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Suddenly he thrust them into the hole, and his staff thrust viciously at them as he pushed them under the ice where they would quickly rot. It was done. "Mebbe the water'll wash the blood off'n it," he exclaimed. "Mebbe." Davia's eyes looked derisively upon the giant figure as he straightened himself up. She could not understand.
This brother of Davia's understood the trader; he did not watch him; it was the chest that contained the money that occupied his vigilance. Victor was resourceful and imaginative, but the stolid purpose of the other defied his best schemes. He meant to get away with the money, but the bulldog watchfulness of Jean gave him no opportunity.
But his words came full of anger. "He didn't mean marryin' ye." "Well?" The blue eyes fairly blazed. "The boodle," with a glance in the direction of the treasure. "He was fer jumpin' the lot." "Hah! An' ?" And Jean told his story. And after that a silence fell. "It's cursed it's blood-money!" Davia's voice was hoarse with emotion as she said the words. Jean started.
"It goes," cried Jean fiercely, "wher' he ain't like to touch it, 'less Hell gits him. Father Lefleur, at the mission, says as gold's Hell's pavin', an' mebbe this'll git back wher' it come." And with vengeful force he threw back the lid of the chest. Davia's eyes expressed more than any words could have told.
At last the giant rose; his task was completed. "Now," he said, addressing them both. "Say your says quick." "You ain't leavin' him here," said the woman, looking squarely into her brother's eyes. "That's so." A strange light leapt into Davia's eyes. Jean saw it and went on with a frown. "I'm easy, dead easy; but I guess I've had enough. He'll shift fer himself.
Benet's, Cambridge. Within a twelvemonth after namely, in 1631 HE made his first appearance as an author. His Davia's Heinous Sin, Hearty Repentance, Heavy Punishment, which came out in that year, was his sole adventure of noteworthy compass as a versifier; and he certainly testified his discretion in choosing thenceforward to be satisfied with writing prose.
Life thrilled the air although no life was visible. Davia's fear was written in her face, Jean's expression was inscrutable; only was it sure that he listened. But Jean was not without the superstitious dread which madness inspires.
If he'd 'a' acted straight ther'd 'a' been no call fer me to step in. He didn't. He ain't settin' you right, Davi'; he can't even act the thief decent. He'd 'a' robbed you an' me, an' left you what you are. Wal, my way goes." Then he turned to Victor and briefly told him Davia's story of the mountain tragedy. As he came to the climax the last vestige of the trader's insolence vanished.
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