“But you’ll run as you did before, if I tell you, an’ there’ll be no fighting to-night, accordin’ to the word you’ve given.”
“No fightin’, did ye say? an’ run away, is it? Then this in your eye, that if ye’ll bring an army, I’ll fight till the skin is in rags on me bones, whin it’s only men that’s before me; but woman—and that wan! Faith, I’d run, I’m thinkin’, as I did, you know when—Don’t tell me that she’s here, man; arrah, don’t say that!”
There was something pitiful and childlike in the big man’s voice, so much so that Pierre, calculating gamester as he was, and working upon him as he had been for many weeks, felt a sudden pity, and dropping his fingers on the other’s arm, said: “No, Macavoy, my friend, she is not here; but she is at Fort Ste. Anne—or was when I left there.”
Macavoy groaned. “Does she know that I’m here?” he asked.
“I think not. Fort Ste. Anne is far away, and she may not hear.”
“What—what is she doing?”
“Keeping your memory and Mr. Whelan’s green.” Then Pierre told him somewhat bluntly what he knew of Mrs. Macavoy.
“I’d rather face Ballzeboob himself than her,” said Macavoy. “An’ she’s sure to find me.”
“Not if you do as I say.”
“An’ what is it ye say, little man?”