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Updated: June 19, 2025
"A broken collar-bone, inconvenient, but neither painful nor dangerous, and an additional touch of rheumatism, which, though extremely annoying, will prove only temporary. After a few days of your nursing we shall be able to resume our march, eh, Perault?" "Oui! bon! dat so," said Perault, grinning his eager acquiescence. "De ole boss he stop for noting."
"And I am only glad to have had the chance." "Chance!" echoed the Old Prospector. "I have found that we make our chances, sir. But now you will require lodging. I regret I cannot offer you hospitality. Perault, go down to the Stopping Place, present my compliments to Carroll and ask him to give Mr. Macgregor the best accommodation he has. The best is none too good.
Prospector, sure enough, by gar!" replied Perault, with the emphasis of a man who has stumbled upon a great find; and the name came at once to be recognised as so eminently suitable that from that time forth it stuck, and all the more that before many weeks there was none to dispute the title with him.
Then suddenly seizing with his uninjured hand the chair which Perault had thrown at him, he raised it aloft and with a wild yell brought it down upon Shock's head. With his yell mingled a shrill cry. It was little Patsy. He had stolen in behind his father, and with eyes growing wider and wider had stood listening to his father's groans and curses.
Carroll, "an' will he luk at his father or meself when his riverince is by? An' he'll follie him out an' beyant on that little pony of his." The Superintendent made no remark, but he kept quietly gathering information. In Perault's house it was the same. Perault, Josie, and Marion sang in harmony the praises of Shock.
"What the blank, blank are ye doin' here?" Perault spat deliberately into the ash-pan, tipped back his chair without looking at the big Irishman, and answered coolly. "Me? After one pack pony an' some outfit for de ole boss." "Pony an' outfit, is it?" shouted Carroll. "What the blank, blank d'ye mane? What 'av ye done wid that pack pony av moine, an' where's yer blank ould fool av a boss?"
De ole boss he say 'Perault, we mak de passage, eh? 'No, I say, 'we try noder crossing. 'How far? he say. 'Two tree mile' 'Guess try heem here, he say, an' no matter how I say heem be blam-fool for try, dat ole boss hees laf small, leele laf an' mak de start.
"I go for fin' out," said Perault, running into his house, and returning almost immediately. "Tomorrow for sure. Mebbe to-night." "Well, Carroll, this is your minister's bishop. I suppose you can look after him till Mr. Macgregor comes home." "An' that we can, sir. Come right in," said Carroll readily. "Anny friend of the Prospector, as we call him, is welcome to all in me house, an' that he is."
Perault tried to steady his voice, but, failing utterly, broke into passionate weeping, Sinclair waiting in grave silence for him to recover. Macnamara, the soft-hearted big Irish rancher, was quietly wiping his eyes, while the other men were swearing terrible oaths. "Give him a drink," drawled Ike. "Too much water aint good for no man." Half a dozen flasks were immediately offered.
Well, we come home to camp, slow, slow, hungree, sorefoot by gar! Sacre bleu! Dat cache she broke up, de grub he's gone! Mon Dieu! dat's bad four or five day walk from home and no grub at all." "What did you think, Perault?" asked Sinclair. "Did you see signs of any beast, bear or mountain lion?" "Sure, dat's what I tink fus' ting, but de Prospector he's walk aroun' quiet and look everyting.
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