Bateese say, 'Keel him, so no wan know w'at happen
t'ree day ago behin' ze rock.' But MA BELLE Jeanne, she say, 'No,
Bateese, he ees meestake for oder man, an' we mus' let heem live.'
An' then she tell me to come an' bring you feesh, an' tell you
w'at is goin' happen if you try go away from thees bateau. You
COMPREN'? If you try run away, Bateese ees goin' keel you! See--
wit' thees han's I br'ak your neck an' t'row you in river. MA
BELLE Jeanne say do zat, an' she tell oder mans-twent', thirt',
almos' hundre' GARCONS--to keel you if you try run away. She tell
me bring zat word to you wit' ze feesh. You listen hard w'at I
say?"
If ever a worker of iniquity lived on earth, Carrigan might have
judged Bateese as that man in these moments. The half-breed had
worked himself up to a ferocious pitch. His eyes rolled. His wide
mouth snarled in the virulence of its speech. His thick neck grew
corded, and his huge hands clenched menacingly upon the table. Yet
David had no fear. He wanted to laugh, but he knew laughter would
be the deadliest of insults to Bateese just now. He remembered
that the half-breed, fierce as a pirate, had a touch as gentle as
a woman's.
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