Then they drew a little apart and squatted on the bank of the creek to
lave their battered faces in the cold water.
For a period of possibly five minutes they sat dabbling water-soaked
handkerchiefs upon their faces. The blood ceased to ooze from Thompson's
nostrils. Tommy Ashe looked over at his late antagonist and remarked
casually.
"We're a pair of capital idiots, eh, Thompson?"
Mr. Thompson tried to smile. But his countenance was swelling rapidly
and was in no condition for smiling. He mustered up a grimace, nodding
assent.
"I hope Sophie didn't see us making such asses of ourselves," Tommy
continued ruefully.
"I hardly think she would," Thompson returned. "It couldn't have been
the sort of spectacle a woman would care to watch."
"You never can tell about a woman," Ashe observed thoughtfully. "Nor,"
he added, "a man. I could never have imagined myself going off
half-cocked like that. I suppose the primitive brute in us is never
really far from the surface. Especially in this country. There's
something," he looked up at the surrounding depths of forest, down along
the dusky channel of Lone Moose, curving away among the spruce, "there's
something about this infernal solitude that brings out the savage.
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