So far Pierre's plan had worked even better than he expected, though
Macavoy's moods had not been altogether after his imaginings. He drew
alongside the giant, who had suddenly grown quiet again. Macavoy turned
and looked down at Pierre with the candour of a schoolboy, and his voice
was very low:

"It's a long time ago, I'm thinkin'," he said, "since I lost me
frinds--ages an' ages ago. For me frinds are me inimies now, an' that
makes a man old. But I'll not say that it cripples his arm or humbles his
back." He drew his arm up once or twice and shot it out straight into the
air like a catapult. "It's all right," he added, very softly, "an',
Half-breed, me b'y, if me frinds have turned inimies, why, I'm thinkin'
me inimy has turned frind, for that I'm sure you were, an' this I'm
certain y 'are. So here's the grip av me fist, an' y'll have it." Pierre
remembered that disconcerting, iron grip of friendship for many a day. He
laughed to himself to think how he was turning the braggart into a
warrior. "Well," said Pierre, "what about those five at Wonta's tent?"

"I'll be there whin the sun dips below the Little Red Hill," he said, as
though his thoughts were far away, and he turned his face towards Wonta's
tent. Presently he laughed out loud. "It's manny along day," he said,
"since--"

Then he changed his thoughts. "They've spoke sharp words in me teeth," he
continued, "and they'll pay for it. Bounce! sweat! brag! wind! is it?
There's dancin' beyant this night, me darlins!"

"Are you sure you'll not run away when they come on?" said Pierre, a
little ironically.