"gp08w10" - читать интересную книгу автора (Parker Gilbert)

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." He
wheeled and strode fiercely out. Pierre smiled gently.

"He's a great bully that, isn't he, Trader? There'll be fun in front of
the Fort to-night. For he's only bragging, of course--eh?"

The Trader nodded with no great assurance, and then Pierre said as a
parting word: "You'll be there, of course--only four av ye!" and hurried
out after Macavoy, humming to himself--

"For the King said this, and the Queen said that,
But he walked away with their army, O!"

So far Pierre's plan had worked even better than he expected, though
Macavoy's moods had not been altogether after his imaginings. He drew
alongside the giant, who had suddenly grown quiet again. Macavoy turned
and looked down at Pierre with the candour of a schoolboy, and his voice
was very low:

"It's a long time ago, I'm thinkin'," he said, "since I lost me frinds--
ages an' ages ago. For me frinds are me inimies now, an' that makes a
man old. But I'll not say that it cripples his arm or humbles his back."
He drew his arm up once or twice and shot it out straight into the air
like a catapult. "It's all right," he added, very softly, "an', Half-
breed, me b'y, if me frinds have turned inimies, why, I'm thinkin' me
inimy has turned frind, for that I'm sure you were, an' this I'm certain
y 'are. So here's the grip av me fist, an' y'll have it." Pierre
remembered that disconcerting, iron grip of friendship for many a day.
He laughed to himself to think how he was turning the braggart into a
warrior. "Well," said Pierre, "what about those five at Wonta's tent?"

"I'll be there whin the sun dips below the Little Red Hill," he said, as
though his thoughts were far away, and he turned his face towards Wonta's
tent. Presently he laughed out loud. "It's manny along day," he said,
"since--"