"Stop this," said Carey sternly.
"Let me get at him," foamed Paul. "He insulted my sister. He
said that you--let me get at him!"
He could not writhe free from Carey's iron grip. Lazarre, with a
snarl like a wolf, sent Mrs. Joe spinning, and rushed at Paul.
Carey struck out as best he could, and Lazarre went reeling back
against the table. It went over with a crash and the light went
out!
Mrs. Joe's shrieks might have brought the roof down. In the
confusion that ensued, two pistol shots rang out sharply. There
was a cry, a groan, a fall--then a rush for the door. When Mrs.
Joe Esquint's sister-in-law, Marie, dashed in with another lamp,
Mrs. Joe was still shrieking, Paul Dumont was leaning sickly
against the wall with a dangling arm, and Carey lay face downward
on the floor, with blood trickling from under him.
Marie Esquint was a woman of nerve. She told Mrs. Joe to shut
up, and she turned Carey over. He was conscious, but seemed
dazed and could not help himself. Marie put a coat under his
head, told Paul to lie down on the bench, ordered Mrs. Joe to get
a bed ready, and went for the doctor. It happened that there was
a doctor at the Flats that night--a Prince Albert man who had
been up at the Reservation, fixing up some sick Indians, and had
been stormstaid at old Auguste's on his way back.
Marie soon returned with the doctor, old Auguste, and Tannis.
Carey was carried in and laid on Mrs.
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