This was the east window--the east window through which Reeve declared that the shot had been fired.
Bull shook his head.

He stepped out of the cabin and looked about.

It was a prosperous little stretch of meadow, cleared into the cottonwoods and reclaiming part of the marshland--all very rich soil, as one could see at a glance.

There was a field which had been recently upturned by the plow, perhaps the work of yesterday.

The furrows were still black, still not dried out by the sun.