Bateese did the
thing with such beastly ease. It was as if he was no more than a
small boy, a runt with no weight whatever, and Bateese was a man.
He would have preferred to stagger along on his own feet or creep
on his hands and knees, and he grunted as much to Bateese on the
way to the canoe. He felt, at the same time, that the situation
owed him something more of discussion and explanation. Even now,
after half killing him, the woman was taking a rather high-handed
advantage of him. She might at least have assured him that she had
made a mistake and was sorry. But she did not speak to him again.
She said nothing more to Bateese, and when the half-breed
deposited him in the midship part of the canoe, facing the bow,
she stood back in silence. Then Bateese brought his pack and
rifle, and wedged the pack in behind him so that he could sit
upright. After that, without pausing to ask permission, he picked
up the woman and carried her through the shallow water to the bow,
saving her the wetting of her feet.
As she turned to find her paddle her face was toward David, and
for a moment she was looking at him.
"Do you mind telling me who you are, and where we are going?" he
asked.
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