He did not like the taunting
note of suggestiveness in the other's words. Was it possible that
Bateese suspected the true state of his mind, that he was in love
with the wife of St. Pierre, and that his heart was sick because
of what he had seen aboard the raft? He flushed hotly. It made him
uncomfortable to feel that even the half-breed might have guessed
his humiliation.
David looked through the window toward the raft. The bateau was
drifting downstream, possibly a hundred feet from the shore, but
it was quite evident that Concombre Bateese was making no effort
to bring it close to the floating mass of timber, which had made
no change in its course down the river. David's mind painted
swiftly what was happening in the cabin into which Marie-Anne and
St. Pierre had disappeared. At this moment Marie-Anne was telling
of him, of the adventure in the hot patch of sand. He fancied the
suppressed excitement in her voice as she unburdened herself. He
saw St. Pierre's face darken, his muscles tighten--and crouching
in silence, he seemed to see the misshapen hulk of Andre, the
Broken Man, listening to what was passing between the other two.
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