e was powerless to combat the
voice that told him no. Carmin Fanchet had fought him openly as an
enemy and had not employed her beauty as a weapon. Marie-Anne had put
in his way a great temptation. What he was thinking seemed to him like
a sacrilege, yet he knew there could be no discriminating distinctions
between weapons, now that he was determined to play the game to the
end, for the Law.

When Carrigan went out on deck, the half-breed was sweating from his
exertion at the stern sweep. He looked at the agent de police who was
going to fight him, perhaps tomorrow or the next day. There was a
change in Carrigan. He was not the same man who had gone into the cabin
an hour before, and the fact impressed itself upon Bateese. There was
something in his appearance that held back the loose talk at the end of
Concombre's tongue. And so it was Carrigan himself who spoke first.

"When will this man St. Pierre come to see me?" he demanded. "If he
doesn't come soon, I shall go to him."

For an instant Concombre's face darkened. Then, as he bent over the
sweep with his great back to David, he chuckled audibly, and said:

"Would you go, m'sieu? Ah--it is le malade d'amour over there in the
cabin. Surely you would not break in upon their love-making?"

Bateese did not look over his shoulder, and so he did not see the hot
flush that gathered in David's face. But David was sure he knew it was
there and that Concombre had guessed the truth of matters. There was a
sly note in his voice, as if he could not quite keep to himself his
exultation that beauty and bright eyes had played a clever trick on
this man who, if his own judgment had been followed, would now be
resting peacefully at the bottom of the river. It was the final stab to
Carrigan. His muscles tensed. For the first time he felt the desire to
shoot a naked fist into the grinning mouth of Concombre Bateese. He
laid a hand on the half-breed's shoulder, and Bateese turned about
slowly. He saw what was in the other's eyes.

"Until this moment I have not known what a great pleasure it will be to
fight you, Bateese," said David quietly. "Make it tomorrow--in the
morning, if you wish. Take word to St. Pierre that I will make him a
great wager that I win, a gamble so large that I think he will be
afraid to cover it. For I don't think much of this St. Pierre of yours,
Bateese. I believe him to be a big-winded bluff, like yourself. And
also a coward. Mark my word, he will be so mu