“Why, what—do you—fight?” asked Pierre innocently.
Macavoy grinned in a wild kind of fashion. “Faith, then, y’are a fool. Bring on the divil an’ all his angels, say I, and I’ll fight thim where I stand.”
Pierre ran his fingers down Macavoy’s arm, and said “There’s time enough for that. I’d begin with the five.”
“What five, then?”
“Her half-breed lovers: Big Eye, One Toe, Jo-John, Saucy Boy, and Limber Legs.”
“Her lovers? Her lovers, is it? Is there truth on y’r tongue?”
“Go to her father’s tent at sunset, and you’ll find one or all of them there.”
“Oh, is that it?” said the Irishman, opening and shutting his fists. “Then I’ll carve their hearts out, an’ ate thim wan by wan this night.”
“Come down to Wiley’s,” said Pierre; “there’s better company there than here.”
Pierre had arranged many things, and had secured partners in his little scheme for humbling the braggart. He so worked on the other’s good nature that by the time they reached the settler’s place, Macavoy was stretching himself with a big pride. Seated at Wiley’s table, with Hatchett and others near, and drink going about, someone drew the giant on to talk, and so deftly and with such apparent innocence did Pierre, by a word here and a nod there, encourage him, that presently he roared at Wiley and Hatchett: