then, swift as lightning,
Carrigan's arm shot out, and with the flat of his hand he struck St.
Pierre a terrific blow squarely on the cheek. The sound of the blow was
like the smash of a paddle on smooth water. Not a riverman but heard
it, and as St. Pierre staggered back, flung almost from his feet by its
force, a subdued cry of amazement broke from the waiting men. Concombre
Bateese stood like one stupefied. And then, in another flash, St.
Pierre had caught himself and whirled like a wild beast. Every muscle
in his body was drawn for a gigantic, overwhelming leap; his eyes
blazed; the fury of a beast was in his face. Before all his people he
had suffered the deadliest insult that could be offered a man of the
Three River Country--a blow struck with the flat of another's hand.
Anything else one might forgive, but not that. Such a blow, if not
avenged, was a brand that passed down into the second and third
generations, and even children would call out
"Yellow-Back--Yellow-Back," to the one who was coward enough to receive
it without resentment. A rumbling growl rose in the throat of Concombre
Bateese in that moment when it seemed as though St. Pierre Boulain was
about to kill the man who had struck him. He saw the promise of his own
fight gone in a flash. For no man in all the northland could now fight
David Carrigan ahead of St. Pierre.

David waited, prepared to meet the rush of a madman. And then, for a
second time, he saw a mighty struggle in the soul of St. Pierre. The
giant held himself back. The fury died out of his face, but his great
hands remained clenched as he said, for David alone,

"That was a playful blow, m'sieu? It was--a joke?"

"It was for you, St. Pierre," replied Carrigan, "You are a coward--and
a skunk. I swam to the raft last night, looked through your window, and
saw what happened there. You are not fit for a decent man to fight, yet
I will fight you, if you are not too great a coward--and dare to let
our wagers stand as they were made."

St. Pierre's eyes widened, and for a breath or two he stared at
Carrigan, as if looking into him and not at him. His big hands relaxed,
and slowly the panther-like readiness went out of his body. Those who
looked beheld the transformation in amazement, for of all who waited
only St. Pierre and the half-breed had heard Carrigan's words, though
they had seen and heard the blow of insult.

"You swam to the raft," repeated St. Pierre in a low voice, as if
doub