They went at it. Dorsey fell sprawling. He scrambled to his feet with trash in his hair and blood in his mouth. Milford knocked him over a stump. He got up again and came forward, cutting the capers of a tricky approach, but Milford caught him with a surprising blow and sent him to grass again. This time he did not get up. He squirmed about on the ground. Milford took him under the arms and lifted him to his knees. "Go away," he muttered, his head drooping. "You've--you've broken my jaw." Milford ran to the lake and brought water in his hat. Dorsey was sitting up when he returned. "You've knocked out two of my teeth," he mumbled. "Here, let me bathe your face." "Biggest fool thing I ever saw," Dorsey blubbered through the water applied to the mouth. "I told you I'd apologize." "Yes, and you may do so now. Do you?" "Of course. What else can I do?" "I'm almost sorry I hit you so hard." "Almost! I don't stop at that. I don't want you to say anything about it," he added. "It would hurt my business." "A horse kicked you," said Milford. "You're all right now. You can go to the house." "I'm going to town by the first train. I'm done up. You've been practicing. You ought to make a success of yourself if that's the sort of fellow you are." Milford helped him put on his coat. "Now, I wish I could do something for you," he said. "No matter what I do, I always get the worst of it." "You didn't get the worst of this, by a long shot." "Yes. Now I've got to grieve over it. I've been trying to do right, but the cards are against me." "You needn't grieve over me. You have licked a good man." "I grieve because you were willing to apologize." "Don't let that worry you. I wouldn't have apologized any too strong. Well, I don't believe the fish will bite to-day. I'll go back." Milford watched him as he walked slowly across the stubble field, and strove to harden his heart against the cutting edge of remorse. The fellow was a bully. To him there was nothing sacred, and he thought evil of all women. His manliest words waited to be knocked out of him. Milford returned to the house and gathered up the scattered sheets of his newspaper. But he sat a long time without reading. The gathered vengeance of his arm had been spent. It had shot forth with delight, like a thought inspired by devoted study, but like a hot inspiration grown cold, it faded under the strong light of reason. He heard the shriek of a railway train, rushing toward the city. He saw George Blakemore coming up the hill. CHAPTER XVI. THE GRIZZLY AND THE PANTHER.