neck" which could have been, under the circumstances, nothing less
than ignominious. For if Shad Wells had succeeded in vanquishing him,
all Peter's authority, all his influence with the rest of the men in
McGuire's employ would have gone forever, for Shad Wells was not the
kind of man upon whom such a victory would have lightly sat. If he had
thrashed Peter, Shad and not Peter would have been the boss of Black
Rock and Peter's position would have been intolerable.

As Peter laved his broken knuckles and bruised cheek, he wondered if,
after all, the affair hadn't been for the best. True, he had made an
enemy of Shad, but then according to the girl, Shad had already been his
enemy. Peter abhorred fighting, as he had told Beth, but, whatever the
consequences, he was sure that the air had cleared amazingly. He was
aware too that the fact that he had been the champion of Beth's
independence definitely stood forth. Whatever the wisdom or the
propriety, according to the standards of Black Rock society, of Beth's
visits to the Cabin, for the purpose of a musical education or for any
other purposes, Peter was aware that he had set the seal of his approval
upon them, marked, that any who read might run, upon the visage of Mr.
Wells. Peter was still sorry for Shad, but still more sorry for Beth,
whose name might be lightly used for her share in the adventure.

He made up his mind to say nothing of what had happened, and he felt
reasonably certain that Shad Wells would reach a similar decision. He
was not at all certain that Beth wouldn't tell everybody what had
happened for he was aware by this time that Beth was the custodian of
her own destinies and that she would not need the oracles of Black Rock
village as censors of her behavior.

But when he went up to the house for supper he made his way over the
log-jam below the pool and so to the village, stopping for a moment at
the Bergen house, where Beth was sitting on the porch reading _The Lives
of the Great Composers_. She was so absorbed that she did not see him
until he stood at the little swing gate, hat in hand.

She greeted him quietly, glancing up at his bruised cheek.

"I'm so sorry," she said, "that it was on my account."

"I'm not--now that I've done the 'gobbling,'" he said with a grin. And
then, "Where's Shad?"

"I haven't seen him. I guess he's gone in his hole and pulled it in
after him."

Peter smiled. "I just stopped by to say that perhaps you'd better say