The odds are about thirty
to one against you, M'sieu David!"
The look of pity which was clearly in her eyes brought a rush of
blood to David's face. "If only I had something to wager!" he
groaned.
"You must not fight. I shall forbid it!"
"Then Bateese and I will steal off into the forest and have it out
by ourselves."
"He will hurt you badly. He is terrible, like a great beast, when
he fights. He loves to fight and is always asking if there is not
some one who will stand up to him. I think he would desert even me
for a good fight. But you, M'sieu David--"
"I also love a fight," he admitted, unashamed.
St. Pierre's wife studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "With
these?" she asked then, holding up the gloves.
"Yes, with those. Bateese may use his fists, but I shall use
those, so that I shall not disfigure him permanently. His face is
none too handsome as it is."
For another flash her lips trembled on the edge of a smile. Then
she gave him the gloves, a bit troubled, and nodded to a chair
with a deep, cushioned seat and wide arms. "Please make yourself
comfortable, M'sieu David. I have something to do in the cabin and
will return in a little while.
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