CHAPTER XLVAndy Vindicated
Lysander Letts left Waldstricker's office highly pleased. He was going to see Tess, and he had twenty-five dollars in his pocket. In the long hours of silent meditation in prison, he'd tried to outline that meeting, and to figure out how he could work Waldstricker. His errand provided for both contingencies.
He swaggered along the street, bumped into people roughly, and for his rudeness gave them oaths instead of apologies. At an inlet saloon, he displayed his money ostentatiously, and bought many drinks for himself and the "setters." The squatter's capacity for the Rhine whiskey had been impaired by his imprisonment, and it was not long before he began to feel the effects of his liquor. A full pint in his hip pocket, Sandy, finally, broke away from his companions and started up the railroad tracks for the Silent City. Staggering a little, he meditated with drunken seriousness what he had done and was going to do.
Famished by his detention in prison, he hungered for the sight of Tess. All the fierce passion of his undisciplined nature clamored for her. And when he had her, he'd carry out all the brutalities conceived in the long nights in his cell. He'd find out the father of her boy. If that duffer, Waldstricker, could discover it, he could. He'd make Tess tell. He'd show Young, too. He'd get even with the lawyer for helping send him to Auburn. His grievance grew more active every step he carried his load of liquor through the broiling sun, the long four miles from Ithaca.
"Wait till I get 'em," he muttered over and over, "I'll show 'em what's what."
Before he reached the lane leading past Young's place to the Skinner shack, he left the tracks and climbed the fence. Throwing his legs over the top, hesat down to enjoy the breeze which blew from the green lake, and, vibrating the leaves and bowing the shrubs and grasses, swept up and over the hill into the illimitable space beyond. Sandy wanted another drink, and reached back to his hip for it. The bottle stuck in the pocket and he jerked at it savagely. He pulled it out, but he, also, lost his balance, and in his efforts to save himself from falling, smashed the bottle on the top rail of the fence. The whiskey ran down to the ground and the thirsty moss drank it up.
Letts gazed at the jagged-edged glass in his hand, stupefied by the magnitude of his calamity. Then he drew a long breath and cursed his luck. He cursed the bottle, the fence, the whiskey, Waldstricker, who'd sent him, and Tess and the unknown man, on whose account he'd been sent. His maledictions included everything except his own drunken clumsiness.
Bye and bye, he got down from the fence, muttering and grumbling to himself. Cautiously, in spite of his inflamed temper, he worked his way through the trees. There was no sign of life about the house, but large hammocks swung in the breeze on the porch. The squatter walked around and around, keeping far enough away so his movements could not be noticed. He stopped under a large tree to look up at the windows Waldstricker had described.
Attracted by a sound to his right, he wheeled about and saw Tessibel coming down the hill. His breath came sharply through his dark teeth. Never had the girl been so desirable, and for the instant, he felt possessed to rush upon her, to take her in his arms, to hold her close. Then, Waldstricker came into his mind. Before he worked his will on the squatter girl, he must find out the name of the unknown man. He had to please the elder to get the rest of the money. But to speak to her would be all right. He might discover something. He walked stealthily through the trees and placed himself so that when the girl turned toward the house, she would meet him face to face.
Tess was humming happily. When her eyes rested upon Lysander Letts, she stopped.
"Hello, brat!" grinned Sandy.
The girl didn't answer. His prison pallor fascinated her. It contrasted so sharply with the wind-tanned brown of the swarthy skin she remembered. All the accumulated horror of him, which had been forgotten while he was safely restrained at Auburn, swept over her.
"I said hello!" sniggered the other, once more. "Ain't ye glad to see me?"
Ignoring his question, the frightened girl assumed a haughtiness quite unusual, and in her turn questioned coldly,
"What do you want?"
"What do I want?" mocked Letts, not a whit disturbed by her manner. "I want you!"
Tessibel stepped to one side, but the squatter put himself in front of her, again.
"Now none of yer foolin'," he growled, and he added to his remarks a collection of sulphurous epithets.
"Sandy," commanded the young woman, still in her grand manner, "step out of my way! Right now! Do you hear?"
Unmoved, her drunken tormentor flung up his arms, hands open in assumed disgust.
"Well, hark to the way the squatter girl's talkin', will ye?" he sneered. "I'll take that outten ye, kid, afore I've had ye long. Where air yer brat?"
The brown eyes, responsive to his suggestion, glanced toward the house. There was Boy coming slowly up the little path toward her. He dearly enjoyed the rare occasions when visitors came, and his face lighted up when he saw the man talking to his mother.
"Boy, run back home," she called.
Sandy made a dash down the hill toward the child, shouting curses and commands to him.
"Wait, kid! Don't ye move! I want ye."
