Baptiste the Red, still gazing across, recognized the familiar
postures, and remembered the girl who had shared his star-roofed couch in
the hills and forests, and the woman-child who lay somewhere by bleak
Hudson's Bay.
III
"Confound it, Baptiste, couldn't think of it. Not for a moment. Grant
that this man is a fool and of small use in the nature of things, but
still, you know, I can't give him up."
Hay Stockard paused, striving to put into speech the rude ethics of his
heart.
"He's worried me, Baptiste, in the past and now, and caused me all manner
of troubles; but can't you see, he's my own breed--white--and--and--why,
I couldn't buy my life with his, not if he was a nigger."
"So be it," Baptiste the Red made answer. "I have given you grace and
choice. I shall come presently, with my priests and fighting men, and
either shall I kill you, or you deny your god. Give up the priest to my
pleasure, and you shall depart in peace. Otherwise your trail ends here.
My people are against you to the babies. Even now have the children
stolen away your canoes." He pointed down to the river.
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