So Carey rode often to town and Tannis bided her time, and
plotted futile schemes of revenge, and Lazarre Merimee scowled
and got drunk--and life went on at the Flats as usual, until
the last week in October, when a big wind and rainstorm swept
over the northland.
It was a bad night. The wires were down between the Flats and
Prince Albert and all communication with the outside world was
cut off. Over at Joe Esquint's the breeds were having a carouse
in honor of Joe's birthday. Paul Dumont had gone over, and Carey
was alone in the office, smoking lazily and dreaming of Elinor.
Suddenly, above the plash of rain and whistle of wind, he heard
outcries in the street. Running to the door he was met by Mrs.
Joe Esquint, who grasped him breathlessly.
"Meestair Carey--come quick! Lazarre, he kill Paul--they fight!"
Carey, with a smothered oath, rushed across the street. He had
been afraid of something of the sort, and had advised Paul not to
go, for those half-breed carouses almost always ended in a free
fight. He burst into the kitchen at Joe Esquint's, to find a
circle of mute spectators ranged around the room and Paul and
Lazarre in a clinch in the center. Carey was relieved to find it
was only an affair of fists. He promptly hurled himself at the
combatants and dragged Paul away, while Mrs. Joe Esquint--Joe
himself being dead-drunk in a corner--flung her fat arms about
Lazarre and held him back.
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