"Bien! It is of a drollness, mes cheries," laughed Tessa Bibye one day,
stopping at the cabin by the south wall; "how Francette does but sit in
the shade and nurse that half-dead wolf. Is it by chance because of the
owner, or that hand which carried it here, Francette? Look for the man
behind Francette's devotion ever!"
Whereat there was a laugh and crinkling of pretty dark eyes at the
little maid's expense, but she sprang to her feet and faced her mates
in anger.
"Begone, you Tessa Bibye!" she cried hotly; "'tis little you know
beyond the thought of a man truly, and that because you have lacked one
from the cradle!"
Tessa flushed and drew away, vanquished. Merry laughter, turned as
readily upon her, wafted back on the golden wind. Francette, her eyes
flaming with all too great a fire, set a pan of cool water beneath the
fevered muzzle of the husky and glanced, scowling, across her shoulder
toward the factory.
Five days had passed since the episode beside the stockade, and Bois
DesCaut had said no word, of his property. In fact, the great dog was
seemingly scarce worth a thought, much less a word. Helpless, bruised
from tip to tip, one side flat under its broken ribs, he lay sullenly
in the shade; of the cabin where McElroy had put him down, covered at
night from the cool air by Francette's' own blanket of the gorgeous
stripes, fed by her small loving hands bit by bit, submitting for the
first time in his hard and eventful life to the touch of woman,
thrilling in his savage heart to the word of tenderness.
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