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Updated: May 13, 2025
"Le Borgne, you rascal, you know who gave me this," I began, taking careful scrutiny of the Indian. One eye was glazed and sightless, the other yellow like a fox's; but the fellow was straight, supple, and clean-timbered as a fresh-hewn mast. With a "huh-huh," he gabbled back some answer. "What does he say, Godefroy?"
"My!" said Maimie, when she had recovered her breath sufficiently to speak, "is that the church?" She pointed to a huge wooden building about whose door a group of men were standing. "Huh-huh, that's it," said Hughie; "but we will soon be done with the ugly old thing."
At midnight Bud blew on his blistered fingertips and shook the guitar gently, bottom-side up. "I guess that's all the music there is in the darned thing to-night," he lamented. "She's made to keep time, and she always strikes, along about midnight." "Huh-huh!" chortled Hen convulsively, as if he understood the joke. He closed his mouth and sighed deeply, as one who has just wakened from a trance.
A dollar. Yes, you did, for delivering a note given you by Captain Jack Maitland," hissed Vic, gripping his arm. "Huh-huh," said Sam. "Look out, Mister, that's me." "Villain!" cried Vic. "Boy, I mean. Now, Sam, did you deliver that note?" "Of course I did. Didn't Captain Jack give me a dollar for it? I didn't want his dollar."
This was followed by a sound that resembled the falling of paper on the floor; it lasted for some time, bunch apparently following bunch. Listen! Some one is talking in an abusive voice! What’s that? A gruesome, sing-song voice repeating unintelligible words: “I-oi! huh, huh! I-oi, huh-huh!” There is a sound as if of crackling fire. The flames cannot be seen; but they can be heard!
"The last question, Sam," said Vic solemnly, "to whom did you deliver the note?" "To that chap, the son of the storekeeper." "Rupert Stillwell?" suggested Vic. "Huh-huh, that's his name. That's him now," cried Sam. "In that Hudson car see there quick!" "Boy," said Vic solemnly, "you have saved your life. Here's a dollar. Now, remember, not a word about this."
"Now, mother, who is it?" insisted Hughie, as Lambert, the French-Canadian man-of-all-work, lifted him from his place. "You'll have to tell me, Hughie!" "Ranald!" "Ranald?" "Yes, Ranald and his father, Macdonald Dubh, and he's hurted awful bad, and " "Hurt, Hughie," interposed the mother, gently. "Huh-huh! Ranald said he was hurted." "Hurt, you mean, Hughie. Who was hurt? Ranald?"
"Who is mad?" said Ranald. "I am not mad whatever." "Well, you look mighty like it," said Don. "You look mad enough to fight." But Ranald, ignoring him, simply said, "We will need to be gathering the sap this evening, for the troughs will be full." "Huh-huh," said Don. "I guess we can carry all there is to-day, but we will have to get the colt to-morrow. Got the spiles ready?"
It was the first travoise. The men of the Buffalo Country put their hands over their mouths, for they had never seen anything like it." The Coyote waited for the deep "huh-huh" of approval which circled the attentive audience at the end of the story.
"Ah'll be dar, don' you nebbe fear fo' dat," chuckled the colored man. "Huh-huh double pay and no brakfus' ter git. Dat's what I calls LIVIN' yas, sah." As Frank, well pleased at having adjusted the business of the night watches so easily, was striding over the snow-powdered rocks toward the boys' hut, he heard a sudden disturbance behind the main hut and loud cries of: "Help! help!"
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