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Updated: June 29, 2025
Pierre told the girl the story of Macavoy's life; for he knew that she loved the man after her heathen fashion, and that she could be trusted. "I do not care for that," she said, when he had finished; "it is nothing. I would go with him. I should be his wife, the other should die. I would kill her, if she would fight me.
Bring on the divil an' all his angels, say I, and I'll fight thim where I stand." Pierre ran his fingers down Macavoy's arm, and said "There's time enough for that. I'd begin with the five." "What five, then?" "Her half-breed lovers: Big Eye, One Toe, Jo-John, Saucy Boy, and Limber Legs." "Her lovers? Her lovers, is it? Is there truth on y'r tongue?"
"Poor divil, poor divil, she'd always a throat for that; but it's a horrible death to die, I'm thinkin'." Macavoy's chin dropped on his breast. When the sun was falling below Little Red Hill, Macavoy came to Wonta's tent. Pierre was not far away.
I've had enough we've all had enough of your brag and bounce; for you're all sweat and swill-pipe, and I give you this for your chewing, that though by the Company's rules I can't go out and fight you, you may have your pick of my men for it. I'll take my pay for your insults in pounded flesh Irish pemmican!" Macavoy's face became mottled with sudden rage.
Pierre looked at him a moment idly, then said: "Such a tom-fool! And where's that grand leather belt of yours, eh, my monarch?" A laugh shook through Macavoy's beard. "For the weddin' it wint: buckled the two up wid it for better or worse an' purty they looked, they did, standin' there in me cinch, an' one hole left aw yis, Pierre." "And what do you give to Ida?"
I've had enough we've all had enough of your brag and bounce; for you're all sweat and swill-pipe, and I give you this for your chewing, that though by the Company's rules I can't go out and fight you, you may have your pick of my men for it. I'll take my pay for your insults in pounded flesh Irish pemmican!" Macavoy's face became mottled with sudden rage.
So far Pierre's plan had worked even better than he expected, though Macavoy's moods had not been altogether after his imaginings. He drew alongside the giant, who had suddenly grown quiet again. Macavoy turned and looked down at Pierre with the candour of a schoolboy, and his voice was very low: "It's a long time ago, I'm thinkin'," he said, "since I lost me frinds ages an' ages ago.
He could hear of battle, murder, and sudden death unmoved it seemed to him in the game; but the tragedy of a child, a mere counter yet in the play of life that was different. He slid a hand over the table, and caught Macavoy's arm. "Poor little waif!" he said. Macavoy gave the hand a grasp that turned Pierre sick, and asked: "Had ye iver a child av y'r own, Pierre-iver wan at all?"
Shon McGann was a fine fool, but he did something at last, truly yes: Tim Macavoy, perhaps, will do something at last on his own hook. Hey, I wonder!" He felt the muscles of Macavoy's arm musingly, and then laughed up in the giant's face. "Once I made you a king, my own, and you threw it all away; now I make you a slave, and we shall see what you will do. Come along, for M'sieu' Tarlton."
"Come into the shade of these maples," said Pierre, "for the sun has set you quaking a little," and he put out his hand to take Macavoy's arm. The giant drew away from the hand, but walked on to the trees. His face seemed to have grown older by years on the moment. "What's this y'are sayin' to me?" he asked hoarsely. "What do you know av av that woman?"
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