The young mother instantly flew after him. Her swift feet took her on and on, up to and past the squatter whose speed was impaired by his years of confinement and the whiskey he'd swallowed. Then, she flung herself in front of the child and held out her arms.
"Stop, Sandy! Wait!" she panted. "I'll talk to you. Let the baby go home."
The race which had flushed the girl's cheeks and deepened her breathing, left the fat squatter wind-broken and exhausted.
"Let 'im go, then," gasped Sandy.
"Go back, Boy dear," urged Tess.
Boy didn't move. He seemed mesmerized by the strangely white face of the drunken man.
"Mummy, come home, too," he hesitated.
"Yer mummy can't. Git out, ye beggar, afore I kick ye!" threatened Sandy.
His breathing was easier but the discomfort he felt aggravated his ugly mood. He reached forth one of his great arms and, seizing the child by the shoulder, threw him roughly to the ground. The little one, more frightened than hurt, cried loudly. His shrill shriek of terror reached the ears of the dwarf. Alarmed, Andy sprang to the window and looked out.
The scene on the lawn below petrified him. Tess was picking up the child, and standing over her, fists doubled menacingly, was—Lysander Letts. Andy thought the enraged squatter was going to kill her and Boy. Wholly forgetful of his own danger, he continued to watch.
His small boyish face was still at the pane, when Lysander looked up. Andy saw the upturned glance and flung himself back out of sight. Had Letts seen him? Impelled to look out again, he drew a long breath of relief. Tess and the child were slowly coming, hand in hand, toward the house, and the man they feared was making his way through the orchard.
"I saw Sandy," was the dwarf's greeting. "What was he a botherin' you about, honey?"
"I thought he was going to kill Boy. But suddenly he said good-bye and went away. Were you at the window, Andy?"
"For just a minute, kid. I don't think he saw me. I heard Boy cry, an' that's why I went."
A frightened feeling took possession of the girl.
"I hope he didn't see you. Did he, Andy?"
"Sure not. I was watching him all the time. I dodged back before he looked up."
Tess considered the little man a minute.
"If you saw him look up," she argued, "maybe he saw you looking down. Oh, I hope he didn't, but I'm afraid he did," and she sighed.
Sandy Letts had recognized the dwarf. The shock of the discovery sobered him. He couldn't bother with Tess and her brat any longer. He had business in Ithaca! Waldstricker's five thousand dollars, so long sought and so eagerly desired, summoned him. All the way to town, he built castles in Spain with the money. Through every dream, like a thread of hate, ran the purpose to get Tess, and when he had the girl, to torture her through her child.
When he arrived at Waldstricker's office, he found the elder absent. An evil leer on his face, he swaggered up and down the street, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
He had made the great discovery of his life. He had lined his pockets with gold, and more than that, he had made a lifelong friend of one of the powerful men in Ithaca.
He saw Waldstricker when he turned the corner from State and made his way down Tioga. The squatter turned into the large building, slunk in an alcove, and waited. He heard the heavy tread of the elder on the stairs, heard him pass and go higher up. A few minutes later, he followed.
When he opened the door, Waldstricker greeted him.
"Back again?"
"Yep," chuckled Letts.
"With news, I hope," stated the other.
"Sure," replied Sandy.
"Then tell me," answered Waldstricker, peremptorily. "I'm busy today."
"Did ye ever hear anything of Bishop?" asked the squatter.
"No, I never did."
"Want to?"
"Yes."
"Air that reward up, yet?"
"Certainly. But why all this talk? If you know anything speak out!"
Sandy walked very near the rich man, lowered his voice, and said,
"I found 'im, mister."
Ebenezer's nose was offended by the rank odor of liquor Sandy exuded.
"You're not telling me the truth," he asserted. "You've been drinking. You're drunk now."
"Yep, I air drunk some, but I air tellin' ye what's so," insisted Letts. "Andy Bishop air the man ye saw t'other day."
"In my brother-in-law's house!" gasped Waldstricker, beginning to comprehend all that Sandy's discovery meant.
"Yep, that air it," replied Sandy.
"My God, oh, I thank thee!" ejaculated the elder, falling into his chair.
"How long he air been there, I don't know," continued Sandy.
"And that doesn't matter.... Now, then, to get him back to Auburn. I want it fixed to hustle him there quick, so Young can't put a stay on the proceedings."
Breathing hard, he took out his watch.
"It's half past four. Do those people have the least idea you saw Bishop?"
"Nope, but I saw 'im all right," said Letts, an expression of satisfied malice animating his ugly white face. "Maybe we can't make it hot for that dum lawyer who air got my girl, now."
Towering over Waldstricker's desire to lock up his father's murderer, was the wish to get even with Deforrest Young and Tessibel Skinner. If they'd had the dwarf all this time, they were all in his power. Now, he would wring their hearts! He'd show them no mercy.
