he ever heard of a scow so large or so luxuriously appointed. Over
his head, at the tip of a flagstaff attached to the forward end of the
cabin, floated the black and white pennant of St. Pierre Boulain. And
under this staff was a screened door which undoubtedly opened into the
kitchenette which Marie-Anne had told him about. He made no effort to
hide his surprise. But St. Pierre's wife seemed not to notice it. The
puckery little lines were still in her forehead, and the laughter had
faded out of her eyes. The tiny lines deepened as there came another
wild roar of laughter from Bateese in the stern.

"Is it true that you have given your word to fight Bateese?" she asked.

"It is true, Marie-Anne. And I feel that Bateese is looking ahead
joyously to the occasion."

"He is," she affirmed. "Last night he spread the news among all my
people. Those who left to join St. Pierre this morning have taken the
news with them, and there is a great deal of excitement and much
betting. I am afraid you have made a bad promise. No man has offered to
fight Bateese in three years--not even my great St. Pierre, who says
that Concombre is more than a match for him."

"And yet they must have a little doubt, as there is betting, and it
takes two to make a bet," chuckled David.

The lines went out of Marie-Anne's forehead, and a half-smile trembled
on her red lips. "Yes, there is betting. But those who are for you are
offering next autumn's muskrat skins and frozen fish against lynx and
fisher and marten. The odds are about thirty to one against you, M'sieu
David!"

The look of pity which was clearly in her eyes brought a rush of blood
to David's face. "If only I had something to wager!" he groaned.

"You must not fight. I shall forbid it!"

"Then Bateese and I will steal off into the forest and have it out by
ourselves."

"He will hurt you badly. He is terrible, like a great beast, when he
fights. He loves to fight and is always asking if there is not some one
who will stand up to him. I think he would desert even me for a good
fight. But you, M'sieu David--"

"I also love a fight," he admitted, unashamed.

St. Pierre's wife studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "With these?"
she asked then, holding up the gloves.

"Yes, with those. Bateese may use his fists, but I shall use those, so
that I shall not disfigure him permanently. His face is none too
handsome as it is."

For another flash her lips trembled on the edge of a smi