The other tried to evade.

“Don’t try to get away until I’m through with you.  I want to tell you again what a contemptible cur you are.  No one but a damned scoundrel would take advantage of a girl as you did, and then leave her to bear her shame alone.”

“Do you mean Carlia—­”

“Don’t utter her name from your foul lips.”

“For if you do, I might say, what have I got to do with that?  You were her lover, were you not? you were out with her in the fields many times until midnight, you—­”

The accusing mouth closed there, closed by the mighty impact of Dorian’s fist.  The blood spurted from a gashed lip, and Mr. Lamont tried to defend himself.  Again Dorian’s stinging blow fell upon the other’s face.  Lamont was lighter than Dorian, but he had some skill as a boxer which he tried to bring into service; but Dorian, mad in his desire to punish, with unskilled strength fought off all attacks.  They grappled, struggled, and fell, to arise again and give blow for blow.  It was all done so suddenly, and the fighting was so fierce, that Dorian’s fellow travelers did not get to the scene before Jack Lamont lay prone on the ground from Dorian’s finishing knockout blow.

“Damn him!” said Dorian, as he shook himself back into a somewhat normal condition and spat red on the ground.  “He’s got just a little of what’s been coming to him for a long time.  Let him alone.  He’s not seriously hurt.  Let’s go.”

CHAPTER TWENTY.

On a Saturday afternoon in early July Dorian and a neighbor were coming home from a week’s absence up in the hills.  They were on horseback, and therefore they cut across by way of the new road in course of construction between Greenstreet and the city.

The river was high.  The new bridge was not yet open for traffic, but horses could safely cross.  As the two riders passed to the Greenstreet side, they saw near the bridge down on the rocks by the rushing river, an automobile, overturned and pretty well demolished.  Evidently, someone had been trying to reach the bridge, had missed the road, and had gone over the bank, which at this point was quite steep.

The two men stopped, dismounted, and surveyed the wreck.  Someone was under the car, dead or alive, they could not tell.  Dorian unslung his rope from his saddle, and took off his coat.  “I’ll go down and see,” he said.

“Be careful,” admonished the other, “if you slip into the river, you’ll be swept away.”

Dorian climbed down to where the broken machine lay.  Pinned under it with his body half covered by the water was Mr. Jack Lamont.  He was talking deliriously, calling in broken sentences for help.  Dorian’s hesitancy for an instant was only to determine what was the best thing to do.