“Come out, Pierre, come out!”
“Pierre!” cried the furious father. “What Pierre?”
“Oh, father, it is Pierre Robideau!”
It was well Lena Rook had grasped the barrel of the rifle and turned it aside, else along with the last speech the bullet would have passed through the body of Pierre, instead of over his head.
But it was now too late, and Jerry Rook saw it.
The young man had sprung out, and was standing by his side.
Any attempt at violence on his part would have ended by his being dashed instantly to the earth. Beside Pierre Robideau he was like an old wasted wolf in the presence of a young, strong panther.
He felt his inferiority, and cowered upon the instant.
He even assumed the counterfeit of friendship.
“Oh, ’tair you, Pierre, is it? I wouldn’t a knowed yer. It’s so long since I’ve seed yer. You kin go in, gurl. I want to hev some talk wi’ Pierre.”