was young— Such a long, well-lighted room, with plenty of room for the people to line up and enjoy it.… He speaks of the Gulf. Ah, those were days! Descendant of pig-devils, stick out your arm."
This to the groaning wounded man. The man timidly obeyed. Papa Clair examined the wound and proudly proclaimed to the staring, silent patrons of the place:
"Through the flesh! The bone is barely touched. As pretty a cast as I ever made. Wash it with whisky and if there isn't too much poison in the blood it will heal rapidly.… Take m'sieu away. He needs quiet and rest. And I need this table."
The last was accompanied by a bristling glance at the wounded man's friends, a baleful glance that hoped to find opposition. The three men rose and led their groaning friend down the room to the door, followed by jeers and laughter from the onlookers. Papa Clair replaced the knife in his boot and said:
"My friend, I have waited long for you. Your man has not been in. Where have you been? What have you done?"
"Failed in everything I tried. Parker came
