engine of life, which might do great things, wasting fuel. Nobody thought
much of that at Fort Guidon, except, perhaps, Pierre, who sometimes said,
"My simple king, some day you shall have your great chance again; but not
as a king--as a giant, a man--voila!"

The day did not come immediately, but it came. When Ida, the deaf and
dumb girl, married Hilton, of the H.B.C., every man at Fort Guidon, and
some from posts beyond, sent her or brought her presents of one kind or
another. Pierre's gift was a Mexican saddle. He was branding Ida's name
on it with the broken blade of a case-knife when Macavoy entered on him,
having just returned from a vagabond visit to Fort Ste. Anne.

"Is it digging out or carvin' in y'are?" he asked, puffing into his
beard.

Pierre looked up contemptuously, but did not reply to the insinuation,
for he never saw an insult unless he intended to avenge it; and he would
not quarrel with Macavoy.

"What are you going to give?" he asked.

"Aw, give what to who, hop-o'-me-thumb?" Macavoy said, stretching himself
out in the doorway, his legs in the sun, head in the shade.

"You've been taking a walk in the country, then?" Pierre asked, though he
knew.

"To Fort Ste. Anne: a buryin', two christ'nin's, an' a weddin'; an'
lashin's av grog an' swill-aw that, me button o' the North!"