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Updated: June 3, 2025
But, my friend, one must not be too rash no, not too brutal. Even the sabre should fall at the right time, and then swift and still. Noise is not battle. Well, 'au revoir! To-morrow I shall tell you many things." He caught Shon's hand quickly, as quickly dropped it, and went out indolently singing a favourite song, "Voici le sabre de mon Pere!" It was dark.
As if by a common instinct, the Honourable, Jo Gordineer, and Pretty Pierre, turned towards Shon and lifted their glasses. Jo Gordineer was going to say: "Here's a safe foot in the stirrups to you," but he changed his mind and drank in silence. Shon's eye had been blazing with fun, but it took on, all at once, a misty twinkle. None of them had quite bargained for this.
At the door he turned and said to Lawless, "My name to you is Detmold." The greeting between Jacques and his sombre host was notable for its extreme brevity; with Shon McGann for its hesitation Shon's impressionable Irish nature was awed by the look of the man, though he had seen some strange things in the north.
The man brooded and looked mysterious. Mystery was not pleasing to Trafford. He had his own secrets, but in the ordinary affairs of life he preferred simplicity. In one of the silences that fell between Shon's attempts to give hilarity to the occasion, there came a rumbling far-off sound, a sound that increased in volume till the earth beneath them responded gently to the vibration.
This conversation had occurred in a quiet corner of the bar-room of the Saints' Repose. The first few sentences had not been heard by the others present; but Shon's last speech, delivered in a ringing tone, drew the miners to their feet, in expectation of seeing shots exchanged at once. The code required satisfaction, immediate and decisive.
Suddenly Shon's look grew stern, and he was about to rise; but Father Corraine put a hand on his shoulder, and said: "Stay where you are, man on your knees. There is your place just now. Be not so quick to judge, and remember your own sins before you charge others without knowledge. Listen now to me."
Well, there shall be more 'Raca; soon perhaps. No, there shall not be fighting as you think, Shon; but " here Pierre rose, came over, and spread his fingers lightly on Shon's breast "but this thing is between this man and me, Shon McGann, and you shall see a great matter. Perhaps there will be blood, perhaps not perhaps only an end."
Both rose to their feet. In the painful silence the half-breed's hand was gently laid on the revolver. He lifted it, and paused slightly, his eyes fixed to the steady look in those of Shon McGann. He raised the revolver again, till it was level with Shon's forehead, till it was even with his hair! Then there was a shot, and someone fell not Shon, but Pierre, saying, as they caught him, "Mon Dieu!
Blood for blood is a great matter; and I used to wonder if it would not be terrible for a man to see his death coming on him drop by drop, like that." He let the spot of blood fall to the floor. "But now I know that there is a punishment worse than that... 'mon Dieu! worse than that," he added. Into Shon's face a strange look had suddenly come. "Yes, there's something worse than that, Pierre."
"Faith, Lawless, there's a story worth the hearin', I'm thinkin', to every white man in this country. For the three years I was in the mounted police, I could count a story for all the days o' the calendar and not all o' them would make you happy to hear." Pourcette turned round to them. He seemed to be listening to Shon's words.
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