The Maids of Paradise Part 47

"You mean that--that I need not go to Lorient--to this war?"

"I hope so, my friend."

He looked at me, astonished. "If you can do that, m'sieu, you can do anything."

"In the meanwhile," I said, dryly, "I want another look at Tric-Trac."

"I could show you Tric-Trac in an hour--but to go to him direct would excite his suspicion. Besides, there are two gendarmes in Paradise to conduct the conscripts to Lorient; there are also several gardes-champetre. But I can get you there, in the open moorland, too, under everybody's noses! Shall I?" he said, with an eager ferocity that startled me.

"You are not to injure him, no matter what he does or says," I said, sharply. "I want to watch him, not to frighten him away. I want to see what he and Buckhurst are doing. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Then strike palms!"

We struck vigorously.

"Now I am ready to start," I said, pleasantly.

"And now I am ready to tell you something," he said, with the fierce light burning behind his blue eyes. "If you were already in the police I would not help you--no, not even to trap this filou who has mocked me! If you again enter the police I will desert you!"

He licked his dry lips.

"Do you know what a blood-feud is?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then understand that a man in a high place has wronged me--and that he is of the police--the Imperial Military police!"

"Who?"

"You will know when I pa.s.s my f.a.got-knife into his throat," he snarled--"not before."

The Lizard picked up his fishing-rod, slung a canvas bag over his stained velveteen jacket, gathered together a few coils of hair-wire, a pot of twig-lime, and other odds and ends, which he tucked into his broad-flapped coat-pocket. "Allons," he said, briefly, and we started.

The canvas bag on his back bulged, perhaps with provisions, although the steel point of a murderous salmon-gaff protruded from the mouth of the sack and curved over his shoulder.

The village square in Paradise was nearly deserted. The children had raced away to follow the newly arrived gendarmes as closely as they dared, and the women were in-doors hanging about their men, whom the government summoned to Lorient.

There were, however, a few people in the square, and these the Lizard was very careful to greet. Thus we pa.s.sed the mayor, waddling across the bridge, puffing with official importance over the arrival of the gendarmes. He bowed to me; the Lizard saluted him with, "Times are hard on the fat!" to which the mayor replied morosely, and bade him go to the devil.

"Au revoir, donc," retorted the Lizard, unabashed. The mayor bawled after him a threat of arrest unless he reported next day in the square.

At that the poacher halted. "Don't you wish you might get me!" he said, tauntingly, probably presuming on my conditional promise.

"Do you refuse to report?" demanded the mayor, also halting.

"Et ta soeur!" replied the poacher; "is she reporting at the caserne?"

The mayor replied angrily, and a typical Breton quarrel began, which ended in the mayor biting his thumb-nail at the Lizard and wishing him "St. Hubert's luck"--an insult tantamount to a curse.

Now St. Hubert was a mighty hunter, and his luck was proverbially marvellous. But as everything goes by contrary in Brittany, to wish a Breton hunter good luck was the very worst thing you could do him. Bad luck was certain to follow--if not that very day, certainly, inexorably, _some_ day.

With wrath in his eyes the Lizard exhausted his profanity, stretching out his arm after the retreating mayor, who waddled away, gesticulating, without turning his head.

"Come back! Toad! Sourd! V-Snake! Bat of the gorse!" shouted the Lizard. "Do you think I'm afraid of your spells, fat owl of Faouet?

Evil-eyed eel! The luck of Ker-Ys to you and yours! Ho fois! Do you think I am frightened--I, Robert the Lizard? Your wife is a camel and your daughter a cow!" The mayor was unmarried, but it didn't matter.

And, moreover, as that official was now out of ear-shot, the Lizard turned anxiously to me.

"Don't tell me you are superst.i.tious enough to care what the mayor said," I laughed.

"Dame, m'sieu, we shall have no luck to-day. To-morrow it doesn't matter--but if we go to-day, bad luck must come to us."

"To-day? Nonsense!"

"If not, then another day."

"Rubbish! Come on."

"Do you think we could take precautions?" he asked, furtively.

"Take all you like," I said; "rack your brains for an antidote to neutralize the bad luck, only come on, you great gaby!"

I knew many of the Finistere legends; out of the corner of my eye I watched this stalwart rascal, cowed by gross superst.i.tion, peeping about for some favorable sign to counteract the luck of St. Hubert.

First he looked up at the crows, and counted them as they pa.s.sed overhead cawing ominously--one--two--three--four--five! Five is danger!

But wait, more were coming: one--two--three--four--five--six--seven--! A loss! Well, that was not as bad as some things. But hark! More crows coming: one--two--three! Death!

"Jesu!" he faltered, ducking his head instinctively. "I'll look elsewhere for signs."

The signs were all wrong that morning; first we met an ancient crone with a great pack of f.a.gots on her bent back, and I was sure he could have strangled her cheerfully, because there are few worse omens for a hunter of game or of men. Then he examined the first mushroom he found, but under the pink-and-pearl cap we saw no insects crawling.

The veil, too, was rent, showing the poisonous, fluted gills; and the toadstool blackened when he cut it with the blade of his f.a.got-knife.

He tried once more, however, and searched through the gorse until he found a heavy lizard, green as an emerald. He teased it till it snapped at the silver franc in my hand; its teeth should have vanished, but when he held out his finger the creature bit into it till the blood spurted.

Still I refused to turn back. What should he do? Then into his mind crept a Pouldu superst.i.tion. It was a charm against evil, including lightning, black-rot, rheumatism, and "douleurs" of other varieties.

The charm was simple. We needed only to build a little fire of gorse, and walk through the smoke once or twice. So we built the fire and walked through the smoke, the Lizard coughing and cursing until I feared he might overdo it by smothering us both. Then stamping out the last spark--for he was a woodsman always--we tramped on in better humor with destiny.

"You think that turned the curse backward, m'sieu?" he asked.

"There is not the faintest doubt of that," I said.

Far away towards Sainte-Ysole we saw the blue woods which were our goal. However, we had no intention of going there as the bee flies, partly because Tric-Trac might see us, partly because the Lizard wished any prowling pa.s.ser-by to observe that he was occupied with his illegitimate profession. For my part, I very much preferred a brush with a garde-champetre or a summons to explain why no shots were found in the Lizard's pheasants, rather than have anybody ask us why we were walking so fast towards Sainte-Ysole woods.

Therefore we promptly selected a hedge for operations, choosing a high, thick one, which separated two fields of wheat stubble.

Kneeling under the hedge, he broke a hole in it just large enough for a partridge to worry through. Then he bent his twig, fastened the hair-wire into a running noose, adjusted it, and stood up. This manoeuvre he repeated at various hedges or in thickets where he "lined" his trail with peeled twigs on every bush.