"Her camp?" he asked.

"OUI, m'sieu."

"We have moved from the tar-sands?"

"Yes, two days down ze river."

"Why are they not camping over here with us?"

Bateese gave a disgusted grunt. "Becaus' MA BELLE Jeanne have such
leetle bird heart, m'sieu. She say you mus' not have noise near, lak ze
talk an' laugh an' ZE CHANSONS. She say it disturb, an' zat it mak you
worse wit' ze fever. She ees mak you lak de baby, Bateese say to her.
But she on'y laugh at zat an' snap her leetle w'ite finger. Wait St.
Pierre come! He brak yo'r head wit' hees two fists. I hope we have ze
fight before then, m'sieu!"

"We'll have it anyway, Bateese. Where is St. Pierre, and when shall we
see him?"

Bateese shrugged his shoulders. "Mebby week, mebby more. He long way
off."

"Is he an old man?"

Slowly Bateese turned David about until he was facing him. "You ask
not'ing more about St. Pierre," he warned. "No mans talk 'bout St.
Pierre. Only wan--MA BELLE Jeanne. You ask her, an' she tell you shut
up. W'en you don't shut up she call Bateese to brak your head."

"You're a--a sort of all-round head-breaker, as I understand it,"
grunted David, walking slowly back to his bed. "Will you bring me my
pack and clothes in the morning? I want to shave and dress."

Bateese was ahead of him, smoothing the pillows and straightening out
the rumpled bed-clothes. His huge hands were quick and capable as a
woman's, and David could not keep himself from chuckling at this
feminine ingeniousness of the powerful half-breed. Once in the crush of
those gorilla-like arms that were working over his bed now, he thought,
and it would be all over with the strongest man in "N" Division.
Bateese heard the chuckle and looked up.

"Somet'ing ver' funny once more, is eet--w'at?" he demanded.

"I was thinking, Bateese--what will happen to me if you get me in those
arms when we fight? But it isn't going to happen. I fight with my
fists, and I'm going to batter you up so badly that nobody will
recognize you for a long time."

"You wait!" exploded Bateese, making a horrible grimace. "I choke you
lak w'ite bear, I t'row you ovair my should'r, I mash you lak leetle
strawberr', I--" He paused in his task to advance with a formidable
gesture.

"Not now," warned Carrigan. "I'm still a bit groggy, Bateese." He
pointed down at the bed. "I'm driving HER from that," he said. "I don't
like it. Is she sleepin' over there--in the camp?"

"Mebby--an' mebby not, m'sieu," g