All that night Ben swore deliriously that he would do worse to Le
Borgne's master than he had done to the supercargo; but he never by any
chance let slip who Le Borgne's master might be, though M. Radisson,
Chouart Groseillers, young Jean, and I kept watch by turns lest the
drunken knave should run amuck of our Frenchmen. I mind once, when M.
Radisson and I were sitting quiet by the bunk where Ben was berthed, the
young rake sat up with a fog-horn of a yell and swore he would slice that
pirate of a Radisson and all his cursed Frenchies into meat for the dogs.
M. Radisson looked through the candle-light and smiled. "If you want to
know your character, Ramsay," says he, "get your enemy talking in his
cups!"
"Shiver my soul, if I'd ever come to his fort but to find out how strong
the liar is!" cries Ben.
"Hm! I thought so," says M. de Radisson, pushing the young fellow back
to his pillow and fastening the fur robes close lest frost steamed
through the ill-chinked logs.
By Christmas Ben Gillam and Jack Battle of the New Englanders' fort and
the two spies of the Hudson's Bay Company had all recovered enough from
their freezing to go about. What with keeping the English and New
Englanders from knowing of each other's presence, we had as twisted a
piece of by-play as you could want.
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