"We'll even up some old scores, eh, Sandy?" he agreed.... "You get sober and be here tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, sober—cold sober, understand?"
"Sure, Mr. Waldstricker, sure, I get ye. I ain't tight now, not real soused."
Moving to the door, he stopped. "But I air notgoin' to swig any more booze till we gets Andy Bishop an' I finger that reward."
More intoxicated by his dreams of affluence than by the liquor he'd had, the pale-faced graduate of Auburn swung out of the room and clattered down the stairs.
After Waldstricker'd written and despatched a letter and a telegram, he closed the office and went home.
Helen met him smilingly.
"Elsie's asleep," she announced, taking his hat.
He snatched it from her slender fingers, and his wife moved back. She looked more closely into his face and the exaltation shining in his eyes frightened her.
She followed him into the drawing room and closed the door. Patiently, she waited until her husband had thrown himself into a chair and was looking at her.
"What is it, dear?" she murmured.
"I have your brother just where I want him," fell from his lips.
"Now, what's Deforrest done to displease you?"
"I've found Andy Bishop in his house!"
The woman couldn't believe her ears. It could not be! She mustn't take him seriously.
"Oh, how perfectly ridiculous!" she said, relieved.
"It's true enough," replied Ebenezer, getting up. "There's no doubt about it, and the prison yawns for him and for that Skinner girl, too.... No! no!... You needn't beg for 'em. I won't hear it!... They've done enough to me.... Now, it's my turn!"
"Ebenezer," gasped Helen, "don't do anything you'll be sorry for. If Forrie has had the dwarf there, let him tell you why. If you put him in prison for it, I couldn't—I couldn't live with you!... Can't you understand that?"
"As you please, madam. I shall do my duty, even if the criminal is your brother."
"But you couldn't get along without Elsie and me."
She was very near him now, having taken little steps while she was speaking.
"Without Elsie!" he mocked. "I don't have to live without Elsie. You can do as you please, but my daughter stays with me, and your brother, my dear, and the woman he's living with—go to jail."
CHAPTER XLVISandy's Courting
Sitting on the porch late that afternoon, Professor Young heard from Tess of the coming of Sandy Letts.
"And, Uncle Forrie," she continued. "I can't understand why he went away so quickly."
"Perhaps he thought I was around somewhere."
"Perhaps," meditated Tess. "But I don't think so. You see, Andy was looking out of the window. Oh, dear, I've told him not to, but he's always trying to see what Boy's doing. You don't think Sandy saw him, do you?"
The unpleasant consequences of Andy's discovery rushed through the lawyer's mind. To be sure, he'd lived with this possibility ever since he'd brought the squatters from the shack, but the lapse of time had developed a sense of security which the girl's question rudely shattered.
"I hope not. What time did you say that Letts was here?"
"About dinner time," said Tess.
"Well, now it's after five. If he'd seen him, they'd have been back before this. What does Bishop think about it?"
"Oh, Andy's quite sure Sandy didn't see him, ..." Tess explained, shaking her head.
"Anyhow, it's no use to worry, honey," smiled Young.
The next morning three men in a wagon passed the Kennedy farm. Ebenezer Waldstricker was driving and beside him sat Lysander Letts. Alone on the back seat sprawled the big sheriff, a half-smoked cigar between his teeth.
When they reached Young's barn, they left their rig and walked quietly toward the house.
"You don't want to give 'em any chance to get the dwarf out of the way, sir," said the sheriff. "We'd better get in without their knowing we're here."
"Yes," agreed Waldstricker.
They'd rounded the porch and were in the living room before Deforrest Young and Tessibel Skinner were aware of their coming. The officer held a revolver in his hand. Leering triumphantly, Waldstricker spoke to Young.
"We want Andy Bishop."
The lawyer turned to the sheriff.
"Put up your gun, Brown, you won't need it," he ejaculated. "Here, child," to Tessibel, who had risen from her chair and started for the stairs. "Wait a minute. Sit down."
Tess sank into a chair, white-lipped and silent.
"I suppose there's no use trying to hide him any longer?" continued Deforrest, turning back to the officer.
"No, I reckon not, Mr. Young.... Where's the dwarf, Professor?"
"Upstairs. I'll call him," replied the lawyer.... Then glancing at the girl, "You go and get him, Tess."
"Let me git 'im, sheriff," Sandy thrust in. "I'd like the job, sir. Eh?"
"Mebbe I better myself. It's my duty to take him."
Tess smiled at the speaker and getting up moved a step toward him.
"Let me bring 'im, sir," she entreated. "I'll get 'im. Please let me!"
Charmed by her beauty and the sweetness of her voice, the sheriff glanced doubtfully from the frowning elder to the lawyer.
"Mebbe it isn't quite regular, but if Mr. Young says it'll be alright, I'm willing," he decided finally.
