"Sacre, M'sieur, it was I do his dirty work five--seek--year. He no
sailor, but I sail ze sheep for him--see? Tree, four time I sail ze
sheep, an' he make ze money. Vat he geef me? Maybe one hundred ze
month--bah! eet was to laugh. Zen he fin' zat Dutch hog, Herman, an'
make of heem ze furst officer. He tell eet all me nice, fine, an' I
tink maybe eet all right. You know he promise beeg profit--hey! an' I
get ze monies. Oui, it sound good. But Herman big brute; he gif me ze
ordaire, and I not like eet. I tells ze Capitaine, an' by Gar! he keep
me tied up before ze port watch. You stan' zat, M'sieur?"
I shook my head, uncertain just what stand to take.
"Nevar!" he went on, barely pausing for breath. "I show ze damn
half-breed; you vait, I git heem."
"What do you mean by half-breed, Broussard?" I questioned, surprised.
He laughed, but not pleasantly.
"He vas ze mongrel--sure; you know not zat? Sacre, I tell you zen.
What you zink him, white man? Pah! you see hees mother--she mulatto.
Ze damn dog!"
"How do you know that?"
"How I know! I tell you I sail with heem long while. He nevar tell,
but I fin' eet out. I listen, I hear ze talk, but I say noddings,
M'sieur. Vat I care while he treat me right? But now I show heem vat
I know.
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