United States or Anguilla ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
They drew back into a wider circle, squatting alertly on their haunches and licking their chops, the hair on every neck bristling and erect. Batard recovered quickly, and at sound of Leclere's voice, tottered to his feet and swayed weakly back and forth. "A-h-ah! You beeg devil!" Leclere spluttered. "Ah fix you; Ah fix you plentee, by GAR!"
On the other hand, there was nothing to atone for Black Leclere. He was "black," as more than one remembered deed bore witness, while he was as well hated as the other was beloved. So the men of Sunrise put an antiseptic dressing on his shoulder and haled him before Judge Lynch. It was a simple affair. He had quarrelled with Timothy Brown at McDougall. With Timothy Brown he had left McDougall.
This occurred not far from Sunrise, and the missionary, opening the door to Leclere a few hours later, was surprised to note the absence of Batard from the team. Nor did his surprise lessen when Leclere threw back the robes from the sled, gathered Batard into his arms and staggered across the threshold.
Batard, the air biting into his exhausted lungs like wine, flashed full into the man's face, his jaws missing and coming together with a metallic clip. They rolled over and over on the snow, Leclere striking madly with his fists. Then they separated, face to face, and circled back and forth before each other. Leclere could have drawn his knife. His rifle was at his feet.
And Batard Leclere knew what was in Batard's mind, and more than once had read it in Batard's eyes. And so clearly had he read, that when Batard was at his back, he made it a point to glance often over his shoulder. Men marvelled when Leclere refused large money for the dog.
Some day it would happen, or else bah! who was to know? Anyway, the problem would be solved. For they had become problems to each other. The very breath each drew was a challenge and a menace to the other. Their hate bound them together as love could never bind. Leclere was bent on the coming of the day when Batard should wilt in spirit and cringe and whimper at his feet.
"And how did this misfortune occur?" inquired the latter, resuming the interrupted conversation. "Alas, sir, in the most unexpected manner. After a long talk with the harbor-master, Captain Leclere left Naples greatly disturbed in mind. In twenty-four hours he was attacked by a fever, and died three days afterwards.
Other buck was Klok Kutz, the one that knocked spots out of his squaw and dusted." "Eh? W'at Ah say? Eh?" Leclere cried exultantly. "Dat de one fo' sure! Ah know. Ah spik true." "The thing to do is to teach these damned Siwashes a little manners," spoke Webster Shaw. "They're getting fat and sassy, and we'll have to bring them down a peg.
He had more muscle than he knew how to use. Prosper Leclere did not have so much, but he knew better how to handle it. He never broke his paddle unless it happened to be a bad one, and then he generally had another all ready in the canoe.
Once a man did kick Batard, and Batard, with quick wolf snap, closed his jaws like a steel trap on the man's calf and crunched down to the bone. Whereat the man was determined to have his life, only Black Leclere, with ominous eyes and naked hunting-knife, stepped in between. The killing of Batard ah, SACREDAM, THAT was a pleasure Leclere reserved for himself.
Word Of The Day