His one passion above all others was boxing,
and wherever he went, either on pleasure or adventure, the gloves
went with him. In many a cabin and shack of the far hinterland he
had taught white men and Indians how to use them, so that he might
have the pleasure of feeling the thrill of them on his hands. And
now here was Concombre Bateese inviting him on, waiting for him to
get well!
He went out and dangled the clumsy-looking mittens under the half-
breed's nose.
Bateese looked at them curiously. "Mitaines," he nodded. "Does ze
little partridge rooster keep his claws warm in those in ze
winter? They are clumsy, m'sieu. I can make a better mitten of
caribou skin." Putting on one of the gloves, David doubled up his
fist. "Do you see that, Concombre Bateese?" he asked. "Well, I
will tell you this, that they are not mittens to keep your hands
warm. I am going to fight you in them when our time comes. With
these mittens I will fight you and your naked fists. Why? Because
I do not want to hurt you too badly, friend Bateese! I do not want
to break your face all to pieces, which I would surely do if I did
not put on these soft mittens. Then, when you have really learned
to fight--"
The bull neck of Concombre Bateese looked as if it were about to
burst.
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