“Jean Bevoir, we have talked matters over,” began the planter. “We want you to consider well before you decide. Will you give up the post, or do you want us to return to Fort Pitt and bring a company of soldiers here to fight you?”
“I vill not give up ze post, no!” shouted the French trader.
“Then you want us to bring the soldiers from Fort Pitt?”
“You cannot do zat,” was the reply, but a look of anxiety crossed the bronzed features of the French rascal.
“I think I can do it. Captain Ecuyer is my friend, and was the friend of my brother. He will aid us all he can.”
“Ze post ees mine, haf I not said so before? Ze capitaine must respect Jean Bevoir’s rights. Ven he comes here I show heem ze papairs. He must respect ze document, oui.”
“You have no right to this place, and I know it,” answered Joseph Morris, doggedly. “Then you will not give up?”
“No, nevair!”
“Then, when we bring the soldiers, the consequence be on your own head,” said the trader, and walked away to join his friends. He was just entering the forest when a rifle shot rang out and the bullet whistled close to his ear.
“The skunks!” roared Sam Barringford. “Didn’t I tell ye they wasn’t to be trusted?”