Men were busy about the bateau, and Concombre Bateese
stood in the stern, a long pole in his hands, giving commands to
the others. The bateau was beginning to swing out into the stream
when he leaped aboard. A wide grin spread over the half-breed's
face. He eyed David keenly and laughed in his deep chest, an
unmistakable suggestiveness in the note of it.
"You look seek, m'sieu," he said in an undertone, for David's ears
alone, "You look ver' unhappy, an' pale lak leetle boy! Wat happen
w'en you look t'rough ze glass up there, eh? Or ees it zat you
grow frighten because ver' soon you stan' up an' fight Concombre
Bateese? Eh, coq de bruyere? Ees it zat?"
A quick thought came to David. "Is it true that St. Pierre can not
whip you, Bateese?"
Bateese threw out his chest with a mighty intake of breath. Then
he exploded: "No man on all T'ree River can w'ip Concombre
Bateese."
"And St. Pierre is a powerful man," mused David, letting his eyes
travel slowly from the half-breed's moccasined feet to the top of
his head. "I measured him well through the glasses, Bateese. It
will be a great fight. But I shall whip you!"
He did not wait for the half-breed to reply, but went into the
cabin and closed the door behind him.
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