So said Macavoy the giant, when the thing was talked of in his presence.

"Well, I tell you it's true, and they're not three miles from Fort
O'Glory. The Company's--[Hudson's Bay Company]--men don't talk about
it--what's the use! Travellers are few that way, and you can't get the
Indians within miles of them. Pretty Pierre knows all about them--better
than anyone else almost. He'll stand by me in it--eh, Pierre?"

Pierre, the half-breed gambler and adventurer, took no notice, and was
silent for a time, intent on his cigarette; and in the pause Mowley the
trapper said: "Pierre's gone back on you, Trader. P'r'aps ye haven't paid
him for the last lie. I go one better, you stand by me--my treat--that's
the game!"

"Aw, the like o' that," added Macavoy reproachfully. "Aw, yer tongue to
the roof o' yer mouth, Mowley. Liars all men may be, but that's wid
wimmin or landlords. But, Pierre, aff another man's bat like that--aw,
Mowley, fill your mouth wid the bowl o' yer pipe."

Pierre now looked up at the three men, rolling another cigarette as he
did so; but he seemed to be thinking of a distant matter. Meeting the
three pairs of eyes fixed on him, his own held them for a moment
musingly; then he lit his cigarette, and, half reclining on the bench
where he sat, he began to speak, talking into the fire as it were.

"I was at Guidon Hill, at the Company's post there. It was the fall of
the year, when you feel that there is nothing so good as life, and the
air drinks like wine. You think that sounds like a woman or a priest?
Mais, no. The seasons are strange. In the spring I am lazy and sad; in