with his gun wrapped up in rags. He was a man of forty or fifty, tall and thin, with the restless eye of people who are worried by legitimate troubles and of hunted animals. His open shirt showed his hairy chest, but he seemed never to have had any more hair on his face than a short brush of a mustache and a few stiff hairs under his lower lip. He was bald around the temples. When he took off the dirty cap that he wore his scalp seemed to be covered with a fluffy down, like the body of a plucked chicken.
Chicot, on the contrary, was red, fat, short and hairy. He looked like a raw beefsteak. He continually kept his left eye closed, as if he were aiming at something or at somebody, and when people jokingly cried to him, “Open your eye, Labouise!” he would answer quietly: “Never fear, sister, I open it when there’s cause to.”
He had a habit of calling every one “sister,” even his scavenger companion.
He took up the oars again, and once more the boat disappeared in the heavy mist, which was now turned snowy white in the pink-tinted sky.
“What kind of lead did you take, Maillochon?” Labouise asked.
“Very small, number nine; that’s the best for rabbits.”
They were approaching the other shore so slowly, so quietly that no noise betrayed them. This bank belongs to the Saint-Germain forest and is the boundary line for rabbit hunting. It is covered with burrows hidden under the roots of trees, and the creatures at daybreak frisk about, running in and out of the holes.
Maillochon was kneeling in the bow, watching, his gun hidden on the floor. Suddenly he seized it, aimed, and the report echoed for some time throughout the quiet country.
Labouise, in a few strokes, touched the beach, and his companion, jumping to the ground, picked up a little gray rabbit, not yet dead.
Then the boat once more disappeared into the fog in order to get to the other side, where it could keep away from the game wardens.
The two men seemed to be riding easily on the water. The weapon had disappeared under the board which served as a hiding place and the rabbit was stuffed into Chicot’s loose shirt.
After about a quarter of an hour Labouise asked: “Well, sister, shall we get one more?”
“It will suit me,” Maillochon answered.
The boat started swiftly down the current. The mist, which was hiding both shores, was beginning to rise. The trees could be barely perceived, as through a veil, and the little clouds of fog were floating up from the water. When they drew near the island, the end of which is opposite Herblay, the two men slackened their pace and began to watch. Soon a second rabbit was killed.
Then they went down until they were half way to Conflans. Here they stopped their boat, tied it to a tree and went to sleep in the bottom of it.
From time to time Labouise would sit up and look over the horizon with his open eye. The last of the morning mist had disappeared and the large summer sun was climbing in the blue sky.
On the other side of the river the vineyard-covered hill stretched out in a semicircle. One house stood out alone at the summit. Everything was silent.
Something was moving slowly along the tow-path, advancing with difficulty. It was a woman dragging a donkey. The stubborn, stiff-jointed beast occasionally stretched out a leg in answer to its companion’s efforts, and it proceeded thus, with outstretched neck and ears lying flat, so slowly that one could not tell when it would ever be out of sight.
The woman, bent double, was pulling, turning round occasionally to strike the donkey with a stick.
As soon as he saw her, Labouise exclaimed: “Say, Mailloche!”
Mailloche answered: “What’s the matter?”
“Want to have some fun?”
“Of course!”
“Then hurry, sister; we’re going to have a laugh.”
Chicot took the oars. When he had crossed the river he stopped opposite the woman and called:
“Hey, sister!”
The woman stopped dragging her donkey and looked.
Labouise continued: “What are you doing — going to the locomotive show?”
The woman made no reply. Chicot continued:
“Say, your trotter’s prime for a race. Where are you taking him at that speed?”
At last the woman answered: “I’m going to Macquart, at Champioux, to have him killed. He’s worthless.”
Labouise answered: “You’re right. How much do you think Macquart will give you for him?”
The woman wiped her forehead on the back of her hand and hesitated, saying: “How do I know? Perhaps three francs, perhaps four.”
Chicot exclaimed: “I’ll give you five francs and your errand’s done! How’s that?”
The woman considered the matter for a second and then exclaimed: “Done!”
The two men landed. Labouise grasped the animal by the bridle. Maillochon asked in surprise:
“What do you expect to do with that carcass?”
Chicot this time opened his other eye in order to express his gaiety. His whole red face was grinning with joy. He chuckled: “Don’t worry, sister. I’ve got my idea.”
He gave five francs to the woman, who then sat down by the road to see what was going to happen. Then Labouise, in great humor, got the gun and held it out to Maillochon, saying: “Each one in turn; we’re going after big game, sister. Don’t get so near or you’ll kill it right away! You must make the pleasure last a little.”
He placed his companion about forty paces from the victim. The ass, feeling itself free, was trying to get a little of the tall grass, but it was so exhausted that it swayed on its legs as if it were about to fall.
Maillochon aimed slowly and said: “A little pepper for the ears; watch, Ghicot!” And he fired.
The tiny shot struck the donkey’s long ears and he began to shake them in order to get rid of the stinging sensation. The two men were doubled up with laughter and stamped their feet with joy. The woman, indignant, rushed forward; she did not want her donkey to be tortured, and she offered to return the five francs. Labouise threatened her with a thrashing and pretended to roll up his sleeves. He had paid, hadn’t he? Well, then, he would take a shot at her skirts, just to show that it didn’t hurt. She went away, threatening to call the police. They could hear her protesting indignantly and cursing as she went her way.
Maillochon held out the gun to his comrade, saying: “It’s your turn, Chicot.”
Labouise aimed and fired. The donkey received the charge in his thighs, but the shot was so small and came from such a distance that he thought he was being stung by flies, for he began to thrash himself with his tail.
Labouise sat down to laugh more comfortably, while Maillochon
