They shook their heads
now a little sagely; they weren't so sure that Pierre's little game was
so jovial as it had promised.
Even Pierre had hardly looked for so much from his giant as yet. In a
little while he had got Macavoy back to his old humour.
"What was I made for but war!" said the Irishman, "an' by war to kape
thim at peace, wherever I am." Soon he was sufficiently restored in
spirits to go with Pierre to Bareback's lodge, where, sitting at the tent
door, with idlers about, he smoked with the chief and his braves. Again
Pierre worked upon him adroitly, and again he became loud in speech, and
grandly patronising.
"I've stood by ye like a father, ye loafers," he said, "an' I give you my
word, ye howlin' rogues--"
Here Bareback and a half-dozen braves came up suddenly from the ground,
and the chief said fiercely: "You speak crooked things. We are no
rogues. We will fight."
Macavoy's face ran red to his hair. He scratched his head a little
foolishly, and gathered himself up. "Sure, 'twas only me tasin',
darlins," he said, "but I'll be comin' again, when y'are not so narvis."
He turned to go away.
Pierre made a sign to Bareback, and the Indian touched the giant on the
arm. "Will you fight?" said he.
"Not all o' ye at once," said Macavoy slowly, running his eye carefully
along the half-dozen; "not more than three at a toime," he added with a
simple sincerity, his voice again gone like the dove's. "At what time
will it be convaynyint for ye?" he asked.
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