The bear in
the cage belonged to him--Brokaw. A big brute. Fierce. A fighter. Hauck
and he were going to bet on his bear because it would surely kill Tara.
Make a big clean-up, they would. Tara was soft. Too easy living. And
they needed money because those scoundrels over on the coast had failed
to get in enough whisky for their trade. The girl had almost spoiled
their plans by going away with Tara. And he--Mac--was a devil of a good
fellow for bringing her back! They'd pull off the fight to-morrow. If
the girl--that little bird-devil that belonged to him--didn't like
it....
He brought the canteen down with a bang, and shoved one of the cups
across to David.
"Of course, she belongs to you," said David, encouragingly,
"but--confound you--I can't believe it, you old dog! I can't believe
it!" He leaned over and gave Brokaw a jocular slap, forcing a laugh out
of himself. "She's too pretty for you. Prettiest kid I ever saw! How did
it happen? Eh? You--_lucky_--dog!"
He was fairly trembling as he saw the red fire of satisfaction, of
gloating pleasure, deepen in Brokaw's face.
"She hasn't belonged to you very long, eh?"
"Long time, long time," replied Brokaw, pausing with his cup half way to
his mouth.
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