"
For the first time St. Pierre's placidity seemed to leave him. His
brow became clouded, a moment's frown grew in his face, and there
was a certain disconsolate hopelessness in the shrug of his
shoulders. It was as if Carrigan's words had suddenly robbed the
day of all its sunshine for the chief of the Boulains. His voice,
too, carried an unhappy and disappointed note as he made a gesture
toward the window.
"M'sieu, on that raft out there are many of my men, and they have
scarcely rested or slept since word was brought to them that a
stranger was to fight Concombre Bateese. Tonnerre, they have
gambled without ever seeing you until the clothes on their backs
are in the hazard, and they have cracked their muscles in labor to
overtake you! They have prayed away their very souls that it would
be a good fight, and that Bateese would not eat you up too
quickly. It has been a long time since we have seen a good fight,
a long time since the last man dared to stand up against the half-
breed. Ugh, it tears out my heart to tell you that the fight can
not be!"
St. Pierre made no effort to suppress his emotion. He was like a
huge, disappointed boy.
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