“Eh bien!” responded Étienne, knowing that he was challenged and the eyes of the whole yard were on him. “This fine crow he claims all Mackinac because he carries a black feather in his cap. There are black feathers in other brigades.” “But you never wore one in any brigade.” They dropped the skin and faced each other, feeling the fastenings of their belts. Old Robert Stuart slipped up a window in the office and grinned slyly out at the men surging towards that side of the yard. He would not usually permit a breach of discipline. But the winter had been so long! “Myself I have no need of black feathers.” Étienne gave an insolent cast of the eye to the height where 'Tite Laboise stood. Charle', magnificent of inches, scorned his less-developed antagonist. “Eh, man Gurdon,” softly called old Robert Stuart from his window, “set them to it, will ye? The lads will be jawing till the morn's morn.” This equivocal order had little effect on the ordained course of a voyageur's quarrel. “These St. Martins without stomachs, how is a man to hit them?—pouf!” said Charle', and Étienne felt on his tender spot the cruel allusion to his brother Alexis, whose stomach had been made public property. He began to shed tears of wrath. “I will take your scalp for that! As for the black feather, I trample it under my foot!” “Let me see you trample it. And my head is not so easily scalped as your brother's stomach.” All the time they were dancing around each other in graceful and menacing feints. But now they clinched, and Charle' Charette, when the struggle had lasted two or three minutes, took his antagonist like a puppy and flung him revolving to the ground. He hitched his belt and glanced up towards the sally-port as he stood back laughing. Étienne was on foot with a tiger's bound. He had no chance with the wearer of the black feather, as everybody in the yard knew, and usually a beaten antagonist was ready to shake hands after a few trials of strength. But he seized one of the knives used in opening packs and struck at the victor's side. As soon as he had struck and the bloody knife came back in his hand he crouched and rolled his eyes around in apology. No man was afraid of shedding blood in those days, but he felt he had gone too far—that his quarrel was not sufficiently grounded. He heard a woman's scream, and the sharp checking exclamation of his master, and felt himself seized on each side. There was much confusion in his mind and in the yard, but he knew 'Tite Laboise flew through the gate and past him, and he tried to propitiate her by a look. “Pig!” she projected at him like a missile, and he sat down on the ground between the guards who were trying to hold him up and wept copiously.