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The chill of doubt cut through the first hazy rosiness. A swamper from a port-side dive simply did not become a gearman for a Guild Hunter. Again it was as if the stranger read his thoughts. "Look here," he spoke abruptly. "I had a bad time myself, years ago. You resemble someone to whom I owe a debt. I can't repay him, but I can make the scales a little even this way." "Make the scales even."
In the framing of Bill Carmody, Stromberg had no part. Moncrossen could not fathom the big Swede, upon whose judgment and acumen he had come to rely in the matter of handling and disposing of the stolen timber. Several times during the winter he had tentatively broached plans and insinuated means whereby the Swede could "accidentally" remove his swamper from their path.
Someone coming up from there." "Jeems?" "Maybe." "We'd better " Val motioned toward the front of the cabin. Ricky shook her head. Jeems was to be allowed to meet the intruders unwarned. "This swamper may be tough," ventured Red. "We've met hard cases before," answered the other significantly. Red moved again, as if flexing his muscles.
The swamper he buried by the way with stones upon him to keep the coyotes from digging him up, and seven years later I read the penciled lines on the pine headboard, still bright and unweathered.
"I sent you the best men I could pick up," The Lily said. "You did me a good turn, and I did my best to pay it back. That blacksmith is all right. Some of the others I know, but I don't know him. Never saw him before. You'd better watch him." She pointed at the swamper as coolly as if he were an inanimate object, and he glared at her in return, then dropped his eyes.
But when the swamps are deep in water, the swamper may paddle up to these trees, whose narrowed waists are now within the swing of his axe, and standing up in his canoe, by a marvel of balancing skill, cut and cut, until at length his watchful, up-glancing eye sees the forest giant bow his head.
Pierre met him, looking very grave, if not displeased. The swamper spoke first. "Dass mighty good for you I was yondah to stop dat boy. He would 'a' half-kill' you." "He'd have served me ex-actly right," said the other, and laughed again. St. Pierre shook his head, as though this confession were poor satisfaction, and said, "Dass not safe make a 'Cajun mad.
Without pretense of defense or justification, the man had quietly told her that he knocked the swamper down "because he wanted to"; and without waiting for comment as if the fact that "he wanted to" was sufficient in itself had gone about his business without giving the matter a second thought.
The swamper dashed the moisture from his eyes and summoned a look of stubborn resolve. "Mo' better you call me St. Pierre because I'm a fisherman what cuss when I git mad. Look! You dawn't want me git Claude back in Gran' Point'. You want me to give, give. Well, all right! I goin' quit Gran' Point' and give myself, me, to Claude.
There was a line of shallow graves' along that road; they used to count on dropping a man or two of every new gang of coolies brought out in the hot season. But when he lost his swamper, smitten without warning at the noon halt, Salty quit his job; he said it was "too durn hot."
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