Simpson caught the full force of her blow on his face and, already unsteady from the effects of drink, he staggered back and would have fallen had not the building supported him. He struggled up, sobered materially by surprise and pain.
She stood before him tall and straight, her eyes blazing, her face set like marble, her fine nostrils dilated.
From across the clearing came the cheering voices of the winners of the day.
Once in the low-lying bushlands Simpson had seen a doe brought to bay by a timber-wolf. He remembered the picture now.
“Why did you do it?” he asked.
“What else could I do?” she answered.
She pulled down a branch of a maple and leaned her head against it. The rough bark caressed her hot cheek and the sweet sappy aroma entered her soul and soothed it.
“Why did you not call out or scream like other girls would have done?”
She lifted her head and looked at him with compassion almost.
His eyes fell.