SANDY COMES TO GRIEF
The Skinner home was resting in its winter calm. Daddy Skinner was gone.
Andy still crept about the dark garret, and Tessibel passed her days in
study, performing the few duties the small shack required.
When Deforrest Young had gone away a few days after Daddy's funeral,
he'd smiled into her eyes and had bidden her to be of good courage.
Henceforth, he said, she was to be his charge. She felt a little lighter
hearted. It made her happier, too, to think he knew about Andy Bishop
and was going to help him.
The only person she feared was Sandy Letts. She'd not seen him since
that day in the church when he had tried to draw her nearer the
minister. Bitterly angry, she knew he must be. That he had delayed his
revenge so long seemed to her rather menacing than comforting.
Her mind was drifting back over all the events of the past few months,
when a shadow passed over the curtain at the window. She stole to the
door and placed her ear to the latch. From that position she could
plainly hear creeping footsteps crawling closer.
With her ear glued to the crack, she listened. There was no sound now of
walking. The outsider was listening, too. Suddenly, he knocked heavily.
Tess glanced to the garret. The dwarf's face was not in sight. Then the
knock came again.
"Who air there?" Tess called, her breath catching.
There was no answer, save another knock.
Tessibel spoke once more. After a pause, Sandy Letts' voice came gruffly
to her.
"Open the door, Tess. It air me, Sandy."
"What do ye want?" demanded Tess.
Sandy growled inarticulately, gave a kick to the floor, and rattled the
latch.
"I want to come in, I said. I air goin' to talk to ye!"
Tessibel thought of Ben Letts and of how he, too, had demanded entrance
to her home in just such a manner as his cousin was doing now. She
glanced about for something with which to protect herself if needed. She
wished with all her soul the brindle bull were with her then in the
shanty.
Sandy gave another rough pull at the latch-string.
"Open the door, Tess," he growled again, "or I'll bust it down."
Tess knew Sandy would carry out his threat, and, if he broke down the
door, his temper would be worse than now. She muttered a prayer to quiet
the terror in her heart, and slipped up the bar. Sandy, gun in hand,
stepped into the kitchen, and Tess closed the door.
"What do ye want, Sandy?" she questioned.
"I want to talk to ye, what do ye 'spose I want?" he flung out,
swaggering his shoulders.
"Well, sit down," invited Tess, seeking to propitiate. "Ye knowed Daddy
was dead, didn't ye, Sandy?"
"I can set down without bein' asked," grunted the squatter, dropping
into a chair. "Sure I knowed yer pa's flew the coop."
"What'd ye want?" Tess asked again after a moment.
"I've come to settle with ye for somethin'," said Letts.
"I ain't done nothin'," replied Tess.
Sandy threw out an angry hand.
"Ye have, too, ye have, too! Didn't I want ye for my woman, and didn't
ye go an'--"
"I said ye couldn't have me," interrupted the girl. "Folks ain't havin'
everythin' they want in this world, Sandy."
"Then ye turned me down in the church afore Waldstricker," went on
Sandy. "Ye might've been glad to marry a decent man after what ye'd
done. But ye ups and says, 'I won't!' An' I've come to ask the reason
why."
Tess walked across the shanty kitchen and sat on the edge of the cot.
Sandy followed her with his eyes, his face growing crimson as he gazed
at her.
"I air here for two things," he continued. "To find out the name of that
man Waldstricker asked ye 'bout--"
Tessibel's low voice stopped his impudent speech.
"I couldn't tell ye that, Sandy, not even if ye killed me," she
murmured. "What was t'uther thing?"
"I air goin' to take ye away with me fer my woman. But ye needn't think
I air goin' to marry ye decent like I would in the church t'uther day,
fer I won't."
Tessibel, weary and aching, grew cold with fear. She knew the squatter
would keep his word, if he could. He would abuse her as Ben had tried to
when her father was in Auburn unless help came. Then remembering all the
days she had lived and suffered and still'd been saved from Sandy and
his like, she breathed a deep sigh.
"I couldn't go with ye, Sandy," she explained.
A cruel expression set Sandy's large, sensuous mouth.
"Ye'll be glad to go with me when I git done with ye." He placed his gun
against the chair and stood up. "First, I want to know what made ye act
like that in the church fer. Don't ye know me well 'nough to think I'd
get ye sooner or later. Ye knowed yer Daddy couldn't always live in the
shack. Ye might better took me while ye could. I would jest have beat ye
a bit fer yer cussedness, then mebbe after a while I'd fergive ye. But
now--"
Tessibel's struggling to her feet broke off the man's volubility. She
was so frightened that almost without thought she circled toward the
door. Sandy got up and placed himself directly in front of her.
