United States or Cyprus ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
There was, he felt, a disagreeable undercurrent of uneasiness; but this might have been the result of fear as to how the Canadian half-breeds and friends of the slain man would regard the matter in the event of its being found out. There was reason for anxiety on this head, for poor Perrin was a great favourite among his comrades, while Cloudbrow was very much the reverse.
"I know the knife," returned the woman, becoming more literal as she went on, "and Marie Blanc knows it. Her husband once got the loan of it from Cloudbrow, and she looked at it with care, because she had never seen such a knife before. She knew all its marks. Why does Cloudbrow deny that it is his? Because it was Cloudbrow who killed Perrin.
Again La Certe broke the piscatorial spell that had settled down on them, and, taking up the thread of discourse where he had dropped it, repeated his statement that he had been wondering for a long time why Cloudbrow, alias young Duncan McKay, was so sharp and fierce in denying that he knew anything about the murder of Henri Perrin. "Hee! hee!" was Slowfoot's significant reply.
"You don't like Cloudbrow," remarked the man with an inquiring glance over the rim of his mug. "Why you not like him?" "Hee! hee!" was Slowfoot's lucid reply. Then, with an unwonted frown on her mild visage, she added with emphasis "No! I not like him." "I know that," returned the husband, setting down his mug and resuming his pipe, "but why?"
For the moment he had quite forgotten that the knife had been left in the camp where he had slain Perrin, and the sudden sight of it had thrown him off his guard. It was now too late to unsay the words, but not too late to mislead his hearers. "I got it from Marie Blanc," said Slowfoot with a look of surprise. "Does the knife belong to Cloudbrow?" "I think it does. I'm almost sure it iss mine.
It passed, however, and the pair went on smoking with placid contentment, for they had but recently had a "square" meal of pemmican and flour. This compost when cooked in a frying-pan is exceedingly rich and satisfying not to say heavy food, but it does not incommode such as La Certe and his wife. It even made the latter feel amiably disposed to Cloudbrow.
But if it do I cannot help that. Cloudbrow could not ask me to pay for what the wind does." There came another gust of such violence, as he spoke, that even Slowfoot's benignant expression changed to a momentary glance of anxiety, for the shingles on the roof rattled, and the rafters creaked as if the hut were groaning under the strain.
He spoke with obvious impatience at the delay caused by having so much to tell. "Is your horse in the stable?" he demanded sharply a second time, while his friend began, with exasperating composure, to assure him that it was, but that the horse was not his. "Cloudbrow is its owner," he said, "and you know if anything happens to it he will . Stay, I will get you lantern "
Yes; but did ever two shoes have the same mends in the same places of the netting, where it had been broken, and the same marks on the frames?" "Never. It will go hard with Cloudbrow if this is true." "It will go hard with him whether it is true or not," returned the woman; "for some of the friends of Perrin believe it to be true, and swear "
But the buffalo, perhaps, will return in time to save them." "Hm!" responded the wife, helping herself to some very strong tea, which she poured out of a tin kettle into a tin mug and sweetened with maple sugar. "Do you know if Cloudbrow went with them?" asked the half-breed, pushing forward his mug for a supply of the cheering beverage.
Word Of The Day