He wondered if she had gone back to settle the matter with Bateese at once, for it was clear that she did not regard with favor the promised bout between himself and the half-breed.  It was on the spur of a careless moment that he had promised to fight Bateese, and with little thought that it was likely to be carried out or that it would become a matter of importance with all of St. Pierre’s brigade.  He was evidently in for it, he told himself, and as a fighting man it looked as though Concombre Bateese was at least the equal of his braggadocio.  He was glad of that.  He grinned as he watched the bending backs of St. Pierre’s men.  So they were betting thirty to one against him!  Even St. Pierre might be induced to bet—­with him.  And if he did—­

The hot blood leaped for a moment in Carrigan’s veins.  The thrill went to the tips of his fingers.  He stared out over the river, unseeing, as the possibilities of the thing that had come into his mind made him for a moment oblivious of the world.  He possessed one thing against which St. Pierre and St. Pierre’s wife would wager a half of all they owned in the world!  And if he should gamble that one thing, which had come to him like an inspiration, and should whip Bateese—­

He began to pace back and forth over the narrow deck, no longer watching the rowers or the shore.  The thought grew, and his mind was consumed by it.  Thus far, from the moment the first shot was fired at him from the ambush, he had been playing with adventure in the dark.  But fate had at last dealt him a trump card.  That something which he possessed was more precious than furs or gold to St. Pierre, and St. Pierre would not refuse the wager when it was offered.  He would not dare refuse.  More than that, he would accept eagerly, strong in the faith that Bateese would whip him as he had whipped all other fighters who had come up against him along the Three Rivers.  And when Marie-Anne knew what that wager was to be, she, too, would pray for the gods of chance to be with Concombre Bateese!

He did not hear the light footsteps behind him, and when he turned suddenly in his pacing, he found himself facing Marie-Anne, who carried in her hands the little basket he had seen on the cabin table.  She seated herself in the hammock and took from the basket a bit of lace work.  For a moment he watched her fingers flashing in and out with the needles.

Perhaps his thought went to her.  He was almost frightened as he saw her cheeks coloring under the long, dark lashes.  He faced the rivermen again, and while he gripped at his own weakness, he tried to count the flashings of their oars.  And behind him, the beautiful eyes of St. Pierre’s wife were looking at him with a strange glow in their depths.

“Do you know,” he said, speaking slowly and still looking toward the flashing of the oars, “something tells me that unexpected things are going to happen when St. Pierre returns.  I am going to make a bet with him that I can whip Bateese.  He will not refuse.  He will accept.  And St. Pierre will lose, because I shall whip Bateese.  It is then that these unexpected things will begin to happen.  And I am wondering—­after they do happen—­if you will care so very much?”