“I——What do you mean?”
“Do you fancy Reivers could carry his will so strong with folks gi’n ye happen to make a beaten man out of him? And do you not think yon lass would come back to her right mind gi’n the Snow-Burner loses his power o’er her? You’re no’ so blind as not to see she’s no liking for him, but the de’il has in a way mesmerised her.”
“Then you mean——”
“That when you and the Snow-Burner put up your mitts ye’ll be fighting for more than just to see who’s best man. Now think that over, lad, while I go and complain to Reivers that I can not stand you an hour longer, and arrange for him to give you your taming.”
CHAPTER XIX—THE FIGHT
It was past sunrise now; the mugginess in the air had fled before the unclouded sun, and the day was pleasantly bright and warm. The sunlight coming in through the eastern window flooded the room. Outside could be heard the steady drip-drip from the melting icicles, and the chirp of the chickadees industriously seeking a breakfast around the door made the morning cheery.
Toppy sat heaved forward in his chair after Campbell had gone on his errand, and looked out of the open door, and waited. From where he sat he could see the office across the way. Presently he saw Miss Pearson come out, stand for a moment in the doorway peering around in puzzled fashion, and go in again.
Toppy did not move. He knew what that signified—that the girl was puzzled and perhaps frightened over the absence of the squaw, Tilly; but he had no impulse to cross the street and break the news to her. The girl, Tilly’s absence, such things were to him only incidentals now. He saw the girl as if far away, as if she were something that did not greatly concern him.
Through his mind there ran recollections of other moments like this—moments of waiting in the training-quarters back at school for the word of the coach to trot out on the field. The same ease of spirit after the tension of weeks of hard training; the same sinking of all worry and nervousness in the knowledge that now that the test was on he would do the best that was in him, and that beyond this there was nothing for a man to think or worry about.
Back there at school there had also been that sense of dissociation from all things not involved in the contest before him. The roaring stands, the pretty girls waving the bright-hued banners, the sound of his name shouted far down the field—he had heard them, but they had not affected him. For the time being, then as now, he had become a wonderful human machine, completely concentrated, as machines must be, upon the accomplishment of one task. Then it had been to play a game; now it was to fight. But it was much the same, after all; it was all in the man-game.