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The Faith of Men and Other Stories

Batard
Batard was a devil. This was recognized throughout the Northland. "Hell's Spawn" he
was called by many men, but his master, Black Leclere, chose for him the shameful name
"Batard." Now Black Leclere was also a devil, and the twain were well matched. There is
a saying that when two devils come together, hell is to pay. This is to be expected, and
this certainly was to be expected when Batard and Black Leclere came together. The first
time they met, Batard was a part-grown puppy, lean and hungry, with bitter eyes; and
they met with snap and snarl, and wicked looks, for Leclere's upper lip had a wolfish way
of lifting and showing the white, cruel teeth. And it lifted then, and his eyes glinted
viciously, as he reached for Batard and dragged him out from the squirming litter. It was
certain that they divined each other, for on the instant Batard had buried his puppy fangs
in Leclere's hand, and Leclere, thumb and finger, was coolly choking his young life out
of him.
"SACREDAM," the Frenchman said softly, flirting the quick blood from his bitten hand
and gazing down on the little puppy choking and gasping in the snow.
Leclere turned to John Hamlin, storekeeper of the Sixty Mile Post. "Dat fo' w'at Ah lak
heem. 'Ow moch, eh, you, M'sieu'? 'Ow moch? Ah buy heem, now; Ah buy heem queek."
And because he hated him with an exceeding bitter hate, Leclere bought Batard and gave
him his shameful name. And for five years the twain adventured across the Northland,
from St. Michael's and the Yukon delta to the head-reaches of the Pelly and even so far as
the Peace River, Athabasca, and the Great Slave. And they acquired a reputation for
uncompromising wickedness, the like of which never before attached itself to man and
dog.
Batard did not know his father--hence his name--but, as John Hamlin knew, his father
was a great grey timber wolf. But the mother of Batard, as he dimly remembered her, was
snarling, bickering, obscene, husky, full-fronted and heavy-chested, with a malign eye, a
cat-like grip on life, and a genius for trickery and evil. There was neither faith nor trust in
her. Her treachery alone could be relied upon, and her wild-wood amours attested her
general depravity. Much of evil and much of strength were there in these, Batard's
progenitors, and, bone and flesh of their bone and flesh, he had inherited it all. And then
came Black Leclere, to lay his heavy hand on the bit of pulsating puppy life, to press and
prod and mould till it became a big bristling beast, acute in knavery, overspilling with
hate, sinister, malignant, diabolical. With a proper master Batard might have made an
ordinary, fairly efficient sled-dog. He never got the chance: Leclere but confirmed him in
his congenital iniquity.
The history of Batard and Leclere is a history of war--of five cruel, relentless years, of
which their first meeting is fit summary. To begin with, it was Leclere's fault, for he
hated with understanding and intelligence, while the long-legged, ungainly puppy hated
only blindly, instinctively, without reason or method. At first there were no refinements
 
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