As Carrigan stripped off his shirt, he knew that at least in one way he
had met more than his match in St. Pierre Boulain. In the splendid
service of which he was a part he had known many men of iron and steel,
men whose nerve and coolness not even death could very greatly disturb.
Yet St. Pierre, he conceded, was their master--and his own. For a flash
he had transformed the chief of the Boulains into a volcano which had
threatened to break in savage fury, yet neither the crash nor
destruction had come. And now St. Pierre was smiling again, as Carrigan
faced him, stripped to the waist. He betrayed no sign of the tempest of
passion that had swept him a few minutes before. His cool, steely eyes
had in them a look that was positively friendly, as Concombre Bateese
marked in the hard sand the line of the circle within which no man
might come. And as he did this and St. Pierre's people crowded close
about it, St. Pierre himself spoke in a low voice to David.
"M'sieu, it seems a shame that we should fight. I like you. I have
always loved a man who would fight to protect a woman, and I shall be
careful not to hurt you more than is necessary to make you see
reason--and to win the wagers. So you need not be afraid of my killing
you, as Bateese might have done. And I promise not to destroy your
beauty, for the sake of--the lady in the bateau. My Carmin, if she knew
you spied through her window last night, would say kill you with as
little loss of time as possible, for as regards you her sweet
disposition was spoiled when you hung her brother, m'sieu. Yet to me
she is an angel!"
Contempt for the man who spoke of his wife and the infamous Carmin
Fanchet in the same breath drew a sneer to Carrigan's lips. He nodded
toward the waiting circle of men.
"They are ready for the show, St. Pierre. You talk big. Now let us see
if you can fight."