But their wiliness was useless, for Macavoy's
double-and-twist came near to lessening the Indian population of Fort
O'Angel. It only broke a leg and an arm, however. The Irishman came out
of the tangle of battle with a wild kind of light in his eye, his beard
all torn, and face battered. A shout of laughter, admiration and wonder
went up from the crowd. There was a moment's pause, and then Macavoy,
whose blood ran high, stood forth again. The Trader came to him.
"Must this go on?" he said; "haven't you had your fill of it?"
Had he touched Macavoy with a word of humour the matter might have ended
there; but now the giant spoke loud, so all could hear.
"Had me fill av it, Trader, me angel? I'm only gittin' the taste av it.
An' ye'll plaze bring on yer men--four it was--for the feed av Irish
pemmican."
The Trader turned and swore at Pierre, who smiled enigmatically.
Soon after, two of the best fighters of the Company's men stood forth.
Macavoy shook his head. "Four, I said, an' four I'll have, or I'll ate
the heads aff these."
Shamed, the Trader sent forth two more. All on an instant the four made
a rush on the giant; and there was a stiff minute after, in which it was
not clear that he was happy. Blows rattled on him, and one or two he got
on the head, just as he tossed a man spinning senseless across the grass,
which sent him staggering backwards for a moment, sick and stunned.
Pierre called over to him swiftly: "Remember Malahide!"
This acted on him like a charm.
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