The bullets whistled in every direction. The firing was wild, as is most Indian firing. A bullet struck the lintel of the door, and embedded itself deeply in the woodwork just above Keewin's head. Keewin glanced up. He pointed with a long, brown finger. "Neche damn fool. No shoot. Keewin go. Keewin laugh. Bell River Indian all damn fool. So."
It was characteristic of the country in which they lived, the lives they lived, that he resorted to no subterfuge, although he knew his tidings were bad. "Keewin's got through from Bell River. It's a letter to you from Allan." The woman had perfect command of herself. She paled slightly, but her lips were even firmer set. Jessie hurried to her side.
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