Orde's little crew, and the forty or fifty men of the drive that had
preceded him, constituted the rank and file at that moment in town.
A little later, when all the drives on the river should be in, and
those of its tributaries, and the men still lingering at the woods
camps, at least five hundred woods-weary men would be turned loose.
Then Hell's Half-Mile would awaken in earnest from its hibernation.
The lights would blaze from day to day. From its opened windows
would blare the music, the cries of men and women, the shuffle of
feet, the noise of fighting, the shrieks of wild laughter, curses
deep and frank and unashamed, songs broken and interrupted. Crews
of men, arms locked, would surge up and down the narrow sidewalks,
their little felt hats cocked one side, their heads back, their
fearless eyes challenging the devil and all his works--and getting
the challenge accepted. Girls would flit across the lit windows
like shadows before flames, or stand in the doorways hailing the men
jovially by name. And every few moments, above the roar of this
wild inferno, would sound the sudden crash and the dull blows of
combat. Only, never was heard the bark of the pistol. The fighting
was fierce, and it included kicking with the sharp steel boot-
caulks, biting and gouging; but it barred knives and firearms.
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