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His name was Labouise, but he was called Chicot, and was in partnership with Maillochon, commonly called Mailloche, to practice the doubtful and undefined profession of junk-gatherers along the shore. They were a low order of sailors and they navigated regularly only in the months of famine. The rest of the time they acted as junk-gatherers.
He took up the oars again, and once more the boat disappeared in the heavy mist, which was now turned snowy white in the pink-tinted sky. "What kind of lead did you take, Maillochon?" Labouise asked. "Very small, number nine; that's the best for rabbits." They were approaching the other shore so slowly, so quietly that no noise betrayed them.
He continually kept his left eye closed, as if he were aiming at something or at somebody, and when people jokingly cried to him, "Open your eye, Labouise!" he would answer quietly: "Never fear, sister, I open it when there's cause to." He had a habit of calling every one "sister," even his scavenger companion.
He took up the oars again, and once more the boat disappeared in the heavy mist, which was now turned snowy white in the pink-tinted sky. "What kind of lead did you take, Maillochon?" Labouise asked. "Very small, number nine; that's the best for rabbits." They were approaching the other shore so slowly, so quietly that no noise betrayed them.
The donkey received the charge in his thighs, but the shot was so small and came from such a distance that he thought he was being stung by flies, for he began to thrash himself with his tail. Labouise sat down to laugh more comfortably, while Maillochon reloaded the weapon, so happy that he seemed to sneeze into the barrel.
No risk for me." The innkeeper, growing suspicious, exclaimed "Supposing he wasn't there!" Labouise once more raised his hand and said: "He's there, I swear! first bush to the left. What it is, I don't know. But it's not a buck, I'm positive. It's for you to find out what it is. Twenty-five francs, cash down!" Still the man hesitated: "Couldn't you bring it?" Maillochon exclaimed: "No, indeed!
The woman stopped dragging her donkey and looked. Labouise continued: "What are you doing going to the locomotive show?" The woman made no reply. Chicot continued: "Say, your trotter's prime for a race. Where are you taking him at that speed?" At last the woman answered: "I'm going to Macquart, at Champioux, to have him killed. He's worthless." Labouise answered: "You're right.
The weapon had disappeared under the board which served as a hiding place and the rabbit was stuffed into Chicot's loose shirt. After about a quarter of an hour Labouise asked: "Well, sister, shall we get one more?" "It will suit me," Maillochon answered. The boat started swiftly down the current. The mist, which was hiding both shores, was beginning to rise.
Both men darted after the beast, Maillochon with a long stride, Labouise with the short, breathless trot of a little man. But the donkey, tired out, had stopped, and, with a bewildered look, was watching his two murderers approach. Suddenly he stretched his neck and began to bray. Labouise, out of breath, had taken the gun.
She went away, threatening to call the police. They could hear her protesting indignantly and cursing as she went her way. Maillochon held out the gun to his comrade, saying: "It's your turn, Chicot." Labouise aimed and fired.
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