His eyes seemed ready to pop out of their sockets, and
suddenly he let out a roar. "What!--You dare talk lak that to
Concombre Bateese, w'at is great'st fightin' man on all T'ree
River? You talk lak that to me, Concombre Bateese, who will kill
ze bear wit' hees ban's, who pull down ze tree, who--who--"
The word-flood of his outraged dignity sprang to his lips; emotion
choked him, and then, looking suddenly over Carrigan's shoulder--
he stopped. Something in his look made David turn. Three paces
behind him stood Marie-Anne, and he knew that from the corner of
the cabin she had heard what had passed between them. She was
biting her lips, and behind the flash of her eyes he saw laughter.
"You must not quarrel, children," she said. "Bateese, you are
steering badly."
She reached out her hands, and without a word David gave her the
gloves. With her palm and fingers she caressed them softly, yet
David saw little lines of doubt come into her white forehead.
"They are pretty--and soft, M'sieu David. Surely they can not hurt
much! Some day when St. Pierre comes, will you teach me how to use
them?"
"Always it is 'When St. Pierre comes,'" he replied.
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