Painfully he began the descent into the next valley.
Thor knew that he was hurt, but he could not comprehend that hurt.

Once in the descent he paused for a few moments, and a little pool of blood dripped upon the ground under his foreleg.

He sniffed at it suspiciously and wonderingly.
He swung eastward, and a little later he caught a fresh taint of the man-smell in the air.

The wind was bringing it to him now, and in spite of the fact that he wanted to lie down and nurse his wound he ambled on a little faster, for he had learned one thing that he would never forget: the man-smell and his hurt had come together.
He reached the bottoms, and buried himself in the thick timber; and then, crossing this timber, he came to a creek.

Perhaps a hundred times he had travelled up and down this creek.