Young nodded, and Tess rose and started toward the stairs. Passing Sandy and Waldstricker, she had to draw aside her skirts to avoid touching them.
The dwarf, seated on the floor beside Boy, was mending a train of cars when Tessibel's white face appeared at the door.
"Andy," she said, trying to speak calmly. "Remember about the hands stronger'n Waldstricker's? Nobody can hurt you. But—but—"
At her hesitation the little man scrambled to his feet. He'd heard men's voices from the room below but had paid no particular attention. Now, he knew the long-dreaded calamity'd happened. He looked pitifully up at the speaker.
"They've come for me?" he gasped.
"Yes, dear, and you must go. But remember all the time, God's hands're stronger'n Waldstricker's," repeated Tess. "Nothing can hurt you.... Come, dear."
A few moments later, the three of them entered the living room, but stopped short at the sound of the elder's angry voice.
"I'll send you and your squatter woman to Auburn with him, if you don't look out," he said.
"Do what you please," snapped the lawyer.
Holding the dwarf's hand, Tess went directly to the sheriff.
"Here's Andy, sir," she faltered. "Be awful kind to him, please, sir. He's so little!"
Still dry-eyed and showing a quiet dignity, she stepped to Young's side while the sheriff adjusted the handcuffs to himself and to Andy and led him out into the sunshine.
At the door, Waldstricker allowed Letts to precede him, then turned.
Shaking his fist, he threatened, "I'll get you two, next."
"Very well," Young answered. "Do anything you like, only get out ... now."
The sound of retreating footsteps had hardly died away when Tess dropped into a chair and began to cry, the baby wailing in sympathy. Deforrest put his hands on her shoulders.
"There, there, Tess, you musn't do that! Dress yourself and Boy quickly. We're going to Auburn, too."
The gates of Auburn Prison swung slowly back andadmitted a party of six people and, clanging, closed together again. Large-eyed with wonder, Boy clung to Professor Young's right hand, at whose other side walked Tessibel Skinner. In front of them between two officers was little Andy. Once, Tess caught his eyes and smiled at him. Both were certain that somewhere up and beyond were the hands stronger'n Waldstricker's, but they'd hoped those pitying hands would have lifted them up before this. Still they clung to their faith and all the long ride from Ithaca had bolstered each other up with wan smiles and comforting promises.
The business in the warden's office was simple and quickly dispatched. Once in the room, Andy was permitted to stand with his friends. The officers made their report and the clerk wrote some entries in his books and gave them a receipt. Then, he rang a bell.
Professor Young was talking to the warden when a guard came through the iron door from the interior of the prison.
"Take Bishop in," the clerk directed briefly, without looking up from his books.
Andy turned to Professor Young, took his hand and tried to stammer out some words of gratitude.
"There, there, old man, brace up!" said the lawyer, patting him on the shoulder. "Hope it won't be for long!... Here, Boy, say good-bye to Andy."
Troubled, the baby clung to his friend.
"I don't want Andy to go. I want 'im to come home," insisted the child.
Kissing the little fellow passionately, the dwarf gave him to Deforrest and turned to Tessibel. She took his hands firmly in her strong ones and looked earnestly into his face.
"Remember the hands stronger'n Waldstricker's," she whispered. "They'll bring you right back home, dear. They did Daddy Skinner, Andy, darling."
Shaken by suppressed emotion, the little man sank to the floor.
"Oh, God help me to come back to ye!" he moaned dully.... "God help me!"
A moment, Tess fought the uprushing tears.
"You are coming back, Andy, remember that," she said quickly. Then, she lifted her friend to his feet and kissed him.
"Here, sir," she said to the officer, "take him!"
Infected by Tessibel's faith, Andy ceased to weep. He flashed a last loving glance at her and the boy, and preceded the guard through the iron door into the prison.
Some time later, after what seemed an eternity of waiting, the warden came to Professor Young.
"The lady can see Bennet now," he said.
Silently, an attendant conducted Tessibel through the long stone corridors to the prison hospital.
As she passed, eager eyes watched her from the rows of cots against the wall. She was piloted to a bed near the end of the room.
"Here's your company, Bennet," said the officer.
The figure on the bed turned and pain-ridden eyes peered up. Tess felt her throat throb with sympathy.
"What do ye want, miss?" growled a weak voice.
Tess smiled and bent over the bed. "I want to talk to you," she said. "May I?"
Bennet's face softened immediately. He thought a beautiful angel had dropped from Heaven to the side of his prison bed.
"Yep," he whispered, blinking at her. "There air somethin' under the bed to set on, ma'am."
Drawing forth a stool, Tess raised the lowered back and sat down.
In the presence of such misery, she had almost forgotten her little friend in the cell outside. Just then, she wanted to comfort Owen Bennet, to say something which would take away that writhing expression of suffering.
