eye, an' away you'd go, leaving your tails behind you--and pass that
shoulder of bear, you pirates, till I come to it sideways, like a hog to
war."

He was even less sympathetic with Bareback the chief and his braves.
"Sons o' Anak y'are; here today and away to-morrow, like the clods of the
valley--and that's your portion, Bareback. It's the word o' the
Pentytook--in pieces you go, like a potter's vessel. Don't shrug your
shoulders at me, Bareback, you pig, or you'll think that Ballzeboob's
loose on the mat. But take a sup o' this whisky, while you swear wid your
hand on your chest, 'Amin' to the words o' Tim Macavoy."

Beside Macavoy, Pierre, the notorious, was a child in height. Up to the
time of the half-breed's coming the Irishman had been the most
outstanding man at Fort O'Angel, and was sure of a good-natured homage,
acknowledged by him with a jovial tyranny.

Pierre put a flea in his ear. He was pensively indifferent to him even in
his most royal moments. He guessed the way to bring down the gusto and
pride of this Goliath, but, for a purpose, he took his own time, nodding
indolently to Macavoy when he met him, but avoiding talk with him.

Among the Indian maidens Macavoy was like a king or khan; for they count
much on bulk and beauty, and he answered to their standards--especially
to Wonta's. It was a sight to see him of a summer day, sitting in the
shade of a pine, his shirt open, showing his firm brawny chest, his arms
bare, his face shining with perspiration, his big voice gurgling in his
beard, his eyes rolling amiably upon the maidens as they passed or
gathered near demurely, while he declaimed of mighty deeds in patois or
Chinook to the braves.