there was no firing for a long time. Nothin' but knife an' bay'nit
when we cud get our hands free: an' that was not often. We was breast-on
to thim, an' the Tyrone was yelpin' behind av us in a way I didn't see
the lean av at first. But I knew later, an' so did the Paythans.

'"Knee to knee!" sings out Crook, wid a laugh whin the rush av our
comin' into the gut shtopped, an' he was huggin' a hairy great Paythan,
neither bein' able to do anything to the other, tho' both was wishful.

'"Breast to breast!" he sez, as the Tyrone was pushin' us forward
closer an' closer.

'"An' hand over back!" sez a Sargint that was behin'. I saw a sword
lick out past Crook's ear, an' the Paythan was tuk in the apple av his
throat like a pig at Dromeen fair.

'"Thank ye, Brother Inner Guard," sez Crook, cool as a cucumber widout
salt. "I wanted that room." An' he wint forward by the thickness av
a man's body, havin' turned the Paythan undher him. The man bit the
heel off Crook's boot in his death-bite.

'"Push, men!" sez Crook. "Push, ye paper-backed beggars!" he sez. "Am
I to pull ye through?" So we pushed, an' we kicked, an' we swung, an'
we swore, an' the grass bein' slippery, our heels wouldn't bite, an'
God help the front-rank man that wint down that day!'

''Ave you ever bin in the Pit hentrance o' the Vic, on a thick night?'
interrupted Ortheris. 'It was worse nor that, for they was goin' one
way an' we wouldn't 'ave it. Leastways, I 'adn't much to say.'