"You're very sick," she murmured. "Poor man, I'm sorry!"
Bennet kept his watery eyes on the pleading young face.
"Yep, I'm sick enough," he muttered.
"What can I do for you?" asked Tess. "Can't I do anything to make you feel easier?"
"Nope," was the answer. "I'll be dead, soon. Mebbe, I'll get out time nuff to die."
Then, Tessibeldidforget Andy. And, even, Deforrest and the baby left her mind. She stretched forth her hand and touched the man's arm.
"Would you like me to sing to you, a little?"
Bennet bobbed his head.
"I like singin'," he mumbled.
In a low voice, Tessibel began to sing; nor did she take her hand from the thin arm lying inertly on the sheet.
"Rescue the Perishin';Care for the Dyin'."
came forth like the chanting of the chimes.
When the words, "Jesus is merciful," followed, Bennet put up his hand and touched the girl's fingers. Tessibel closed her own over his. There was no thought then of her errand, no remembrance that the man before her was a murderer and had sworn his crime on little Andy.
"Jesus is merciful, Jesus is kind," sang Tess, and Bennet began to cry in low sobs that made the singer finish her song in tears.
"Oh, Heiskind," she whispered. "He is merciful. Won't you believe that?"
"Sing it again," entreated Bennet, huskily.... "Sing it again, will ye?"
Tess scarcely heard the words they were so low, so sobbingly spoken. She cleared the tears from her voice, and "Rescue the Perishin'," and "Jesus is kind," echoed once more through the long room. From here and there, suppressed weeping came to the girl's ear; but she did not turn to look at the weepers. Here, before her, was a man who was watching as Daddy Skinner had watched the slowly opening gates of eternal life, through which he must pass, alone and afraid. Ah, if she could make him less so! If she could give him a little faith to grope on and on and up and up into the freedom of the life beyond.
Bennet's hand was clasped in Tessibel's; the other covered his eyes.
Suddenly, he dropped his fingers.
"Ye say he's kind?" he gasped. "Jesus air kind, ye say?"
"Yes, yes," breathed Tess.
"But I air such a wicked man, awful wicked. I've done things God'll never forgive."
"But he will," murmured Tess. "Don't you remember what I sang?" and again,
"Jesus is merciful," brought a fresh rush of tears from the dying squatter.
A hoarse rattle sounded, suddenly, in his throat.
"Be ye knowin' Andy Bishop, missy?" he muttered, when he could speak.
"Yes," said Tessibel, aghast. She'd forgotten Andy!
"Yes!" she said again, almost in a query.
"He were up here five years ... innercent," wailed Bennet, "an' they just telled me he air been brought back again for shootin' Waldstricker. I were glad at first, but, now, I—"
He coughed spasmodically, and Tessibel closed her fingers more tightly over the thin hand.
"Tell me about it," she implored. "Don't you want to?"
"Yep, an' I air wantin' to write it.... Bring a paper." Bennet gave the last order to the silent attendant. The latter left the room but almost immediately returned with the warden. Tess relinquished the stool and stood near the head of the bed. In silence the officer wrote the story Bennet told them.
"It were like this," he stumbled. "Andy didn't have nothin' to do with shootin' Waldstricker. He were a tryin' to stop me from doin' it.... I done it!... Let Andy go!... Don't keep him in the coop."
The sunken eyes closed wearily.
"Sing about Him bein' kind, miss," he whispered.
Low, solemn and beautiful, the sweet soprano brought him back from the brink of the grave.
Leaning over him, Tess whispered, "Jesus is always kind."
"I done the murder," repeated Bennet. "Let Andy go, and tell 'im I'm sorry.... Here, let me write my name to the paper."
It took many efforts for the cramped fingers to scrawl the words, but "Owen Bennet" was legibly written when the man dropped back, exhausted.
The warden folded the paper and, smiling, put it into his pocket.
"I've always believed he did it, Miss Skinner," he confided to Tess. "Now, come away."
Bennet's ears caught the last words. In dying effort, he lifted an imploring hand.
"Don't go, lady!" he mourned. "Stay a minute!... I air a needin' ye.... I air afraid, so awful alone!"
Tess spoke to the warden.
"Tell Mr. Young I'm staying for a while," said she, "and will you please let Andy know about it?" And she sat down again.
Through the rest of the afternoon, until the long shadows of Auburn Prison were lost in the gathering gloom, Tessibel sat beside the dying man. Sometimes, she whispered to him, sometimes, she sang very softly, and, when Deforrest Young and the warden came through the hospital ward to her side, Tessibel had piloted Owen Bennet through the darkness into a marvelous light.
