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Updated: May 18, 2025
"At last my mother spoke: 'It's surprising that they should have waited so long to come back. Do not go alone, Baptiste; one of these gentlemen will accompany you. "My Uncle Francois arose. He was a kind of Hercules, very proud of his strength, and feared nothing in the world. My father said to him: 'Take a gun. There is no telling what it might be.
Dat's good for you, my bully boy," said Baptiste, a wiry little French-Canadian, Sandy's sworn ally and devoted admirer ever since the day when the big Scotchman, under great provocation, had knocked him clean off the dump into the river and then jumped in for him. It was not till afterward I learned the cause of Sandy's sudden wrath which urged him to such unwonted length of speech.
After carrying John Baptiste about halfway up the wharf, they put him down, and made him "trot it" until they reached the Dutch grog-shop we have described in the scene with Manuel. Here they halted to take a "stiff'ner," while Baptiste was ordered to sit down upon a bench, Dunn taking him by the collar and giving him a hearty shake, which made the lad bellow right lustily.
The captain and I had already set off on a run, and Baptiste was hanging at our heels. Shouting and yelling rose from all parts of the fort, and blended with the wild cheers of the savages. Dark forms loomed right and left of us as we sped on.
"Do you mean you have seen a Windego track?" "Monjee, seh, don't say its name! Let us go back," said Jawnny. "Baptiste was at Madores' shanty with us when it took Hermidas Dubois." "Yesseh. That's de way I'll come for know de track soon 's I see it," said Baptiste. "Before den I mos' don' b'lieve dere was any of it. But ain't it take Hermidas Dubois only last New Year's?"
Believing that their hated enemy had eluded them forever, they rode back on their trail, disgusted and chagrined, without even taking the trouble of looking over the precipice to learn the fate of Baptiste. The horse was instantly killed, and the Frenchman had both of his legs badly broken.
Baptiste went forward a few steps, hesitated, stopped, turned, and fairly ran back toward the party. As he came he continually turned his head from side to side as if expecting to see some dreadful thing following. The men behind Tom stopped. Their faces were blanched. They looked, too, from side to side. "Halt, Mr. Tom, halt! Oh, monjee, M'sieu, stop!" said Jawnny.
There they are all about me. Graeme and the men from the woods, Sandy, Baptiste, the Campbells, and in many attitudes and groups old man Nelson; Craig, too, and his miners, Shaw, Geordie, Nixon, and poor old Billy and the keeper of the League saloon. It seemed as if I lived among them, and the illusion was greatly helped by the vivid letters Graeme sent me from time to time.
'Allons, mes garcons; vite! never say keel! cried Baptiste excitedly, stripping off the harness. But Sandy would not leave the horses till they were carefully rubbed down, blanketed, and fed, for he was entered for the four-horse race and it behoved him to do his best to win.
Over them leans their driver, plying for the first time the hissing lash. Only fifty yards more. The miners begin to yell. But Baptiste, waving his lines high in one hand seizes his tuque with the other, whirls it about his head and flings it with a fiercer yell than ever at the bronchos.
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