"Dat no good," objected Picard. "Wat you do? S'pose you do dat,
dose _coureurs_ keel you _toute suite_. Dey is have good excuse,
an' you is have nothing to mak' de fight. You sleep away, and dose
ole man is sen' out plaintee Injun. Dey is fine you sure. _Ba_,
eef he sen' you out, den he sen' onlee two Injun. Maybee you fight
dem; I don' know. _Non, mon ami_, eef you is wan' get away w'en
dose ole man he don' know eet, you mus' have dose carabine. Den
you is have wan leetle chance. _Ba, eef you is not have heem dose
carabine, you mus' need dose leetle grub he geev you, and not
plaintee Injun follow you, onlee two."

"And I cannot get the rifle."

"An' dose ole man is don' sen' you out till eet is too late for
mak' de grub on de fores'. Dat's w'at I t'ink. Dat ees not fonny
for you."

Ned Trent's eyes were almost black with thought. Suddenly he threw
his head up.

"I'll make him send me out now," he asserted confidently.

"How you mak' eet him?"

"I'll talk turkey to him till he's so mad he can't see straight.
Then maybe he'll send me out right away."

"How you mak' eet him so mad? inquired Picard, with mild curiosity.

"Never you mind--I'll do it"