And you, m'sieu--David Carrigan, of the Police--can
not strike with your hard man's hand that tender heart, that is
like a flower, and which this moment is beating faster than it
should with the fear that some harm is going to befall you. Is it
not so, m'sieu? We will make the wager, yes. But if you whip
Bateese--and you can not do that in a hundred years of fighting--I
will not tell you why my Jeanne shot at you behind the rock. Non,
never! Yet I swear I will tell you the other. If you win, I will
tell you all I know about Roger Audemard, and that is
considerable, m'sieu. Do you agree?"
Slowly David held out a hand. St. Pierre's gripped it. The fingers
of the two men met like bands of steel.
"Tomorrow you will fight," said St. Pierre. "You will fight and be
beaten so terribly that you may always show the marks of it. I am
sorry. Such a man as you I would rather have as a brother than an
enemy. And she will never forgive me. She will always remember it.
The thought will never die out of her heart that I was a beast to
let you fight Bateese. But it is best for all. And my men? Ah!
Diable, but it will be great sport for them, m'sieu!"
His hand unclasped.
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