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You are come to hear how by the help of God I have killed Filon Geraud at the ford of Crèvecoeur. By the help of God, yes. Think you if the devil had a hand in it, he would not have helped Filon? For he was the devil's own, was Filon. He was big, he was beautiful, he had a way but always there was the devil's mark. I see that the first time ever I knew him at Agua Caliente.
Mention of the fish bait recalls what strange things occasionally happen in relation to hunting. A half-breed hunter, named Pierre Geraud, living near Fort Isle a la Crosse, in laying out his trapping trail one winter, had set one of his mink deadfalls in a swamp close to the water-line; and on visiting the trap after the spring flood, found a large pike caught in it.
Gerbert, born at Aurillac, and brought up in the monastery of St. Geraud, had, when he was summoned to the directorate of the school of Rheims, already made a trip to Spain, visited Rome, and won the esteem of Pope John XIII. and of the Emperor Otho II., and had thus had a close view of the great personages and great questions, ecclesiastical and secular, of his time.
One Géraud Bartet, a cadet of the great house of Crussol of which the representative nowadays is the Duc d'Uzès built this eagle's nest in the year 1110; but it did not become a place of importance until more than four hundred years later, in the time of the religious wars. On the issue of faiths the Crussols divided.
M. Paer, the author of Agnese, a good sort of fellow, with a square face and a wart on his cheek, directed the little private concerts of the Marquise de Sasenaye in the Rue Ville l'Eveque. All the young girls were singing the Hermit of Saint-Avelle, with words by Edmond Geraud. The Yellow Dwarf was transferred into Mirror.
One year I come by La Crevasse there is nothing there; I go on to Moultrie here is the grass eaten to the roots, and the little pines have no tops; at Bighorn is the fresh litter of a flock. I think maybe my sheep go hungry that summer. So I come to Angostura. There is Filon. He laugh. Then it come into my mind that one day I goin' kill that Filon Geraud. By the help of God. Yes.
All this time I think me to take the sheep to Pierre Jullien in the meadow of Black Mountain. He is not much, that Pierre. If I tell him it is one gift from Le bon Dieu, that is explain enough for Pierre Jullien. Then I will be quit of the trouble of Filon Geraud. So, M'siu, would it have been, but for that dog Helène. That is Filon's she-dog that he raise from a pup.
"My goat have won the ford," says he. "Your goat cannot keep what he wins." "But I can," say Filon. Then he look at me with his eyes like like I have told you, M'siu. "Raoul," he say, "you is one little man." With that I remember me all the wrong I have had from this one. "Go you after your goat, Filon Geraud," say I.
There is pine wood all about eastward from that place. It is all shadow there at midday and has a weary sound. Me, I like it not, that pine wood, so I push the flock and am very glad when I hear toward the ford the bark of dogs and the broken sound of bells. I think there is other shepherd that make talk with me. But me, M'siu, sacre! damn! when I come out by the ford there is Filon Geraud.
Antoine de Roquelaure, Seigneur de Roquelaure in Armagnac, de Guadoux, etc., marshal of France, grand-master of the King's wardrobe, knight of the Orders of St. Michael and the Holy Ghost, perpetual mayor of Bordeaux, etc., was the younger son of Geraud Roquelaure, and the representative of an illustrious house.
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