This paroxysm slowly wore away, and Jean grew conscious of a dull amaze at the apparent deadness of his spirit.
Blaisdell placed a huge, kindly hand on his shoulder.
"Brace up, son!" he said, with voice now clear and resonant.

"Shore it's what your dad expected--an' what we all must look for....

If yu was goin' to kill Jorth before--think how -- -- shore y'u're goin' to kill him now." "Blaisdell's talkin'," put in Blue, and his voice had a cold ring.

"Lee Jorth will never see the sun rise ag'in!" These calls to the primitive in Jean, to the Indian, were not in vain.
But even so, when the dark tide rose in him, there was still a haunting consciousness of the cruelty of this singular doom imposed upon him.
Strangely Ellen Jorth's face floated back in the depths of his vision, pale, fading, like the face of a spirit floating by.
"Blue," said Blaisdell, "let's get Isbel's body soon as we dare, an' bury it.

Reckon we can, right after dark." "Shore," replied Blue.