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Updated: June 14, 2025
Larocque was in the very act of clambering over the bulwarks amidships, towards the waist-deck where Asad awaited him in company with Marzak and the trusty Biskaine.
I'm in bully training, but I'm a cow compared to 'Shag." "What a rum name!" said Locke, still a little resentful. "Found out all about that, too," went on Cop. "Seems he has a whole string of names to choose from. Heard him tell the Head that his first name is 'Fire-Flint, and his last name is 'Larocque. Seemed to kind of take the Head where he is weakest.
At this Christmas time of 1834 payments were being made and indulgence was supreme, when a French half-breed named Larocque entered the office of the accountant, Thomas Simpson, a relative of Sir George, and demanded his pay in a disrespectful way. Simpson replied somewhat roughly, which led Larocque to insult the officer of the company.
He was a man who respected cash wherever he found it, and already the two Baptistes had a fine show ashore. "Ma'ame Larocque," said Conolly, politely, putting in his head, "of course you know I was only joking yesterday. You can get anything you want at the store." What a breakfast they did have, to be sure! the Baptistes eating while they worked.
"Yes, my dear boy," wrote Sir George, some weeks later, "by all means bring young Larocque home for the Easter vacation; I shall welcome the son of my old friend and guide with the greatest delight. I have frequently told you of French Pete's heroism and unselfishness, and if by a little hospitality I can show the son what I think of the father, I shall regard it as a privilege.
"If I'm to answer to you for every scalp I choose to lift in self-defence, the sooner I quit you the better," answered Larocque sulkily. "Was there any occasion to lift this scalp at all?" demanded McLeod, as he seized the man by the collar. "Who talks of lifting scalps?" growled a loud, deep-toned voice.
He had taken in the situation instantly the crowd breaking from all rule, two masters endeavoring to restore order, and Shag, alone, terribly alone, his back to the wall, his face to the tumult, standing like a wild thing driven into a corner, but yet gloriously game. "Shorty, how dare you speak of Shag Larocque like that?" Hal cried furiously. "And how dare you support him?" Shorty flung back.
Shag did not reply; he was looking across the room at Sir George Bennington's son. He knew the name of the wealthy man whom Queen Victoria had honored, knew it well. His father, Trapper Larocque, had met Sir George in the old pioneer days of the railroad in the North-West.
Old Larocque himself would hardly be more incongruous teaching in this college. It was this thought that made Shag smile as he rose from his knees, with the echoes of the bells of St. Boniface haunting his heart. Then the chapel emptied, each boy on breakfast bent.
Shorty subsided; he had not expected this, and, truth to tell, he felt at that moment that his sneers had accomplished precisely the opposite effect to what he had intended; but Hal made no comment until just before they got into their beds; then he said evenly: "Shorty, you and I are room-mates, we have been pals for over a year; we won't discuss Shag Larocque, for I see that we shall never agree about him."
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