Yet St. Pierre, he conceded, was their
master--and his own. For a flash he had transformed the chief of
the Boulains into a volcano which had threatened to break in
savage fury, yet neither the crash nor destruction had come. And
now St. Pierre was smiling again, as Carrigan faced him, stripped
to the waist. He betrayed no sign of the tempest of passion that
had swept him a few minutes before. His cool, steely eyes had in
them a look that was positively friendly, as Concombre Bateese
marked in the hard sand the line of the circle within which no man
might come. And as he did this and St. Pierre's people crowded
close about it, St. Pierre himself spoke in a low voice to David.
"M'sieu, it seems a shame that we should fight. I like you. I have
always loved a man who would fight to protect a woman, and I shall
be careful not to hurt you more than is necessary to make you see
reason--and to win the wagers. So you need not be afraid of my
killing you, as Bateese might have done. And I promise not to
destroy your beauty, for the sake of--the lady in the bateau. My
Carmin, if she knew you spied through her window last night, would
say kill you with as little loss of time as possible, for as
regards you her sweet disposition was spoiled when you hung her
brother, m'sieu.
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