of mixed joy and pain to her heart.

While I was bandaging the broken arm I saw the young lady going through some pantomimic exercises with her hands, as if seeking to revive the memory of some previous position; then her face blazed with a light, half pleasure and half shame, and she disappeared.