He went out and dangled the clumsy-looking mittens under the half-breed’s nose.

Bateese looked at them curiously.  “Mitaines,” he nodded.  “Does ze little partridge rooster keep his claws warm in those in ze winter?  They are clumsy, m’sieu.  I can make a better mitten of caribou skin.”  Putting on one of the gloves, David doubled up his fist.  “Do you see that, Concombre Bateese?” he asked.  “Well, I will tell you this, that they are not mittens to keep your hands warm.  I am going to fight you in them when our time comes.  With these mittens I will fight you and your naked fists.  Why?  Because I do not want to hurt you too badly, friend Bateese!  I do not want to break your face all to pieces, which I would surely do if I did not put on these soft mittens.  Then, when you have really learned to fight—­”

The bull neck of Concombre Bateese looked as if it were about to burst.  His eyes seemed ready to pop out of their sockets, and suddenly he let out a roar.  “What!—­You dare talk lak that to Concombre Bateese, w’at is great’st fightin’ man on all T’ree River?  You talk lak that to me, Concombre Bateese, who will kill ze bear wit’ hees ban’s, who pull down ze tree, who—­who—­”

The word-flood of his outraged dignity sprang to his lips; emotion choked him, and then, looking suddenly over Carrigan’s shoulder—­ he stopped.  Something in his look made David turn.  Three paces behind him stood Marie-Anne, and he knew that from the corner of the cabin she had heard what had passed between them.  She was biting her lips, and behind the flash of her eyes he saw laughter.

“You must not quarrel, children,” she said.  “Bateese, you are steering badly.”

She reached out her hands, and without a word David gave her the gloves.  With her palm and fingers she caressed them softly, yet David saw little lines of doubt come into her white forehead.

“They are pretty—­and soft, M’sieu David.  Surely they can not hurt much!  Some day when St. Pierre comes, will you teach me how to use them?”

“Always it is ‘When St. Pierre comes,’” he replied.  “Shall we be waiting long?”

“Two or three days, perhaps a little longer.  Are you coming with me to the proue, m’sieu?”

She did not wait for his answer, but went ahead of him, dangling the two pairs of gloves at her side.  David caught a last glimpse of the half-breed’s face as he followed Marie-Anne around the end of the cabin.  Bateese was making a frightful grimace and shaking his huge fist, but scarcely were they out of sight on the narrow footway that ran between the cabin and the outer timbers of the scow when a huge roar of laughter followed them.  Bateese had not done laughing when they reached the proue, or bow-nest, a deck fully ten feet in length by eight in width, sheltered above by an awning, and comfortably arranged with chairs, several rugs, a small table, and, to David’s amazement, a hammock.  He had never seen anything like this on the Three Rivers,