Then his head went down, swifter than a
diving grebe, and as St. Pierre's arm swung like an oaken beam
over his shoulder, his own shot in straight for the pit of the
other's stomach. It was a bull's-eye blow with the force of a
pile-driver behind it, and the groan that forced its way out of
St. Pierre's vitals was heard by every ear in the cordon of
watchers. His weight stopped, his arms opened, and through that
opening Carrigan's fist went a second time to the other's jaw, and
a second time the great St. Pierre Boulain sprawled out upon the
sand. And there he lay, and made no effort to rise.
Concombre Bateese, with his great mouth agape, stood for an
instant as if the blow had stunned him in place of his master.
Then, suddenly he came to life, and leaped to David's side.
"Diable! Tonnerre! You have not fight Concombre Bateese yet!" he
howled. "Non, you have cheat me, you have lie, you have run lak
cat from Concombre Bateese, ze stronges' man on all T'ree River!
You are wan' gran' coward, wan poltroon, an' you 'fraid to fight
ME, who ees greates' fightin' man in all dees countree! Sapristi!
Why you no hit Concombre Bateese, m'sieu? Why you no hit ze
greates' fightin' man w'at ees--"
David did not hear the rest.
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