CHAPTER XLVII.Waldstricker's Anger
Lysander Letts wanted to get married and settle down in a home of his own. He had received and banked the five thousand dollars for discovering the dwarf, and was, now, looking forward confidently to his marriage with Tessibel Skinner. He was quite sure his wealth would overcome the objections the squatter girl had hitherto opposed to his suit.
He grew quite sentimental thinking of her. He'd buy a real house, and put some fancy furniture in it, plush sofas in the parlor and lace curtains at the windows,—not any squatter's shack or pecking-box hut on the Rhine for him. His face darkened at a disturbing thought. He'd make the girl give up that kid! He wouldn't tolerate another man's brat in his home. But Lysander had a wholesome fear of Deforrest Young, and he didn't venture down the lake until the second day after he'd heard Tess had returned from Auburn.
On his way along the railroad tracks, he concluded he'd better go to Brewer's and find out just how the land lay. The talk in the Rhine saloons, the night before, had been that the dwarf'd returned from Auburn, pardoned. He wanted to know the details, and was sure Jake Brewer would be able to tell him. He passed through the woods and scrambled down the steps the fisherman had cut roughly in the cliff side. Mrs. Brewer answered his knock and invited him into the house. Recognizing Sandy's voice, Jake shouted from the back room:
"Heard about Andy Bishop gettin' free?"
When Brewer came into the kitchen a moment later, Letts had taken a seat. Beside him on the floor lay a large tissue-wrapped package and in his hands he held a shiny new hat.
"Sure, I've heard he's back," he grinned, brushing alittle flower-pollen from a very loud trouser leg. "How'd it happen?"
Sandy handed Brewer a cigar and stuck one, jauntily, in his own mouth.
"Smoke that, while ye're tellin' me 'bout Andy," he suggested. "It air the best money'd buy."
When the cigars were burning satisfactorily, Brewer sat down on the doorstep and cleared his throat loudly. His news was the biggest thing that'd happened in the Silent City since Orn Skinner escaped the rope. Glad of another opportunity to recount the story of the dwarf's liberation, he began:
"Well, ye see, Sandy, in the first place, yer tellin' old Eb, an' gettin' the little feller sent back to Auburn air the best thing ever happened to the kid. Tess and the Professor went with 'im. When they got to the prison, Owen Bennet were dyin' in the horspitle. The brat seen 'im, an' sung to 'im an' talked to 'im, an' he confessed; said Andy didn't do the shootin' but was tryin' to stop it, just as the kid allers claimed."
"Yep," interrupted Letts, earnestly. "That air the way it were."
Jake nodded and continued:
"Sure, Sandy, us-uns all knowed ye swore false on the trial.... Well, next day, Young an' the brat went to Albany to see the guvener."
The ex-convict's eyes widened at the thought of the squatter girl in such august company.
"He were fine to Tess. Seemed kind a stuck on her, the Professor says. The brat told 'im all about how she'd looked after Andy, an' how he were in prison five years innercent, an' then, he give 'er a free pardon for 'im. Day before yesterday, they brought 'im home. Some happy they air, I tell ye!"
"Well," commented Sandy, "I air glad he's out. I never did feel jest right 'bout his bein' shet up, but I were needin' the money."
Jake rose, and coming into the room, took up a broken fishing tackle and sat down again.
"That ain't all the news, nuther, Sandy. While the Professor was to Auburn, some skunks tore down old Moll's shack. She come down here in the rain madder'na settin' hen. The old woman's going to stay with us-uns."
"It air a fine thing fer old Moll," added Mrs. Brewer. "I been thinkin' fer a long time as how she were too far 'long in years to be alone in the shanty."
"Well," said Sandy. "I'm glad to hear it."
"What air ye doin' down here, Sandy?" inquired Mrs. Brewer.
"Me? oh, me!" He paused to choose his words. "I got some news for you folks. I air goin' to get married."
"Air that why ye're all togged up?" Jake queried. "Gosh, but ye air some beau, Sandy.... Ain't he, ma?"
"Yep, I air on my way to get my girl. I been waitin' over three years for this here day, an' now—I air got flowers in this bundle."
"Who ye goin' to marry, Sandy?" demanded Mrs. Brewer.
Letts grinned again, straightened his shoulders pompously, and lined his feet together on a crack in the floor.
"Tess Skinner," he answered, looking from the man to the woman.
Mrs. Brewer dropped on a stool, and her husband's jaws fell apart in astonishment.
"Tess Skinner?" he repeated dully. "Pretty little Tess Skinner?"
"Well, I swan!" gasped the squatter woman. "Did she say she'd have ye, Sandy?"
"Well, it air like this. I been askin' 'er to marry me ever since she were sixteen year old, but she wouldn't while her daddy were alive. Then once she says to me, 'Sandy, you go git Andy Bishop an' git that five thousand, an' come back here.' Now I got the cash. I air a goin' to git the girl."
