His face was swollen and
bruised and his nose bled. The street was deserted and the assault upon
him had been unnoticed.
He went to a hotel on Main Street--a more pretentious place than Ed's,
near the bridge leading to the station--and as he passed in he saw,
through an open door, Jake, the red-haired man, leaning against the bar
and talking to Bill, the man with the florid face. Sam, paying for a room,
went upstairs and to bed.
In the bed, with cold bandages on his bruised face, he tried to get the
situation in hand. Hatred for Ed ran through his veins. His hands
clenched, his brain whirled, and the brutal, passionate faces of the woman
and the boy danced before his eyes.
"I'll fix them, the brutal bullies," he muttered aloud.
And then the thought of his quest came back to his mind and quieted him.
Through the window came the roar of the waterfall, broken by noises of the
street. As he fell asleep they mingled with his dreams, sounding soft and
quiet like the low talk of a family about the fire of an evening.
He was awakened by a noise of pounding on his door. At his call the door
opened and the face of the old carpenter appeared. Sam laughed and sat up
in bed. Already the cold bandages had soothed the throbbing of his bruised
face.
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