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Updated: May 24, 2025
It is the word of Klok-No-Ton, devil-seeker and driver of devils!" He had been minded to assemble them at Hooniah's house, but it was necessary that all should be present, and he was doubtful of Sime's obedience and did not wish trouble. Sime was a good man to let alone, his judgment ran, and withal, a bad one for the health of any shaman.
All eyes had come to rest upon Sime. Every hand but his was black with soot, and his was guiltless of the smirch of Hooniah's pot. A stone hurtled through the air and struck him on the cheek. "It is a lie!" he yelled. "A lie! I know naught of Hooniah's blankets!"
But then, she did not know they were the blankets of the murdered Englishman, because of whose take-off the United States cutter nosed along the coast for a time, while its launches puffed and snorted among the secret inlets. And not knowing that Ty-Kwan had disposed of them in haste so that his own people might not have to render account to the Government, Hooniah's pride was unshaken.
He walked with a quick, alert step, and those who saw him in the light of Hooniah's slush-lamp noticed that he came empty-handed, without rattles, masks, or shaman's paraphernalia, save for a great sleepy raven carried under one arm. "Is there wood gathered for a fire, so that all may see when the work be done?" he demanded. "Yea," Bawn answered. "There be wood in plenty."
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