"If he knows there are two of us watching him he'll be more careful, Dale. I really think he's a coward at heart."
Several days went by before Owen got the chance he wanted. Late one afternoon he found Ducrot working in a bunch of spruces and was directed to cut down a tree near by. As he worked the French-Canadian shifted the swing of his ax in such a manner that the chips flew close to Owen, one hitting him in the neck.
"You go slow there, Ducrot!" cried Owen, stopping work at once.
"I no do not'ing," muttered the man. "I no like you holler at me."
"Stop sending your chips this way. If you don't there will be trouble, and you'll get the worst of it."
"Hah!"
"I mean what I say, and now I want you to listen to me." Owen come closer, ax in hand. "I haven't forgotten the way you treated Dale Bradford."
"I not care for dat boy."
"I know you don't. What I want to say is, after this keep your hands off of him. If you don't, I'll have you run out of this camp in jig time."
"You fight me?" demanded the French-Canadian, clutching his ax nervously.