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It was Golemar, followed a moment later by a grinning, twinkling-eyed Ba'tiste. "Bon! Good!" he exclaimed. "See, Golemar? What I say to you? He wait up for Ba'teese. Bon! Now alert, mon ami! The pencil and the paper!" He slumped into a chair and dived into a pocket of his red shirt, to bring forth a mass of scribbled sheets, to stare at them, striving studiously to make out the writing.
A furry, snarling thing had leaped at him, knocking the revolver from his hand in its plunging ascent. Then a cry, a gurgling growl. Teeth had clenched at the throat of the man; together they rolled through the door to the snow without, Golemar, his hold broken by the fall, striving again for the death clutch, the man screaming in sudden frantic fear. "Take him off!"
Finally, the trapper cocked his head and spoke, rather to the horse and Golemar than to Houston. "Eet is the one, big lie!" "Yes, but there's not much way of proving it, Ba'tiste." "Proof? Bah! And does Ba'teese need proof? Ba'teese no like this woman, Jierdon. She say Ba'teese burn the mill." "I didn't know you heard that." "She have a bad mouth. She have a bad eye. She have a bad tongue.
Besides, there was Ba'tiste, heavy-shouldered, giant Ba'tiste, leaning over the side of the wagon, whistling and chiding the faithful old Golemar, and some way Houston felt that he would be an ally always. The wagon had turned into the deeper forest now redolent with the heavy odor of the coniferous woods, and Ba'tiste straightened.
The road had narrowed to a mere trail; Ba'tiste tugged on the reins, and motioning to Barry, left the wagon, pulling forth an axe and heavy, cross-cut saw as he did so. A half-hour later, Golemar preceding them, they were deep in the forest. Ba'tiste stopped and motioned toward a tall spruce.
At the door the wolf-dog sniffed and snarled. Ba'tiste, bending among the lost trinkets that once had been his wife's, did not hear. Houston grasped him by the shoulder and shook him excitedly. "Ba'tiste! Ba'tiste! There's some one hiding over there in the corner. I heard sounds look at Golemar!" "Hiding? No. There is no one here no one but Ba'tiste and his memories. No one "
"Eet is come! Eet is come!" Ba'tiste, waving his arms wildly, in spite of the stuffiness of his heavy mackinaw, and the broad belt which sank into layer after layer of clothing at his waist, came over the brow of the raise into camp, to seize Houston in his arms and dance him about, to lift him and literally throw him high upon his chest as one would toss a child, to roar at Golemar, then to stand back, brandishing an opened letter above his head.
I fired him and closed everything up there; as far as a Boston end to the business is concerned, there is none. But the damage is done. My lawyer says that there is not a chance to fight this thing in court." "Ah, oui. I expec' that much. But Ba'teese, he think, mebbe, of another way. Eh, Golemar?" He shouted to the dog, trotting, as usual, beside the buggy.
"Well," came at last, "there's no harm in thinking about it!" It was thus that Ba'tiste found him, still dreaming. The big voice of the Canadian boomed, and he reached forward to nudge Barry on his injured shoulder. "And who has been bringing you flowers?" he asked. "Medaine. That is Miss Robinette." "Medaine? Oh, ho! You hear, Golemar?" he turned to the fawning wolf-dog. "He calls her Medaine!
"Pardon me," he said rather caustically. "But I don't get the joke." "Ho, ho!" and Ba'tiste turned to talk to the shaggy dog at his side. "L'enfant feels it! L'enfant feels it!" "Feel it," grunted Houston. "Of course I feel it! I'm ticklish." "You hear, Golemar?" Ba'tiste, contorted with merriment, pointed vaguely in the direction of the bed, "M'sieu l' Nobody, heem is ticklish!"
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