Nicolas thrust his hands down in his pockets. “I’m not so glad to see you as all that,” he answered, with a contemptuous laugh.
The black eyes of the bear-leader were alive with anger.
“You’re a damn’ fool, Nic Lavilette. You think because I lead a bear—eh? Pshaw! you shall see. I am nothing, eh? I am to walk on! Nic Lavilette, once he steal the Cure’s pig and—”
“See you there, Castine, I’ve had enough of that,” was the half-angry, half-amused interruption. “What are you after here?”
“What was I after five years ago?” was the meaning reply.
Lavilette’s face suddenly flushed with fury. He gripped the window with both hands, and made as if he would leap out; but beside Castine’s face there appeared another, with glaring eyes, red tongue, white vicious teeth, and two huge claws which dropped on the ledge of the window in much the same way as did Lavilette’s.
There was a moment’s silence as the man and the beast looked at each other, and then Castine began laughing in a low, sneering sort of way.
“I’ll shoot the beast, and I’ll break your neck if ever I see you on this farm again,” said Lavilette, with wild anger.
“Break my neck—that’s all right; but shoot this leetla Michael! When you do that you will not have to wait for a British bullet to kill you. I will do it with a knife—just where you can hear it sing under your ear!”
“British bullet!” said Lavilette, excitedly; “what about a British bullet—eh—what?”