An' he
waters the whisky--curse-his-soul!" The last three words were spoken
through another spasm of coughing. "An' the blister--how he mucks the
blister!"
Pierre sat back on the table, laughing noiselessly, his white teeth
shining. Halby, with one foot on a bench, was picking at the fur on his
sleeve thoughtfully. His face was a little drawn, his lips were tight-
pressed, and his eyes had a light of excitement. Presently he
straightened himself, and, after a half-malicious look at Pierre,
he said to Throng:
"Where are they, do you say?"
"They're at"--the old man coughed hard--"at Fort O'Battle."
"What are they doing there?"
"Waitin' till spring, when they'll fetch their cattle up an' settle
there."
"They want--Lydia--to keep house for them?" The old man writhed.
"Yes, God's sake, that's it! An' they want Liddy to marry a devil
called Borotte, with a thousand cattle or so--Pito the courier told me
yesterday. Pito saw her, an' he said she was white like a sheet, an'
called out to him as he went by. Only half a lung I got, an' her boneset
and camomile 'd save it for a bit, mebbe--mebbe!"
"It's clear," said Halby, "that they trespassed, and they haven't proved
their right to her."
"Tonnerre, what a thinker!" said Pierre, mocking. Halby did not notice.
His was a solid sense of responsibility.
"She is of age?" he half asked, half mused.
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