Thor's best friend in such an emergency was a clay wallow. This was the
second reason why he always took this trail when he was sick or hurt. It
led to the clay wallow. And the clay wallow was his doctor.

The sun was setting before he reached the wallow. His jaws hung open a
little. His great head drooped lower. He had lost a great deal of blood. He
was tired, and his shoulder hurt him so badly that he wanted to tear with
his teeth at the strange fire that was consuming it.

The clay wallow was twenty or thirty feet in diameter, and hollowed into a
little shallow pool in the centre. It was a soft, cool, golden-coloured
clay, and Thor waded into it to his armpits. Then he rolled over gently on
his wounded side. The clay touched his hurt like a cooling salve. It sealed
the cut, and Thor gave a great heaving gasp of relief. For a long time he
lay in that soft bed of clay. The sun went down, darkness came, and the
wonderful stars filled the sky. And still Thor lay there, nursing that
first hurt of man.




CHAPTER FOUR


In the edge of the balsam and spruce Langdon and Otto sat smoking their
pipes after supper, with the glowing embers of a fire at their feet. The
night air in these higher altitudes of the mountains had grown chilly, and
Bruce rose long enough to throw a fresh armful of dry spruce on the coals.
Then he stretched out his long form again, with his head and shoulders