Pierre's eyes. They were the sort of eyes he disliked to find
in an enemy--a grayish, steely blue that reflected sunlight like
polished flint. But there was no flash of battle-glow in them now.
St. Pierre was neither excited nor in a bad humor. Nor did
Carrigan's attitude appear to disturb him in the least. He was
smiling; his eyes glowed with almost boyish curiosity as he stared
appraisingly at David--and then, slowly, a low chuckle of laughter
rose in his deep chest, and he advanced with an outstretched hand.
"I am St. Pierre Boulain," he said. "I have heard a great deal
about you, Sergeant Carrigan. You have had an unfortunate time!"
Had the man advanced menacingly, David would have felt more
comfortable. It was disturbing to have this giant come to him with
an extended hand of apparent friendship when he had anticipated an
entirely different sort of meeting. And St. Pierre was laughing at
him! There was no doubt of that. And he had the colossal nerve to
tell him that he had been unfortunate, as though being shot up by
somebody's wife was a fairly decent joke!
Carrigan's attitude did not change. He did not reach out a hand to
meet the other.
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