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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The Flaming Forest"

Pierre. But she had not felt that stolen caress.
No one knew--but himself. And he was happier because of it. It was
a sort of sacred thing, even though it brought the heat of shame
into his face.
He went to the door, opened it, and stood out in the sunshine. It
was good to feel the warmth of the sun in his face again and the
sweet air of the open day in his lungs. The bateau was free of the
shore and drifting steadily towards midstream. Bateese was at the
great birchwood rudder sweep, and to David's surprise he nodded in
a friendly way, and his wide mouth broke into a grin.
"Ah, it is coming soon, that fight of ours, little coq de
bruyere!" he chuckled gloatingly. "An' ze fight will be jus' lak
that, m'sieu--you ze little fool-hen's rooster, ze partridge, an'
I, Concombre Bateese, ze eagle!"
The anticipation in the half-breed's eyes reflected itself for an
instant in David's. He turned back into the cabin, bent over his
pack, and found among his clothes two pairs of boxing gloves. He
fondled them with the loving touch of a brother and comrade, and
their velvety smoothness was more soothing to his nerves than the
cigar he was smoking.


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