H. Bedford-Jones

“ Mad with battle-lust and moonshine whisky, they dragged him back and bore him down, all three hurtling in upon him bodily, careless of his blows, so that only they might land blows upon him. Slipping on the stones, he lost balance, went down, was stamped into the knee-deep water—
That was all he knew, for a time.
Presently, half strangled and exhausted, Hardrock came to himself again. This time he found ankles and arms fast lashed by men who knew how to handle ropes. Beside him lay one of the Greeks, dark features masked by blood, beaten senseless and bound ”

“ Glancing around, Hardrock was aware of the three whisky-runners by the tent, furiously engaged with four or five other men. He and Dunlevy were for the moment alone. Only a glance—then he was driving at his opponent, hoping still to get out and aboard the boat.
That hope seemed vain. A wild swing caught Hardrock under the jaw and knocked him ten feet away; Dunlevy was after him instantly, leaping high in air to come down upon him boots first. He came down only on the shingle, however; and the man from Arizona, evading a savage kick, reached his feet and began to fight. ”

“ Marks nodded, a frown darkening his scarred features. Evidently he had anticipated this information.
“Aint it hell how ye can't make foreigners savvy anything?” he demanded, to the astonishment of Hardrock. “Them two fellers have just one notion o' fighting—to take a gun and kill somebody! I'll have to let 'em go. I can't make 'em savvy that there's a durned sight more danger in a murder charge than in running liquor.” ”