Lavois swam ashore and hastened upstream to the fire without a word. There he pulled off his boots and coat, took a swig from a flask on his hip and sat so close to the bank of red embers that steam arose from him. Mark Ducat rode the big log ashore, using the pike-pole for a paddle. He, too, made his way to Joe Bender's fire, accompanied by such members of the gang as were on that side of the river. He, too, removed his coat and boots and sat close to the glow.
"Is there anything ye can do, Lavois, 'cept shoot off yer mouth about what ye done on the Gateneau?" asked Mark.
"Did ye hear me speak o' playin' monkey-tricks on logs?" returned Lavois. "No, ye didn't. Ye heard me tell how I knocked the everlastin' lights out o' six full-growed men, an' Quebec men, at that—real white-water boys."
"Do tell? What d'ye fight with when ye get real riled?"
"Everything God give me an' most anything I kin lay me hands on."
"That suits me fine."
Both reached for their spiked boots.
"Boots is barred," said Joe Bender, who held a long-handled iron stew-pan in his hairy right fist. "Ye fight in yer socks, boys. Axes, grindstones, peavy, rocks an' clubs an' knives is all barred along with boots; an' the first one to reach for any sich article gits soaked good an' plenty with this here stew-pan. I ain't Champeen Buster o' the Gateneau nor Cock o' Racket River, but I be a ring-tailed roarin' Hell-an'-all with a stew-pan."
"That suits me, Joe," said Mark Ducat.
"I guess I kin do the job with me hands an' feet," said Lavois.