"Mebbe she's foolin' ye," suggested Brewer. "Ye see, she had the dwarf the hull time! Looks to me as if she'd put one over on ye."
"She'd better not try anythin' on me," returned Letts, snapping his teeth.
"I heard 'er tell ye once," put in Brewer, "she wouldn't marry ye ... the day ye shot yer leg up."
Sandy cocked the new hat on the side of his head, picked up his bundle, and went to the open door.
"I'd a had 'er afore now if ye'd kept yer hands to hum, Jake," he stated. "But I ain't holdin' up anythin' against ye for what ye done. Now I got money, Tess'll be all the gladder. I air goin' to take 'er over to Seneca Lake. I got a job on there. Good-bye, folks. Mebbe me an' my woman'll drop in an' see ye some day."
The husband and wife watched the big squatter going down the rock path, the tissue-wrapped flowers in his hand, then looked at each other and laughed in perfect comprehension.
"I wonder if he gets 'er," chuckled Mrs. Brewer.
"I'll bet a bullhead he don't," grinned Jake.
Sandy Letts wasn't anxious to meet Deforrest Young, but just how to avoid it he hadn't figured out. It took him a long time to consider just what was best to do. Perhaps the lawyer had gone to Ithaca. He hoped so. At any rate, he could go to the house and if the professor were there he'd give the flowers to Tess, and if he had to, come another day when she was alone.
Strutting along, supported by his fine clothes, and the consciousness of doing the right thing in the right way, the newly-rich man walked up the path to Young's house and ascended the steps quietly. The door stood open. Without knocking, he stepped across the threshold into the sitting room.
Tessibel was working at a little table, cutting out a blouse for Boy. She looked up, and recognizing her visitor, got quickly to her feet.
"Hello, Tess," said Sandy, coming forward a little. "Nice day, ain't it?"
Tessibel's fear of him since his roughness to Boy was very active. She had suffered in anticipation, for he'd threatened to come again, and she knew he would. Now he was here she didn't know what to do. Deforrest wasn't home and Andy was out with Boy.
"Yes, it's a nice day," she assented.
"Ain't ye goin' to ask me to set down?" demanded Sandy, at the same time helping himself to a rockingchair. "I brought ye somethin', brat." He unwrapped the bundle and took out a huge bunch of flowers.
"Ye want to nurse 'em a long time, 'cause they cost money, them flowers did. They ain't no wild posies!"
"They're awful pretty," she thanked him. "I'll put them in water right away."
While she was arranging the flowers, Sandy got up.
"How do ye like my new togs, kid?" he asked, pivoting around and around on one heel.
"You look very nice," replied Tessibel, gathering courage from his good nature.
"Ye bet I do," grinned Letts. "I air some guy when I air all flashed out in new things. Got all this with Waldstricker's money. Lord, brat—" Here the man reseated himself. "Ye ought to hear that bloke bluster when he found out ye'd got Andy back. Now for me—I were glad, for I knowed all along the dwarf didn't kill Eb's daddy. But in this world I find ye got to look out for yerself first. That air how I got the five thousand."
"I see!" flared Tess, her disapproval of his spying getting the better of her fear. "But your blood money won't do you any good."
"Won't do me no good? My five thousand won't do me no good? What do ye mean, brat? 'Course it'll do me lots of good. I air a rich man, I air. It's goin' to buy us a real home, kid, frame house with plastered walls an' shingled roof, painted red an' yeller. All what I want now air my woman, an' I've come fer ye, Tess."
The girl's heart sank. She glanced about helplessly. What could she say or do? There was no other human being within call. In hasty retrospection, her mind swept back to Ben Letts. She shuddered as she remembered the many times he'd made the same demand upon her. And then, she as suddenly remembered how, during those days, she had been saved from men like Ben and Sandy, and courage came again in response to her silent call for help.
"Ye heard what I said, brat, didn't ye?" demanded Sandy, leaning back and throwing one leg over the other. "I air here fer ye."
"Yes, I heard."
"An' ye're comin', ain't ye, kid?" ... His voice was deep and persuasive by reason of the passion that surged through him.... "I air a little sorry fer bein' mean to ye afore, brat, an' now I air rich ye can forgive it, can't ye?"
He bent forward and held out his heavy hands, palms up, ingratiatingly.
"Yes, I forgive you, Sandy, certainly. But—but—"
"Now, there ain't no 'buts' in this matter, kid! Ye said as how ye'd marry me when I got Andy's reward money. Now I got it ye got to keep yer word."
Tessibel shook her head.
"I didn't say I'd marry you," she answered. "I said, away back there, when I was only a little kid, you could come back and ask me again. But I'm a woman, now, and I'm never going to marry anyone."
