The pity of it! Gaston Isbel lying face down in the dust of the village street! Patches of blood showed on the back of his vest and one white-sleeved shoulder.

He had been shot through.

Every time Jean saw this blood he had to stifle a gathering of wild, savage impulses.
Meanwhile the afternoon hours dragged by and the village remained as if its inhabitants had abandoned it.

Not even a dog showed on the side road.

Jorth and some of his men came out in front of the store and sat on the steps, in close convening groups.