The thought grew, and his mind
was consumed by it. Thus far, from the moment the first shot was
fired at him from the ambush, he had been playing with adventure
in the dark. But fate had at last dealt him a trump card. That
something which he possessed was more precious than furs or gold
to St. Pierre, and St. Pierre would not refuse the wager when it
was offered. He would not dare refuse. More than that, he would
accept eagerly, strong in the faith that Bateese would whip him as
he had whipped all other fighters who had come up against him
along the Three Rivers. And when Marie-Anne knew what that wager
was to be, she, too, would pray for the gods of chance to be with
Concombre Bateese!
He did not hear the light footsteps behind him, and when he turned
suddenly in his pacing, he found himself facing Marie-Anne, who
carried in her hands the little basket he had seen on the cabin
table. She seated herself in the hammock and took from the basket
a bit of lace work. For a moment he watched her fingers flashing
in and out with the needles.
Perhaps his thought went to her. He was almost frightened as he
saw her cheeks coloring under the long, dark lashes.
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