You are of
the Police. I love the Police. They are brave men, and brave men
are my brothers. You are out after Roger Audemard, the rascal! Is
it not so? And you were shot at behind the rock back there. You
were almost killed. Ma foi, and it was my Jeanne who did the
shooting! Yes, she thought you were another man." The chuckling,
drum-like note of laughter came again out of St. Pierre's great
chest. "It was bad shooting. I have taught her better, but the sun
was blinding there in the hot, white sand. And after that--I know
everything that has happened. Bateese was wrong. I shall scold him
for wanting to put you at the bottom of the river--perhaps. Oui,
ce que femme veut, Dieu le veut--that is it. A woman must have her
way, and my Jeanne's gentle heart was touched because you were a
brave and handsome man, M'sieu Carrigan. But I am not jealous.
Jealousy is a worm that does not make friendship! And we shall be
friends. Only as a friend could I take you to the Chateau Boulain,
far up on the Yellowknife. And we are going there."
In spite of what might have been the entirely proper thing to do
at this particular moment, Carrigan's face broke into a smile as
he drew a second chair up close to the table.
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