u, how
completely I could make you disappear! And then my Jeanne would be
safe. She would not go behind prison bars. She would go on living, and
laughing, and singing in the big forests, where she belongs. And Black
Roger Audemard, the rascal, would be safe for a time! But that would be
like destroying a little child. You are so helpless now. So you are
going on to the Chateau Boulain with us, and if at the end of the
second month from today you do not willingly say I have won my
wager--why--m'sieu--I will go with you into the forest, and you may
shoot out of me the life which is my end of the gamble. Is that not
fair? Can you suggest a better way--between men like you and me?"

"I can at least suggest a way that has the virtue of saving time,"
replied David. "First, however, I must understand my position here. I
am, I take it, a prisoner."

"A guest, with certain restrictions placed upon you, m'sieu," corrected
St. Pierre.

The eyes of the two men met on a dead level.

"Tomorrow morning I am going to fight Bateese," said David. "It is a
little sporting event we have fixed up between us for the amusement
of--your men. I have heard that Bateese is the best fighting man along
the Three Rivers. And I--I do not like to have any other man claim that
distinction when I am around."

For the first time St. Pierre's placidity seemed to leave him. His brow
became clouded, a moment's frown grew in his face, and there was a
certain disconsolate hopelessness in the shrug of his shoulders. It was
as if Carrigan's words had suddenly robbed the day of all its sunshine
for the chief of the Boulains. His voice, too, carried an unhappy and
disappointed note as he made a gesture toward the window.

"M'sieu, on that raft out there are many of my men, and they have
scarcely rested or slept since word was brought to them that a stranger
was to fight Concombre Bateese. Tonnerre, they have gambled without
ever seeing you until the clothes on their backs are in the hazard, and
they have cracked their muscles in labor to overtake you! They have
prayed away their very souls that it would be a good fight, and that
Bateese would not eat you up too quickly. It has been a long time since
we have seen a good fight, a long time since the last man dared to
stand up against the half-breed. Ugh, it tears out my heart to tell you
that the fight can not be!"

St. Pierre made no effort to suppress his emotion. He was like a huge,
disappointed boy. He