THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
before he left he'd got in one of his quarrels with my Janey. Hit her—he did—there was one tooth gone where his—fist fell."
Never have I seen such fury as burned in the old man's eyes as he groaned out the last words.
"Janey, that had the prettiest face for fifty miles around. She tried to hide it from me,—she did n't want me to know, but there was her poor face all swole, and black and blue, and the gap among her white teeth. Bit by bit it all came out. It were n't the first time Lyon'd took his hands to her, no, nor the third, nor the fourth. There on the spot, as I looked at her, I made up my mind I'd go after him, and I'd make him promise me, aye, swear to me, on the Holy Book, never to lay hand on her again. If he would n't swear I'd put him where his hands could n't reach her. I found him camped away up alongside a backwater near his traps, and I told him I'd seen Janey and that he must swear. . . . He would n't! He said he'd learn her to tell on him, he'd smash her in the mouth again. Then he lay down and slep'. I wonder now he were n't afraid of me, but I suppose that was along of me being a quiet, God-fearing chap.
43
