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"Dat's so," said Perault, who had become an ardent follower of Shock's. "Dat's so. All same lak ole boss." "Prospector, eh?" said Ike. "Oui.
"The brandy, Perault! Quick!" he said. "Don't fear, Miss Mowbray, he will soon be all right." The girl glanced into Shock's face and at once grew calm again. Soon, under the stimulus of the brandy, the old man revived. "Ah!" he said, drawing a long breath and looking with a faint apologetic smile at the anxious faces about, "pardon my alarming you. I am getting old.
And for many following days the spring-flowers filled the house with their own hope and cheer, when hope and cheer were both sorely, needed. There stood at the door Perault, Josie, and Marion, waiting for Shock and the Old Prospector to drive up. The contrast between the two men in the buckboard was striking.
"You one beeg black tief," shrieked Perault, drawing a knife and striking savagely at the big Irishman. As he delivered his blow Carroll caught him by the wrist, wrenched the knife from his grasp, seizing him by the throat proceeded to choke him. The crowd stood looking on, hesitating to interfere.
Mon Dieu! De Prospector he's lak wil' man. 'Perault, he say, 'I promise de ole man I go for fin' dat mine. 'All right, boss, I say, 'me too. We make cache for grub, we hobble de ponee and go for fin' dat mine. Dat's one blank hard day. Over rock and tree and hole and stomp he's go lak one deerhoun. Next day he's jus' same. For me, I'm tire' out.
"Oui, for sure," said Perault with an exaggeration of carelessness which did not escape the keen eyes fastened on his face, "dat ole boss, you know, he blam-fool. Hees 'fraid noting. Hees try for sweem de Black Dog on de crossing below. De Black Dog hees full over hees bank, an' boil, boil, lak one kettle.
Macgregor was carrying Perault on his back and evidently walking with great difficulty. When I came up to them I found Perault was almost, if not quite, insensible, and Mr. Macgregor in the last stages of exhaustion." The Kid paused a few moments to steady his voice.
Then the girl knew that Perault had not told her the worst, turning impatiently from him, she lifted little Patsy on to the saddle and, disdaining Perault's offered help, sprang on herself and set off toward the village about a mile away at full gallop. "Das mighty smart girl," said Perault, scratching his head as he set off after her as fast as his jaded pony could follow.
"Do' no me. Tink he's one what you call pries'. Your Protestan' pries'." "What, a preacher?" cried the rancher. "Not he. They're not made that way." "I don't know about that, Sinclair," said another rancher. "There's Father Mike, you know." "That's so," said Sinclair. "But there are hardly two of that kind on the same range." "Fadder Mike!" sniffed Perault contemptuously.
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