I fight
with my fists, and I'm going to batter you up so badly that nobody
will recognize you for a long time."
"You wait!" exploded Bateese, making a horrible grimace. "I choke
you lak w'ite bear, I t'row you ovair my should'r, I mash you lak
leetle strawberr', I--" He paused in his task to advance with a
formidable gesture.
"Not now," warned Carrigan. "I'm still a bit groggy, Bateese." He
pointed down at the bed. "I'm driving HER from that," he said. "I
don't like it. Is she sleepin' over there--in the camp?"
"Mebby--an' mebby not, m'sieu," growled Bateese. "You mak' guess,
eh?"
He began extinguishing the lights, until only the one nearest the
door was left burning. He did not turn toward Carrigan or speak to
him again. When he Went out, David heard the click of a lock in
the door. Bateese had not exaggerated. It was the intention of St.
Pierre's wife that he should consider himself a prisoner--at least
for tonight.
He had no desire to lie down again. There was an unsteadiness in
his legs, but outside of that the evil of his sickness no longer
oppressed him. The staff doctor at the Landing would probably have
called him a fool for not convalescing in the usual prescribed
way, but Carrigan was already beginning to feel the demand for
action.
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