And they said it were better if you had been born an idiot
than with an evil spirit; and that your hand would be against the loins
that bore you. But Pierre, ah Pierre, you love your mother, do you
not?'" . . . And he standing now, his eye closed with the gate-chink
in front of Fort o' God, said quietly: "She was of the race that hated
these--my mother; and she died of a wound they gave her at the Tete
Blanche Hill. Well, for that you die now, Yellow Arm, if this gun has a
bullet cold enough."
A bullet pinged through the sharp air, as the Indians swarmed towards the
gate, and Yellow Arm, the chief, fell. The besiegers paused; and then,
as if at the command of the fallen man, they drew back, bearing him to
the camp, where they sat down and mourned.
Pierre watched them for a time; and, seeing that they made no further
move, retired into the store, where the Idiot muttered and was happy
after his kind. "Grah got pipe--blow away--blow away to Annie--pretty
soon."
"Yes, Grah, there's chance enough that you'll blow away to Annie pretty
soon," remarked the other.
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