Taking a towel with him, the boy hurried off to a mountain rivulet, where he bathed the wounded cheek, holding the wet towel to it to reduce the swelling.
Chancing to look up, he observed the guide, Lige Thomas, standing before him, eyeing him keenly.
"Warm, isn't?" grinned Tad.
"Rather. Put the towel down. I want to look at that cheek."
Tad hesitated, drew the towel away, and gazed back at the guide with a challenge in his eyes.
Lige examined the wound carefully.
"How'd you get it?" he demanded, straightening up.
"Why do you ask that? It's only a scratch."
"Because I want to know. If you do not wish to tell me, of course I shall not press you. However, it will be my duty to call the attention of the Professor to it. You see, I am responsible for you boys while you are up here, and——"
"A stone did it," interrupted Tad, with a touch of stubbornness in his tone.