And so I went to work at the canoe, and waited till he should turn to me.  When he did it was with a child’s plea for pity, and the abjectness of his tone was horrible, coming from a man of his girth and power.

“You might have done the same thing yourself, monsieur.”

I bowed.  I could not but toss him that bone of comfort, for it was the truth.  Sometimes a spring snaps suddenly in a man, and he becomes a brute.  How could I boast that I would be immune?

“But I would have shot myself the moment after,” I said.

He had regained his level.  “Then you would have been a double coward.  I shall do better.”

“You think to reinstate yourself?”

“I know that I shall reinstate myself.  Monsieur, I throw myself upon your courtesy.  I ask to be taken to my cousin.”

“No, monsieur.  I follow my wife’s wishes.”

“I loved her, monsieur.”

My pity of the moment before was gone like vapor.  I looked up from my canoe, and took the man’s measure.  “I think not.  You loved something, I grant.  Her wit, perhaps, her money, the pleasure she gave your epicure’s taste.  But you did not love her, the woman.  My God, if you loved her how could you endure to scatter her likeness broadcast among the savages as you did?  To make that profile, that mouth, that chin, the jest and property of a greasy Indian!  No, you shall not see my wife, monsieur.”

He changed no line at my outburst.  “Then I shall follow by force.  I shall sit here till you move, monsieur.”

I shrugged.  “A rash promise.  Are your provisions close at hand?”

He looked at me steadfastly.  “Then you absolutely refuse to take me to her?”

“I refuse.”

“Yet I shall reach her.”

I took moss from my pocket and calked a seam with some precision.  I did not speak.

“You think that I cannot reach her?”

I smiled.  There was a womanish vein in the man that he should press me in this fashion for a useless answer.  I began to see his weakness as well as his obvious strength.  I waited till he asked yet again.

“You think that I shall not be able to reach your wife, monsieur?”

And then I shrugged and examined him over my pipe-bowl.  “Yes, you will reach her, I think.  You have a certain persistence that often wins small issues,—­seldom large ones.  But I shall not help you.”

“I shall stay here till you go.”

“Then we shall be companions for some time.  May I offer you tobacco, monsieur?”

He smiled, though wryly and against his will.  It was plain that we were taking a certain saturnine enjoyment out of the situation.  We could hate each other well, and we were doing it, but we were both starved for men’s talk,—­the talk of equals.

“It seems a pity to detain you,” he mused.  “You are obviously on business.  When I came up behind you I thought that I had never seen a man work in such a frenzy of haste.  There was sweat on your forehead.”