For a few seconds he was stunned, and sat vacantly on the ground. Then he aroused himself and crawled to his feet.
His adversary had vanished, and was nowhere to be seen. Burning with chagrin, pain and rage, he commenced wandering about vacantly in pursuit. But he was too dizzy and stunned to see plainly, and before he had been on his feet two minutes he fell again; the girlish fist of effeminate Captain Downing was hard as a rock, and was backed by the arm of a blacksmith.
Katie sunk down beside her lover, astounded at the sudden change in affairs. Shocked at the captain’s ungentlemanly conduct to her, burning with sorrow at her lover’s harsh action in putting her aside—these were but trifles compared with the intense shame at seeing him whipped and vanquished. She was as much ashamed as her champion, though dimly conscious that she had caused the disaster by unguarding Walter.
She raised him to a sitting posture, and pillowing his head on her breast, wiped the blood from his face with her handkerchief. The moon had just risen, and by its strong light she saw he had received a herculean blow, as his eyes were red and swollen, his nose was bruised and bleeding, and he was weak and stunned—scarcely more than conscious.
She began to cry piteously and stroke his forehead, when a harsh voice behind her growled:
“What in thunder air ye doin’ thar, gal?”
She turned quickly; her father, a sturdy man in the prime of life, was regarding her curiously. He was an odd mixture of fun, moodiness and good-nature, and united the most repelling face and voice to the kindest heart imaginable. He had been bred in a large city, and was perfectly “well up” in all matters which interest fast youth. He recognized the form of Walter, noticed his bruised face, and saw his daughter’s anxiety. At this last he chuckled.
“Wal, what hev we hyar?” he said, going down on his knees beside them. “We hev a couple of moss-agate eyes, and we hev a Roman nose. Wal, what air we goin’ ter do with ’em? Why, we air goin’ to cure ’em. Why didn’t ye do suthin’ fer ’em, gal?”
“I did not know what to do, father. Oh, dear father, please relieve him—I know he is hurt terribly. Do, please, father.”
Robert Jeffries stopped not, but whipped out a huge clasp-knife, and told her to hold it across the bridge of his nose. Then he went off, muttering: