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Updated: June 11, 2025
The old Canadian was glaring now, his voice was thunderous. "No! No! You shall not go! You hear Ba'teese, huh? You tell Medaine that is a lie! Un'stan'? That is a lie!" "It is," Houston heard his voice as though coming from far away, "but I don't know how to answer it. I I can't answer it. Where is Miss Jierdon? Is she here? May I see her?"
Medaine reached under her cap for a hairpin, looked quickly at Barry as though to ask him whether he could stand pain, then pressed a recalcitrant thorn into a position where it could be extracted. "I think the best description of Lost Wing is that he's an admirable fiction writer. Ba'tiste says he has more lies than a dog has fleas." "Then it isn't history?" "Of course not. Just imagination.
Except about Langdon. He told me when he came here that his uncle had sent him out to straighten him up. But I don't guess it makes much difference." Houston, nevertheless, made the changes, glancing up once to assure himself that Medaine still was there. She had not left his side.
He fashioned his arms as though he were holding a baby, "and I look at you and I say 'Pierre! Pierre! But you do not answer just like he did not answer. Then I start back with you, and the way was rough. I take you under one arm so. It was steep. I must have one arm free. Then I meet Medaine, and she laugh at me for the way I carry you. And I was glad. Eet made Ba'teese forget." "What?"
"How can I help it?" "Bon! Good! I like you to like Medaine. You no like Thayer?" "Less every minute." "Bon! I no like heem. He try to take Pierre's place with Medaine. And Pierre, he was strong and tall and straight. Pierre, he could smile bon! Like you can smile. You look like my Pierre!" came frankly. "Thanks, Ba'tiste." Barry said it in wholehearted manner.
Aeons of space after that, in which huddled, bent figures in the grip of stormdom, climbed, veering, swinging about the easier stretches, crawling at painfully slow pace up the steeper inclines. Upward through the stinging blast of the tempest they went, toward the top of a stricken world. Late afternoon; then Medaine turned toward the bleeding man beside her. "A mile more." She said no more.
He whirled excitedly and grasped the nearest onlooker. "Go get Medaine Robinette. Hurry! Tell her that it is of the utmost importance that I have found the proof. She'll understand." Then, struggling to reassure himself, he turned again to the prisoner.
Of course, I'm grateful to you for picking me up and all that sort of thing, but " Choking back the laughter, Ba'tiste returned to the foot of the bed and stood wiping the tears from his eyes. "Pardon, mon ami," came seriously at last. "Old Ba'teese must have his joke. Listen, Ba'teese tell you something. You see people here today, oui, yes? You see, the petite Medaine? Ah, oui!"
She would have marry him. And to have M'sieu Thayer take his place? No! Mebbe " he said it hopefully, "mebbe you like Medaine, huh?" "I do! She's pretty, Ba'tiste." "Mebbe you make love?" But the man on the bed shook his head. "I can't make love to anybody, Ba'tiste. Not until I've I've found something I'm looking for. I'm afraid that's a long way off.
On they drove in silence, talking of trivial things, each fencing away from the subject that was on their minds and from mention of the unfortunate interview with Medaine Robinette. The miles faded slowly, at last to bring the camp into view. Ten minutes later, Houston leaped from the buggy and knocked at the door of the cottage.
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