"I guess Sunset 'll hate this trail worse than anything around Buffalo Point," Gordon said, with a great effort at ease. "He got a flogging I'll swear he never merited."
"Dear old Sunset," said the girl softly. "And—and he can go."
"Go? Why, he's an express train. Say, the Twentieth Century, Limited, isn't a circumstance to him."
Gordon's laugh sounded good in Hazel's ears, and the last sign of tears was banished. It had been touch and go. She had wanted to laugh and to scream during the fight. Afterwards she had wanted only to weep. Now she just felt glad she was riding beside a man whom she regarded as something in the nature of a hero.
"I sort of feel I owe him an apology," Gordon went on doubtfully. "Same as I owe you one. I—I'm afraid I made a—a disgusting exhibition of myself. I—I wish I hadn't nearly bitten off that cur's fingers. It's—awful. It—was that or lose my eyesight."
Hazel had nothing to say. A shiver passed over her, but it was caused by the thought that the man beside her might have been left blinded.
"You see, that was 'rough and tough,'" Gordon went on, feeling that he must explain. "It's not human. It's worse than the beasts of the fields. I—I'm ashamed. But I had to save my eyes. I thought I'd killed him."
"I'm glad you didn't," Hazel said in a low voice. Then she added quickly, "But not for his sake."
Gordon nodded.
"He deserved anything."