Other people joined them in the street, and Festing, stealing away as a crowd began to gather, went to the implement store, where he washed his face and brushed his damaged clothes.  There was a cut on his forehead and his jacket was badly torn, while some of the soot that had fallen upon it would not come off.  After a rest and a smoke, however, he did not feel much worse, and the dealer, going to the hotel, brought back news that Wilkinson had driven home.

“I guess you have done all you could and can let the fellow go,” he said.  “My notion is he won’t be in the neighborhood long.”

An hour later, Festing drove out of the settlement, with a strip of sticking plaster on his forehead and his jacket clumsily mended.  The sky was now a curious leaden color, and the wild barley shone a livid white against the dark riband of the trail; the air was very hot and there was not a breath of wind.  Festing noted that the horses were nervous and trotted fast, although they had made a long journey.  Now and then they threw up their heads and snorted, and swerved violently when a gopher ran across the trail or a prairie-hen got up.  The flies seemed to have gone, but the mosquitoes were out in clouds, and the hand with which he slapped his face and neck was soon smeared with small red stains.  He could not hold the whip; but it was not needed, because the team rather required to be checked than urged.

When the trail permitted he let them go, and swung, lost in gloomy thoughts, with the jolting of the rig.  The damaging part of Wilkinson’s statement was false, but since part was true the tale would spread and some would believe the worst.  It was impossible to doubt Helen, but he was angry with her.  She had let her ridiculous notion of reforming Bob carry her away.  Festing did not think Bob could be reformed, but it was Sadie’s business, not Helen’s.  Besides, he had objected to her encouraging the fellow to hang about the homestead, and she had disregarded his warnings.  Now, the thing must be stopped, and it would be horribly disagreeable to tell her why.  She had been obstinate and rash, but after all she meant well and would be badly hurt.  He began to feel sorry for her, and his angry thought’s centered on Charnock.

It was, of course, ridiculous to imagine that Bob was seriously trying to make love to Helen; he knew her character too well.  All the same, the fellow might amuse himself by mild indulgence in romantic sentiment.  He was a fool and a slacker, and had now humiliated Helen for the second time.  The longer Festing thought about it, the angrier he got, and when he roused himself as the horses plunged down the side of a ravine he was surprised to note how far he had gone.  He had just time to tighten the reins and guide the team across the open log bridge at the bottom, and as they plodded up the other side saw that he had better get home as soon as possible.