The squatter leaned his elbows on his knees, cupped his white face in his hands, and glared at the girl steadily.
"Ye're goin' to git married to me today," he growled. "Ye can't play fast and loose with me, kid, an' don't ye think ye can, uther. Get on yer togs. I air goin' to give ye the time of yer life."
Tessibel stood very still. She could hear plainly, through the silence, the lap of the waves on the shore below, and the soft chug-chug of a lake steamer. A bee flew in at the door, lighted on the lace curtain and clung there, making sprawly motions with his thread-like legs. She remembered without effort the day the squatter alluded to—remembered also Daddy Skinner's telling him to go. Perhaps hehadthought she meant to marry him if he were rich.
"Sandy," she said, dragging her eyes to the man's face. "When I tell you I can't marry you, I mean it. Please don't ask me any more.... Would you like a piece of cake?"
"Cake?..." snarled Letts. "Hell! What do I want with cake? No, ma'am, I don't want no cake nor nothin' but you, an' I air goin' to have ye, too!"
He got up slowly, as if to make more effective his menacing words.
"If ye put on yer things like I says," he continued,"there won't be no trouble, brat. But if ye don't—" he moved toward her, "ye'll wish ye had."
To this Tessibel couldn't reply. Insistent, in her panting heart, was a constant call for rescue. She looked steadily at Lysander and he glared back at her.
"Tess," he threatened, "ye know me well 'nough not to come any monkey shines on me. I says again, get yer hat, fer I'm goin' to take ye one way or t'other."
"I told you I couldn't," she answered. "I'm not any longer a little girl. I've got to work. I want to learn things and take care of my baby."
She couldn't have said anything that would have fired the squatter's rage any quicker. Her baby! What did he care about the brat?
"Ye don't have to work no more fer Young," he retorted. "I ain't goin' to have my woman keepin' house fer no professor, an' ye can make up yer mind to it 'out no further clack." In one bound, Sandy rounded the table. "If ye won't do what I tell ye, then, I'll make ye wish ye had. Ye throwed up at me once, ye brat, ye, I never had no kisses from ye! After today ye won't be able to say that."
A strong hand shot out, guided by a powerful arm. Fingers clutched for her, but Tess, eluding them, slipped to the window.
"Sandy!" she implored. "Sandy, don't touch me, don't! Wait!"
"I won't wait," snarled Letts. "I air waited years an' years, an' I won't wait no longer."
At that moment there seemed no escape for the girl, who was holding out her hands to keep off the brute facing her. The very quiet of the day, the singing of the birds, and the shrill chirping of the crickets, only added to her sense of isolation. She glanced hopelessly from the huge squatter out into the summer air.
"Ye can't get no help," said Sandy. "Ye might's well give up!... God, ye're all the sweeter fer havin' to fight like I been doin'!"
By a motion, extraordinarily quick for so big a man, he clutched her bodily, and dragged her to him. She lowered her face against his chest and buried it under her curls.
"I air goin' to kiss ye, my pretty wench," muttered Letts. "Gimme yer lips, gimme—"
In the scuffle neither heard the step on the porch and neither saw the tall form loom in the doorway. Sandy wrenched at the red hair, drawing Tessibel's face upward. Then Deforrest Young grappled with him, and in the one blow he landed under the squatter's chin, the angry lawyer concentrated the vim of years of exasperated waiting. Sandy slumped to the floor. Kneeling beside him, Young's leg pressed against something round and hard in Letts' pocket.
A quick investigation brought forth a small revolver.
"Are you hurt, child?" he inquired, getting up. "Did he hurt you?"
"Not a bit, Uncle Forrie, but he scared me awful."
The prostrate man groaned, moved his limbs and sat up, slowly. He glanced around as though trying to figure out what'd happened. The sight of Young, holding the gun Waldstricker's money bought, told Sandy the whole story of his downfall.
"Get up, Letts, and get out of here quick!" Young ordered, prodding him with his foot.
Sandy scrambled to his feet unsteadily.
"Now, take your hat and get out," said Young, "and don't stay in Ithaca, or I'll have you locked up again."
Sandy didn't wait for any further advice. He grabbed his hat and flung out of the door. Deforrest followed him down through the pear orchard to the lane, and there he stood for a long time watching the ex-convict struggle up the hill to the railroad tracks.
When he returned to Tess he found her leaning on the table, her face buried in her hands. She did not lift her head, nor make a move at Deforrest's entrance.
"Child," he said, taking a chair at her side, "Letts won't bother you any more. If he doesn't go away, I shall have him arrested tomorrow.... I won't have you insulted like this.... And, dear, I believe I'd better send you and the boy away for a spell. A change will do you both good."
"Yes, yes, do!" pleaded Tess. She snatched his hand and pressed it to her cheek hysterically. "Let me go somewhere, please!"