y'r teeth all raspin'."

As he went the two men laughed after him mockingly. "Wind like a bag,"
said Hatchett. "Bone like a marrow-fat pea," added Wiley.

Macavoy was at the door, but at that he turned. "If ye care to sail agin'
that wind, an' gnaw on that bone, I'd not be sayin' you no."

"Will to-night do--at sunset?" said Wiley.

"Bedad, then, me b'ys, sunset'll do--an' not more than two at a time," he
added softly, all the roar gone from his throat. Then he went out,
followed by Pierre.

Hatchett and Wiley looked at each other and laughed a little confusedly.
"What's that he said?" muttered Wiley. "Not more than two at a time, was
it?"

"That was it. I don't know that it's what we bargained for, after all."
He looked round on the other settlers present, who had been awed by the
childlike, earnest note in Macavoy's last words. They shook their heads
now a little sagely; they weren't so sure that Pierre's little game was
so jovial as it had promised.

Even Pierre had hardly looked for so much from his giant as yet. In a
little while he had got Macavoy back to his old humour.

"What was I made for but war!" said the Irishman, "an' by war to kape
thim at peace, wherever I am." Soon he was sufficiently restored in
spirits to go with Pierre to Bareback's lodge, where, sitting at the tent