"No, ye don't git out o' here," he sneered, "not till I git through with
ye. Jest make up yer mind to that."
Sandy was moving toward her, his eyes gleaming with rage. What could she
do? She threw a hasty glance about the shanty. She knew Andy was under
the straw tick in the garret and could not hear the low conversation
going on in the kitchen.
As if in answer to her agonized prayer, another shadow passed the
curtained window. Sandy had not seen it or he would not have thrust
forth his great arms and snatched her to him. Tess uttered a scream. In
another moment Jake Brewer sprang into the kitchen and was looking from
Tessibel to the angry squatter.
Sandy pushed the girl roughly on to the cot--took two steps toward
Brewer, his manner threatening.
"What ye sneakin' 'bout here fer?" he growled out.
Jake grinned slowly.
"I allers come in to see Tess," he replied. "What were ye doin', Sandy?"
"I air goin' to take Tessibel to be my woman," muttered Letts.
Jake glanced at the pallid girl.
"Oh, well, I swan! So that air it, eh?"
"Nope," Tess got out through her chattering teeth. Then all the pent-up
rage in her body broke loose. "I ain't wantin' to be his woman. I want
to be let alone in my shack! Oh, Jake, won't ye make Sandy go away and
let me be?"
Sandy laughed evilly.
"It'd take a bigger man'n Jake," he remarked.
Brewer, unruffled, seated himself with the slow manner of a squatter.
"I don't say as how I air very big," replied Jake, crossing his legs,
"but I guess no man'll take Tess long's she don't want to go, when I air
here, Sandy."
Letts shook a threatening fist.
"Get out o' here, Jake," he growled, going toward the other man. "If ye
don't, I'll make it worse fer ye! Git out, I say!"
"Shan't do it. Now, Sandy, I ain't no woman to be 'fraid of you, so just
hold yer horses till us uns talk this out. Ye say ye want Tess fer
your'n, an' Tess, she don't want ye, now what ye goin' to do?"
"I air a goin' to take her jest the same," snarled Letts.
But thinking better of placing his hands on the other man, he went to
his chair and sat down. Tess, too, drew a little sigh of relief. Then
the three sat for several quiet seconds looking from one to the other.
At length, Tess broke out.
"Sandy said he'd keep away an' wait till he caught Andy Bishop afore he
come to git me."
Sandy glared at her.
"But I told ye if ye had a nuther man hangin' round I'd fix both of ye,
an' I'm goin' to keep my word," he snapped back.
"Ye can't fix any one but me, Sandy, 'cause ye don't know nobody else
to hurt, do ye," she interrupted him.
"It air easy fer a man like me to choke the name out of ye, brat,"
replied Letts, blinking his eyes at her. "I'd be likin' nothin' better."
Jake moved his big boots back and forth several times.
"I wouldn't try it if I was you, Sandy," he cautioned, "'cause ye know
uther folks might be interferin' with ye."
Sandy's throat emitted a deep, doglike growl as he clambered to his
feet.
"I'll do it now, dam ye both," he barked back in ugly defiance.
Jake was on his feet before Letts could take a forward step and had
placed himself between the big squatter and the girl.
* * * * *
That afternoon when Jake came back to see Tessibel, she threw a quick
question at him.
"Air he dead, Jake?"
"Lordy, no, Tess, 'course not! He's tougher'n cow's tripe.... Sit down,
brat, an' I'll tell ye about it.... Don't be shakin' so. It were like
this! I was stoppin' Sandy from tryin' to git ye an' when I pushed 'im
back, he kicked his own gun an' got a bullet in his big, fat leg, that
air all."
"It was awful," cried Tess, wiping away her tears.
A slight smile played around Jake's lips, and showed a few of his dark
teeth.
"Brat," he chuckled, "Sandy ain't done to his death by no means, an' you
didn't have nothin' to do with it, nuther did I. 'Twere his own
cussedness that put that bullet in his leg. There air one blessed thing,
he won't be comin' round here for a long time yet botherin' you; so
cheer up, an' be glad ye air a livin'."
Then Jake went away, leaving the girl and the little man in the garret,
comforted and happier than they had been in many a day.