United States or Moldova ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Everybody was brushing mosquitoes, except Leclere, about whose head a small cloud was visible. Even Batard, lying full-stretched on the ground with his fore paws rubbed the pests away from eyes and mouth. But while Slackwater waited for Batard to lift his head, a faint call came from the quiet air, and a man was seen waving his arms and running across the flat from Sunrise.
Some day it would happen, or else bah! who was to know? Anyway, the problem would be solved. For they had become problems to each other. The very breath each drew was a challenge and a menace to the other. Their hate bound them together as love could never bind. Leclere was bent on the coming of the day when Batard should wilt in spirit and cringe and whimper at his feet.
And for six months after, he wrote no letters home to the States, and the surgeon at McQuestion travelled two hundred miles on the ice to save him from blood-poisoning. Men and dogs looked askance at Batard when he drifted into their camps and posts. The men greeted him with feet threateningly lifted for the kick, the dogs with bristling manes and bared fangs.
"O!" laughed the old sergeant, "I'll wager my boots that His Reverence is not in the fight at all. It's likely one of his understrappers, Father Germain, perhaps, or that cutthroat half-breed, Etienne Le Batard, or Father Laberne, or the big Chief Cope himself, is leading the fight and carrying out the saintly abbe's orders." "Fools!
But the situation had its compensation. To be snatched from the maw of death was well worth a little bodily suffering, only it was unfortunate that he should miss the hanging of the Beaver. And so he mused, till his eyes chanced to fall upon Batard, head between fore paws and stretched on the ground asleep. And their Leclere ceased to muse.
And they acquired a reputation for uncompromising wickedness, the like of which never before attached itself to man and dog. Batard did not know his father hence his name but, as John Hamlin knew, his father was a great grey timber wolf.
Batard was a devil. This was recognized throughout the Northland. "Hell's Spawn" he was called by many men, but his master, Black Leclere, chose for him the shameful name "Batard." Now Black Leclere was also a devil, and the twain were well matched. There is a saying that when two devils come together, hell is to pay.
With a proper master Batard might have made an ordinary, fairly efficient sled-dog. He never got the chance: Leclere but confirmed him in his congenital iniquity. The history of Batard and Leclere is a history of war of five cruel, relentless years, of which their first meeting is fit summary.
"What next?" the princess interrupted, smiling sardonically and not changing the expression of her eyes. "I am a woman, and you think we are all stupid; but I know this: an illegitimate son cannot inherit... un batard!" * she added, as if supposing that this translation of the word would effectively prove to Prince Vasili the invalidity of his contention. * A bastard. "Well, really, Catiche!
They drew back into a wider circle, squatting alertly on their haunches and licking their chops, the hair on every neck bristling and erect. Batard recovered quickly, and at sound of Leclere's voice, tottered to his feet and swayed weakly back and forth. "A-h-ah! You beeg devil!" Leclere spluttered. "Ah fix you; Ah fix you plentee, by GAR!"
Word Of The Day