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Updated: June 18, 2025
The Indians had gathered quickly; they filled the yard, and crowded the gate. The woman went wild, for she had been drinking. She ran at Macavoy and spat in his face, and called down such a curse on him as, whoever hears, be he one that's cursed or any other, shudders at till he dies. Then she fell in a fit at his feet.
In the hands of each Little Skin there was put a knife, and they were told their cheerful exercise. They came on cautiously, and then suddenly closed in, knives flashing. But Macavoy's little bulldog barked, and one dropped to the ground. The others fell back. The wounded man drew up, made a lunge at Macavoy, but missed him. As if ashamed, the other six came on again at a spring.
Wid all yer cuttin' and carvin' things to see the internals av thim, I'd do more to the call av a woman's finger than for all the logic and knowalogy y' ever chewed an' there y'are, me little tailor o' jur'sprudince!" "To the finger call of Hilton's wife, eh?" Macavoy was not quite sure what Pierre's enigmatical tone meant.
"I'll get liquor for her," he said presently. He started to go, but turned and felt the woman's pulse. "You would keep her?" he asked. "Bring the liquor." Macavoy reached for water, and dipping the sleeve of his shirt in it, wetted her face gently. Pierre brought the liquor, but he knew that the woman would die. He stayed with Macavoy beside her all the night.
Presently, with a look at Hilton, who nodded in reply, Ida lifted her cheek to Macavoy to kiss Macavoy, the idle, ill- cared-for, boisterous giant. His face became red like that of a child caught in an awkward act, and with an absurd shyness he stooped and touched her cheek.
The Indian stood to take it like a man; but Pierre loved that kind of courage, and shot the knife into its sheath instead. The old chief kept his word, and after the spears were piled, he shook hands with Macavoy, as did his braves one by one, and they were all moved by the sincerity of his grasp: their arms were useless for some time after.
So we used to sit at the Post loafing: in the daytime watching the empty plains all panting for travellers, like a young bride waiting her husband for the first time." Macavoy regarded Pierre with delight. He had an unctuous spirit, and his heart was soft for women so soft that he never had had one on his conscience, though he had brushed gay smiles off the lips of many.
You're a slave to come and to go, with a Queen's seal on the promissory." Macavoy leaned back and roared. "Aw, that! The rose o' the valley the joy o' the wurruld! S't, Pierre " his voice grew softer on a sudden, as a fresh thought came to him "did y' ever think that the child might be dumb like the mother?"
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.
Pierre turned her shy coaxing into irony that was on the day when all Fort O'Angel conspired to prove Macavoy a child and not a warrior. But when she saw what she had done, and that the giant was greater than his years of brag, she repented, and hung a dead coyote at Pierre's door as a sign of her contempt.
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