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Updated: May 27, 2025
He appeared to be the gloomiest of the Isbel faction. There was something on his mind. "Wal, the Jorths are bad, but I reckon they'd not burn us alive," replied Blaisdell. "Hah!" ejaculated Gaston Isbel. "Much you know aboot Lee Jorth. He would skin me alive an' throw red-hot coals on my raw flesh." So they talked during the hour from sunset to dark. Jean Isbel had little to say.
Darkness came, and a cool night wind set in. Here and there a lamb bleated plaintively. With her work done for the day, Ellen sat before a ruddy camp fire, and found her thoughts again centering around the singular adventure that had befallen her. Disdainfully she strove to think of something else. But there was nothing that could dispel the interest of her meeting with Jean Isbel.
"No, he shore wasn't," interrupted Isbel, with a dark smile, "an' he never will be there again." Meeker nodded with slow comprehension and a shade crossed his face. "Wal, Campbell claimed he'd heerd from some one who was thar. Anyway, the Jorths were drinkin' hard, an' they raised a row with Ted same old sheep talk an' somebody shot him.
Sometime I might send them to Ann Isbel." Whereupon she wrapped them up again and hid them in the bottom of the old trunk, and slowly, as she lowered the lid, looking darkly, blankly at the wall, she whispered: "Jean Isbel! ... I hate him!" Later when Ellen went outdoors she carried her rifle, which was unusual for her, unless she intended to go into the woods. The morning was sunny and warm.
"An' Isbel was always sort of' mysterious aboot his acquaintance with you." "My name's not Blue." "Ahuh! Wal, what is it, then if I'm safe to ask?" returned Blaisdell, gruffly. "It's King Fisher," replied Blue. The shock that stiffened Blaisdell must have been communicated to the others.
For I'd never have let you go off with him .... Yes, you killed him.... You're a Jorth an' I'm an Isbel ... We've blood on our hands both of us I for you an' you for me!" His voice of entreaty and sadness strengthened her and she raised her white face, loosening her clasp to lean back and look up.
Jacobs fell to his knees, then forward on his face. Jean Isbel felt himself turned to marble. The suddenness of this tragedy paralyzed him. His gaze remained riveted on those prostrate forms. A hand clutched his arm a shaking woman's hand, slim and hard and tense. "Bill's killed!" whispered a broken voice. "I was watchin'.... They're both dead!"
Jean shook his head as if he could not understand such an enormous loss where there were keen able-bodied men about. "But that's awful, dad. How could it happen? Where were your herders an' cowboys? An' Bill an' Guy?" Bill Isbel shook a vehement fist at Jean and retorted in earnest, having manifestly been hit in a sore spot. "Where was me an' Guy, huh?
"Jane, those hogs " stammered Esther Isbel, to the wife of Jacobs. "Come! Look! ... Do y'u know anythin' about hogs?" The woman ran to the window and looked out. She stiffened as had Esther. "Dad, will those hogs eat human flesh?" queried Jean, breathlessly. The old man stared out of the window. Surprise seemed to hold him. A completely unexpected situation had staggered him.
Ann Isbel came to peer out of the window and she uttered a cry. Jacobs's wife stood mute, as if dazed. Blaisdell swore a mighty oath. " ! Isbel, we cain't stand heah an' watch them hogs eat our people!" "Wal, we'll have to. What else on earth can we do?" Esther turned to the men. She was white and cold, except her eyes, which resembled gray flames.
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