Back again and again came Stover, hurling himself wildly onto the scientific fists that sent him reeling back. The green arms of the trees, the gray faces of the onlookers, the blue of the tilting sky rushed into the reeling earth, confounded together. He no longer saw the being he was fighting, a white film slipped over everything and then all went out in blank unconsciousness.
When he opened his eyes again he was on his back, looking up through the willows at a puffy cloud that turned against the blue. At his side the brook went softly, singing in whispers the note that stirred the leaves.
Something wet fell on his face and trickled uncomfortably down his neck. Some one was applying a dripping cloth.
"Coming to?" said Cheyenne Baxter.
Then Dink remembered.
"Where is he?" he cried, trying to spring up. "Fight him,—fight him to the end!"
A strong hand pressed him down.
"There, there, you fire-eater!" said Cheyenne. "Go easy. You've had enough blood for one afternoon. Lie back. Shut your eyes."
He heard whispering and the sound of voices going, and lost consciousness again.
When he saw the face of the day once more he was alone with Cheyenne, who was kneeling by his side, smiling as he watched him.