“Dam’ toi, Ah mak’ toi tell!” The half-breed cursed and pushed the now strongly burning fire toward the naked feet.
With one bound Jules was in the open; another, and he was but a few feet from the treacherous, torturing devil. Annaotaha heard the sound of feet and turned.
“Ha! Ah show to toi!” he shouted as he leaped to Le Grand and swiftly plunged the knife he held into the old man’s side.
Verbaux was on him then; the fiend stabbed desperately at him, and they fell, growling and snarling; by a quick twist Jules caught the other’s knife hand in a fearful grip. Slowly he bent it back—back until the wrist broke with a loud snap, and the knife dropped. The wretch screamed and writhed, biting at Verbaux’s shirt and neck. Jules got a hold on the renegade’s knees, drew himself up and with a mighty jerk hurled Annaotaha against the stony ground with stunning force. The half-breed lay there senseless. Verbaux sprang to Le Grand and slashed his bindings apart; the old man slid down limply; Jules gathered him in his strong arms. All this time the old man’s life was trickling away, soaking into the earth.
“Ah, Dieu, mon ami, mon vieux!” Jules groaned, trying to stop the red current. Le Grand opened his eyes.
“Trop tard,” he murmured weakly and coughed; then he gathered a little strength. “He—catch—moi f’om arrière,—try—mak’—moi—tell—heem——h’about—toi—an’—an’—Marie; mais—Ah-h-h——n-o——tell”; his voice trailed off in a whisper. Verbaux laid him flat, ripped open the blood-soaked shirt, and tied his own long neckerchief tight about the wound. Then he got water and bathed Le Grand’s face and hands. The black eyes opened again, but they were dulling fast; the lips moved, and Verbaux bent to catch their faint whisper.
“Tell—M’r-ie——dat——Ah—fin’——toi h’—at——las’!——She——h’ask——p-ou-r——Verb—b—x.” The dimming eyes looked at Verbaux with mute appeal.
“Oui, oui, mon vieux, mon ami, Dieu te bénit,” Jules answered hoarsely, and great tears fell on the other’s hands. Le Grand must have felt them, for he smiled wanly.
“Pau—vre——Ver—b—aux, al-lez——she-e——att-ends pour—toi——adi——” and the life was gone.
Verbaux felt for heart-beats, but in vain; he listened at the motionless white lips for a faint breath, but uselessly. Then he knelt beside his lifelong friend and repeated the Ave Maria softly; his voice was often choked, and the tears rolled down unheeded. A long time he knelt, still but for great heavings of his shoulders. At last he rose.