"At sunset," said the chief, "before the Fort." Macavoy nodded and
walked away with Pierre, whose glance of approval at the Indians did
not make them thoroughly happy.
To rouse the giant was not now so easy. He had already three engagements
of violence for sunset. Pierre directed their steps by a roundabout to
the Company's stores, and again there was a distinct improvement in the
giant's spirits. Here at least he could be himself, he thought, here no
one should say him nay. As if nerved by the idea, he plunged at once
into boisterous raillery of the Chief Trader. "Oh, ho," he began, "me
freebooter, me captain av the looters av the North!" The Trader snarled
at him. "What d'ye mean, by such talk to me, sir? I've had enough--
we've all had enough--of your brag and bounce; for you're all sweat and
swill-pipe, and I give you this for your chewing, that though by the
Company's rules I can't go out and fight you, you may have your pick of
my men for it. I'll take my pay for your insults in pounded flesh--Irish
pemmican!"
Macavoy's face became mottled with sudden rage. He roared, as, perhaps,
he had never roared before: "Are ye all gone mad-mad-mad? I was jokin'
wid ye, whin I called ye this or that. But by the swill o' me pipe, and
the sweat o' me skin, I'll drink the blood o' yees, Trader, me darlin'.
An' all I'll ask is, that ye mate me to-night whin the rest o' the pack
is in front o' the Fort--but not more than four o' yees at a time--for
little scrawney rats as y'are, too many o' yees wad be in me way.
Pages:
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38