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.