Pierre staggered back,
flung almost from his feet by its force, a subdued cry of
amazement broke from the waiting men. Concombre Bateese stood like
one stupefied. And then, in another flash, St. Pierre had caught
himself and whirled like a wild beast. Every muscle in his body
was drawn for a gigantic, overwhelming leap; his eyes blazed; the
fury of a beast was in his face. Before all his people he had
suffered the deadliest insult that could be offered a man of the
Three River Country--a blow struck with the flat of another's
hand. Anything else one might forgive, but not that. Such a blow,
if not avenged, was a brand that passed down into the second and
third generations, and even children would call out "Yellow-Back--
Yellow-Back," to the one who was coward enough to receive it
without resentment. A rumbling growl rose in the throat of
Concombre Bateese in that moment when it seemed as though St.
Pierre Boulain was about to kill the man who had struck him. He
saw the promise of his own fight gone in a flash. For no man in
all the northland could now fight David Carrigan ahead of St.
Pierre.
David waited, prepared to meet the rush of a madman.
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