After many pertinent and vigorous remarks, Shon added, "A Pagan is it, he
calls you, Pierre, you that's had the holy water on y'r forehead, and the
cross on the water, and that knows the book o' the Mass like the cards in
a pack? Sinner y' are, and so are we all, God save us! say I; and
weavin' the stripes for our backs He may be, and little I'd think of Him
failin' in that: but Pagan--faith, it's black should be the white of the
eyes of that preachin' sneak, and a rattle of teeth in his throat--divils
go round me!"
The half-breed, still musing, replied: "An eye for an eye, and a tooth
for a tooth--is that it, Shon?" "Nivir a word truer by song or by book,
and stand by the text, say I. For Papist I am, and Papist are you; and
the imps from below in y'r fingers whip poker is the game; and outlaws as
they call us both--you for what it doesn't concern me, and I for a wild
night in ould Donegal--but Pagan, wurra! whin shall it be, Pierre?"
"When shall it to be?"
"True for you. The teeth in his throat and a lump to his eye, and what
more be the will o' God. Fightin' there'll be, av coorse; but by you
I'll stand, and sorra inch will I give, if they'll do it with sticks or
with guns, and not with the blisterin' tongue that's lied of me and me
frinds--for frind I call you, Pierre, that loved me little in days gone
by. And proud I am not of you, nor you of me; but we've tasted the
bitter of avil days together, and divils surround me, if I don't go down
with you or come up with you, whichever it be! For there's dirt, as I
say on their tongues, and over their shoulder they look at you, and not
with an eye full front."
Pierre was cool, even pensive. His lips parted slightly once or twice,
and showed a row of white, malicious teeth. For the rest, he looked as
if he were politely interested but not moved by the excitement of the
other. He slowly rolled a cigarette and replied: "He says it is a
scandal that I live at Fort Anne. Well, I was here before he came, and I
shall be here after he goes--yes. A scandal--tsh! what is that? You
know the word 'Raca' of the Book? Well, there shall be more 'Raca; soon
--perhaps. No, there shall not be fighting as you think, Shon; but--"
here Pierre rose, came over, and spread his fingers lightly on Shon's
breast "but this thing is between this man and me, Shon McGann, and you
shall see a great matter. Perhaps there will be blood, perhaps not--
perhaps only an end." And the half-breed looked up at the Irishman from
under his dark brows so covertly and meaningly that Shon saw visions of a
trouble as silent as a plague, as resistless as a great flood. This
noiseless vengeance was not after his own heart. He almost shivered as
the delicate fingers drummed on his breast.
"Angels begird me, Pretty Pierre, but it's little I'd like you for enemy
o' mine; for I know that you'd wait for y'r foe with death in y'r hand,
and pity far from y'r heart; and y'd smile as you pulled the black-cap on
y'r head, and laugh as you drew the life out of him, God knows how!
Arrah, give me, sez I, the crack of a stick, the bite of a gun, or the
clip of a sabre's edge, with a shout in y'r mouth the while!"
Though Pierre still listened lazily, there was a wicked fire in his eyes.
His words now came from his teeth with cutting precision. "I have a
great thought tonight, Shon McGann. I will tell you when we meet again.
But, my friend, one must not be too rash--no, not too brutal. Even the
sabre should fall at the right time, and then swift and still. Noise is
not battle. Well, 'au revoir!' To-morrow I shall tell you many things."
He caught Shon's hand quickly, as quickly dropped it, and went out
indolently singing a favourite song,--"Voici le sabre de mon Pere!"
It was dark. Pretty Pierre stood still, and thought for a while. At
last he spoke aloud: "Well, I shall do it, now I have him--so!" And he
opened and shut his hand swiftly and firmly. He moved on, avoiding the
more habited parts of the place, and by a roundabout came to a house
standing very close to the bank of the river. He went softly to the door
and listened. Light shone through the curtain of a window. He went to
the window and looked beneath the curtain. Then he came back to the
door, opened it very gently, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.
A man seated at a table, eating, rose; a man on whom greed had set its
mark--greed of the flesh, greed of men's praise, greed of money. His
frame was thick-set, his body was heavily nourished, his eye was shifty
but intelligent; and a close observer would have seen something elusive,
something furtive and sinister, in his face. His lips were greasy with
meat as he stood up, and a fear sprang to his face, so that its fat
looked sickly. But he said hoarsely, and with an attempt at being brave
--"How dare you enter my house with out knocking? What do you want?"
The half-breed waved a hand protestingly towards him. "Pardon!" he
said. "Be seated, and finish your meal. Do you know me?"
"Yes, I know you."
"Well, as I said, do not stop your meal. I have come to speak with you
very quietly about a scandal--a scandal, you understand. This is Sunday
night, a good time to talk of such things." Pierre seated himself at the
table, opposite the man.