thrill or desire for him. Now that he had seen
both St. Pierre and Bateese stripped for battle, he had no further
appetite for fistic discussion with them. After all, there was a merit
in caution, and he had several lucky stars to bless just at the present
moment!

Inwardly he was a bit suspicious of the ultimate ending of the affair.
St. Pierre had almost no cause for complaint, for it was his own
carelessness, coupled with his opponent's luck, that had been his
undoing--and luck and carelessness are legitimate factors of every
fight, Carrigan told himself. But with Bateese it was different. He had
held up his big jaw, uncovered and tempting, entreating some one to hit
him, and Carrigan had yielded to that temptation. The blow would have
stunned an ox. Three others like it had left the huge half-breed
sitting weak-mindedly in the sand, and no one of those three blows were
exactly according to the rules of the game. They had been mightily
efficacious, but the half-breed might demand a rehearing when he came
fully into his senses.

Not until they were half-way to the bateau did Carrigan dare to glance
back over his shoulder at the man who was paddling, to see what effect
the fistic travesty had left on him. He was a big-mouthed, clear-eyed,
powerfully-muscled fellow, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, what did you think of it, comrade?"

The other gave his shoulders a joyous shrug.

"Mon Dieu! Have you heard of wan garcon named Joe Clamart, m'sieu? Non?
Well, I am Joe Clamart what was once great fightin' man. Bateese hav'
whip' me five times, m'sieu--so I say it was wan gr-r-r-a-n' fight!
Many years ago I have seen ze same t'ing in Montreal--ze boxeur de
profession. Oui, an' Rene Babin pays me fifteen prime martin against
which I put up three scrubby red fox that you would win. They were bad,
or I would not have gambled, m'sieu. It ees fonny!"

"Yes, it is funny," agreed David. "I think it is a bit too funny. It is
a pity they did not stand up on their legs a little longer!" Suddenly
an inspiration hit him. "Joe, what do you say--shall you and I return
and put up a REAL fight for them?"

Like a sprung trap Joe Clamart's grinning mouth dosed. "Non, non, non,"
he grunted. "Dere has been plenty fight, an' Joe Clamart mus' save hees
face tor Antoinette Roland, who hate ze sign of fight lak she hate ze
devil, m'sieu! Non, non!"

His paddle dug deeper into the water, and David's heart felt lighter.
If Joe