and a stray horn had run out a trench up the flesh beneath. His face was curd-white under the bloody spume that flecked it, and he staggered, half-blind and sick.
“Get out,” he said, when Steve would have strapped the torn flesh. “Lend a hand with these brutes before they kick themselves into blazes.”
They took the danger shoulder to shoulder, without speech and without hesitation. But the sweat of pain ran down Lou’s face, and Steve’s grip on the hooks was unsteady.
When the log was freed and Steve’s team under way again, Lou spoke with tight lips, and the red dripping from his cuff-band to the dust.
“I’m taking all that can walk back for my log. But you needn’t try to trap me again, for I’ll be coming too slow next time.”
Steve straightened as under a whip-cut. The savage showed for a flash in his honest broad face.
“By ———! you’ll pay for that when yer got two hands agin, Lou Birot! Don’t go thinkin’ as I’ll furgit———”
“I don’t mean you to forget,” said Lou; but his light defiance crumbled, and he steadied with an effort.
Something fought with the hate in Steve.
“Yer can’t go back, Lou. Yer ain’t fit. Yer can’t swing a whip———”
