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Updated: June 7, 2025
He turned. "Anyway, I'm going to make one more attempt at it. See what you can do, Medaine." The girl came forward then, half smiling, and seated herself beside the bed. She took Barry's hand in hers, then with a laugh turned to Thayer. "What shall I do? Make love to him?" "Why not?" It was old Ba'tiste edging forward, the twinkle once more in his eyes. "Bon good! Make love to him."
When I first met Ba'tiste here, I told him there was a shadow in my life that I did not like to talk about. He was good enough to say that he didn't want to hear it. I felt that out here, perhaps I would not be harassed by certain memories that have been rather hard for me to bear in the last couple of years. I was wrong.
A leap and he had struck the foreman on the point of the chin, sending him reeling backward, while the other men rushed to his assistance. "That's my answer to you!" shouted Houston. "This is my flume and " "Run tell Thayer!" shouted the foreman, and then with recovering strength, he turned for a cant hook. But Ba'tiste seized it first, and with a great wrench, threw it far out of the way.
No one know. But the survey, eet is made. The land, eet is condem'. So it must be soon. But you say you no know lumber?" "Not more than any office man could learn in a year and a half. It wasn't my business, Ba'tiste. Father thought less and less of the mill every year. Once or twice, he was all but ready to sell it to Thayer, and would have done it, I guess, if Thayer could have raised the money.
"How do you know there'll be a next time?" "If there isn't, I'll drive nails in myself, so you'll have to pull 'em out." Then seriously. "You do come over here often, don't you?" "Of course " then, the last thorn disposed of, she rose "to see Ba'tiste. I look on him as a sort of a guardian. He knew my father. But let's talk about yourself.
The mill, eet will be sawing in a month. The rest, the big plant, eet will take time for that." "On Medaine's land then!" But Ba'tiste shook his head. "No. Eet is on the five acres own' by Jerry Martin. He has been try' to sell eet for five year. Eet is no good rocks and rocks and rocks. They build eet there." "But what can they do on five acres? Where will they get their lumber?"
His eyes grew cold and lifeless, his hands white and drawn, his features haggard. The chuckle left the lips of Ba'tiste Renaud. He moved swiftly, almost sinuously to the bed, and gripped the younger man by his uninjured arm. His eyes came close to Barry Houston, his voice was sharp, tense, commanding: "You! Why you act like that when I talk about murder? Why you get pale, huh? Why you get pale?"
A little flutter of leaves like a clapping of hands marked land enough to support black poplars, and we rounded a crumbly sand bank just in time to see the seven-banded birch canoe of a little old hunter, Sam Ba'tiste Buck eighty years old he was squatting in the bottom of the birch canoe, ragged almost to nakedness, bare of feet, gray-headed, nearly toothless but happier than an emperor the first living being we had seen for a week in the muskegs.
They were the housing place of the wide spaces where the streams ran through green valleys, where the sagebrush dotted the plateau plains, and where the world was a thing with a rim about it; hills soft blue and brown and gray and burning red in the sunlight, black, crumpled velvet beneath the moon and stars; hills where the pines grew, where his life awaited him, a new thing to be remolded nearer to his own desires, and where lived Ba'tiste, Agnes and Medaine.
Again she held out her hand to the fire, but suddenly she gave a little cry and put her hand to her head. There was Ba'tiste! What was Ba'tiste to her? Nothing-nothing at all. She had saved his life even if she wronged Ba'tiste, her debt would be paid. No, she would not think of Ba'tiste. Yet she did not put the paper in the fire, but in the pocket of her dress.
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