It was not the roar of a man, but of a beast--and
Jacques Dupont was on the platform!
Quick as Dupont's movement had been it was no swifter than that of the
closely-hooded stranger. He was as tall as Dupont, and about him there
was an air of authority and command.
"Wait," he said, and placed a hand on Dupont's heaving chest. His smile
was cold as ice. Never had Dupont seen eyes so like the pale blue of
steel.
"M'sieu Dupont, you are about to avenge a great insult. It must be done
fairly. If you have weapons, throw them away. I will search this--this
Reese Beaudin, as he calls himself! And if there is to be a fight, let it
be a good one. Strip yourself to that great garment you have on, friend
Dupont. See, our friend--this Reese Beaudin--is already stripping!"
He was unbuttoning the giant's heavy Hudson's Bay coat. He pulled it off,
and drew Dupont's knife from its sheath. Paquette, like a stunned cat
that had recovered its ninth life, was scrambling from the platform. The
Indian was already gone. And Reese Beaudin had tossed his coat to Joe
Delesse, and with it his cap. His heavy shirt was closely buttoned; and
not only was it buttoned, Delesse observed, but also was it carefully
pinned. And even now, facing that monster who would soon be at him, Reese
Beaudin was smiling.
For a moment the closely hooded stranger stood between them, and Jacques
Dupont crouched himself for his vengeance.
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