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Page 2
"Loup Garou don't prate about coons I guess," drawled
the man in the faded uniform, without, however, removing
his eyes from the very interesting occupation in which
he was engaged. "That dog I take it, Le Noir, means
something else--something more than we human critters
know. By gosh, boss," looking for the first time at him
who stood in that position to the rest of the party--"If
WE can't smell the varmint, I take it Loup Garou does."
At this early period of civilization, in these remote
countries, there was little distinction of rank between
the master and the man--the employer and the employed.
Indeed the one was distinguished from the other only by
the instructions given and received, in regard to certain
services to be performed. They labored together--took
their meals together--generally smoked together--drank
together--conversed together, and if they did not
absolutely sleep together, often reposed in the same
room. There was, therefore, nothing extraordinary in the
familiar tone in which the ci-devant soldier now addressed
him whose hired help he was. The latter, however, was in
an irritable mood, and he answered sharply.
"What have you got into your foolish head now, Ephraim
Giles? You do nothing but prophesy evil. What varmint do
you talk of, and what has Loup Garou to do with it? Speak,
what do you mean?--if you mean anything at all."
As he uttered this half rebuke, he rose abruptly from
his chair, shook the ashes from his pipe, and drew himself
to his full height, with his back to the fire. There had
been nothing very remarkable in the observation made by
the man to whom he had addressed himself, but he was in
a peculiar state of mind, that gave undue importance to
every word, sounding, as it did, a vague presentiment of
some coming evil, which the very singular manner of the
dog had created, although he would scarcely acknowledge
this to himself.
The man made no reply, but continued whittling, humming,
at the same time, the air of "Yankee Doodle."
"Answer me, Ephraim Giles," peremptorily resumed his
master; "leave off that eternal whittling of yours, if
you can, and explain to me your meaning."
"Etarnal whittling! do you call it, Boss? I guess it's
no such thing. No man knows better nor you, that, if I
can whittle the smallest stick in creation, I can bring
down the stoutest tree as well as ere a fellow in Michigan.
Work is work--play is play. It's only the difference, I
reckon, of the axe and the knife."
"Will you answer my question like a man, and not like a
fool, as you are?" shouted the other, stooping, and
extending his left hand, the fingers of which he insinuated
into the stock already described, while, with a powerful
jerk, he both brought the man to his feet, and the blood
into his usually cadaverous cheek.
Ephraim Giles, half-throttled, and writhing with pain,
made a movement as if he would have used the knife in a
much less innocent manner than whittling, but the quick,
stern eye of his master, detected the involuntary act,
and his hand, suddenly relinquishing its hold of the
collar, grasped the wrist of the soldier with such a
vice-like pressure, that the fingers immediately opened,
and the knife fell upon the hearth.
The violence of his own act, brought Mr. Heywood at once
to a sense of the undue severity he had exercised towards
his servant, and he immediately said, taking his hand:
"Ephraim Giles, forgive me, but it was not intended. Yet,
I know not how it is, the few words you spoke just now
made me anxious to know what you meant, and I could not
repress my impatience to hear your explanation."
The soldier had never before remarked so much dignity of
manner about his Boss, as he termed Mr. Heywood, and this
fact, added to the recollection of the severe handling
he had just met with, caused him to be a little more
respectful in his address.
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