the responsibility of their adventures. Nicolas had had enough of those
old days; other ambitions and habits governed him now. He was not
exactly the man to go back on a friend, but Castine no longer had any
particular claims to friendship. The last time he had heard Vanne's
whistle was a night five years before, when they both joined a gang of
river-drivers, and made a raid on some sham American speculators and
surveyors and labourers, who were exploiting an oil-well on the property
of the old seigneur. The two had come out of the melee with bruised
heads, and Vanne with a bullet in his calf. But soon afterwards came
Christine's elopement with Vanne, of which no one knew save her father,
Nicolas, Shangois and Vanne himself. That ended their compact, and,
after a bitter quarrel, they had parted and had never met nor seen each
other till this very afternoon.

"Yes, I know your whistle all right," answered Nicolas, with a twist of
the shoulder.

"Aren't you going to shake hands?" asked Castine, with a sort of sneer
on his face.

Nicolas thrust his hands down in his pockets. "I'm not so glad to see
you as all that," he answered, with a contemptuous laugh.

The black eyes of the bear-leader were alive with anger.

"You're a damn' fool, Nic Lavilette. You think because I lead a bear--
eh? Pshaw! you shall see. I am nothing, eh? I am to walk on! Nic
Lavilette, once he steal the Cure's pig and--"

"See you there, Castine, I've had enough of that," was the half-angry,