“Don’t talk, Lamérie!” was Ozème’s rather ambiguous reply, as he flourished the remainder of a whip over the old gray mare’s sway-back, urging her to a gentle trot.
When he reached home, Bodé, one of Padue’s boys, who was assisting him to unhitch, remarked:
“How come you didn’ go yonda down de coas’ like you said, Mista Ozème? Nobody didn’ see you in Cloutierville, an’ Mailitte say you neva cross’ de twenty-fo’-mile ferry, an’ nobody didn’ see you no place.”
Ozème returned, after his customary moment of reflection:
“You see, it’s ’mos’ always the same thing on Cane riva, my boy; a man gets tired o’ that à la fin. This time I went back in the woods, ’way yonda in the Fédeau cut-off kin’ o’ campin’ an’ roughin’ like, you might say. I tell you, it was sport, Bodé.”
PRESS OF
STROMBERG, ALLEN & CO.
CHICAGO