Pierre saw their intent,
and hid in the ground some pemmican and all the scanty rum. Then he
looked at his powder and shot, and saw that there was little left. If he
spent it on the besiegers, how should they fare for beast and fowl in
hungry days? And for his rifle he had but a brace of bullets. He rolled
these in his hand, looking upon them with a grim smile. And the Idiot,
seeing, rose and sidled towards him, and said: "Poor Grah want pipe--
bubble--bubble." Then a light of childish cunning came into his eyes,
and he touched the bullets blunderingly, and continued: "Plenty, plenty
b'longs Grah--give poor Grah pipe--plenty, plenty, give you these."
And Pretty Pierre after a moment replied: "So that's it, Grah?--you've
got bullets stowed away? Well, I must have them. It's a one-sided game
in which you get the tricks; but here's the pipe, Idiot--my only pipe for
your dribbling mouth--my last good comrade. Now show me the bullets.
Take me to them, daft one, quick."
A little later the Idiot sat inside the store, wrapped in loose furs, and
blowing bubbles; while Pretty Pierre, with many handfuls of bullets by
him, waited for the attack.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60