Horace Shellington took a long breath as he entered his office one
morning in the latter part of March. The blustering wind that had raged
all night had almost subsided, and he felt glad for Floyd's sake; for,
no matter how warm they kept the little lad, the sound of the wind
through the trees and the dismal wail of the branches at night made him
shiver and fret with nervous pain. Horace had scarcely seated himself
when Everett Brimbecomb entered the room.
"Hello, Horace!" said the latter jovially. "I was going to come in
yesterday, but was not quite ready to see you. Haven't been able to get
a word with you in several days."
Horace offered a chair, and Everett sank into it.
"You are always so busy when I run in to see Ann," Brimbecomb went on,
"that one would think you were not an inmate of that house."
"Yes," said Horace, "I've been studying up on an interesting case I
expect to handle very soon."
Everett laughed.
"So have I," he said, narrowing his lids and looking at Shellington.
"When one is connected with offices as we are, Everett," remarked Horace
uninterestedly, "there is little time for visiting."
"I find that, too," replied Everett.
During the last few weeks Horace had seen little of his sister's fiancé;
in fact, since their quarrel he had drawn away from the young man as a
companion; but above everything else he desired his gentle sister to be
happy, and the man before him was the only one to make her so. He
thought of this, and smiled a little more cordially as he said:
"Is there anything I can do for you, Everett?"
"Well, yes, there is," admitted Brimbecomb.
"I'll do anything I can," replied Horace heartily.
Brimbecomb hesitated before going on. Shellington looked so grave, so
dignified, so much more manly than he had ever seen him, that he
scarcely dared open his subject.
"It's something that may touch you at first, Horace," he explained;
"but--"
Horace, unsuspicious, bent forward encouragingly:
"Go ahead," he said.
Everett flushed and looked at the floor.
"A case has just come into our office, and, as my father is gone from
home, I have taken it on."
Horace listened expectantly. Everett could have struck the man in the
face, he hated him so deeply. He groaned mentally as he thought of
Scraggy and her wild-eyed cat and of his endeavor to close her lips as
to her relation to him. It was a great fear within him that soon his
father would appear as his mother had. The time might come when this
haughty man before him would have reason to look upon him with contempt.
To make Horace understand his present power was the one thought that now
dominated him.
With this in mind, he began to speak again:
"A man came to us with a complaint that you were keeping his children
from him."
If Horace had received the blow the other longed to give, he could not
have been more shocked.
"I believe his name is Cronk," went on Everett, taking a slip from his
pocket; "yes, Lon Cronk."
Horace took his paper-knife from the table and twirled it in his
fingers. His face had grown ashen white, his lips were set closely over
his teeth.
"I have met this Cronk," he said in a low tone.
"So I understand. He told me that he had been at your home, and had
demanded his children, and that you had refused to give them up."
"I did!" There was no lack of emphasis in the words.
"And you said that he could not have them unless he went to law for
them."
"I did!" said Horace again.
"And he came to me."
Horace rose to his feet, a deep frown gathering on his brow. Everett
rose also, and the two men faced each other for a long moment.
"And you took the case?" Horace got out at last.
"Yes, I took the case," Everett replied.
"And yet you knew that Ann loved them?"
"I was--was sure that if you both understood--"
The speaker's hesitation brought forth an ejaculation from Shellington.
"What are we to understand?"
"That justice must be done the father," responded Everett quickly.
Horace squared his jaw and snapped out:
"Do I understand that, in spite of the near relationship of our family,
you are willing to deal a blow to my sister and me that, if it falls,
will be almost unbearable? You intend to fight with this squatter for
his children?"
"I don't intend to fight, Horace, if you're willing to give them to me.
I had much rather have our present relations go on as they are, without
a breach in them. I think, if you and Ann talk it over, you will see
that by giving the boy and girl into my hands--"
Horace came a step nearer, with darkening brow:
"You can go straight to hell!" he said, so fiercely that Everett started
back. "And the sooner you go, the better I shall be pleased," his face
reddened as he finished, "and so will Ann!"
"You're speaking for someone who has not given you authority," Everett
sneered. "Your sister will give me at least one of those children--I
imagine, the girl. I think the father is more particular about having
her."
"I should think he would be, and you may take him this message from me:
that, if he sneaks about my house at any time of day or night, I'll have
him shot like a dog, for every man can protect his own; and if you--"
Everett, seeing his chance, broke in:
"He would be protecting his own, if he came to your home, for his own
are there; and we are going to have those children before another month
goes by!"
"Try it, and perhaps I may bring to your mind what you once said to me
about that girl," muttered Horace, with set teeth. "Your errand being
finished, Mr. Brimbecomb, you may go!"
Everett had received the worst of the encounter. He had expected that
Horace would consider Fledra's and Floyd's case in a gentler way, would
probably compromise for Ann's sake. He went out not a little disturbed.
* * * * *
Horace waited for a few moments after Brimbecomb left him before he took
his hat and coat and went home. Ann was surprised to see him, and more
surprised when he drew her into the drawing-room, where he mysteriously
closed the door.
"Ann," he said solemnly, "I believe the turning point in your life has
come. And I want you to judge for yourself and take your own stand
without thinking of my happiness or comfort."
The young woman lifted startled eyes and searched his face.
"What is it, Horace--that squatter again? Has he made a move against
us?"
Horace bent over and took her hands in his.
"He has not only made a move against us, as far as the children are
concerned, but he has used an instrument you would never have dreamed
of." Seeing his sister did not reply, he went on, "Just what legal
procedure they will undertake I don't know; but that will come out in
time. Cronk went to Everett Brimbecomb with the case, and I was notified
this morning by Everett to give up the children."
"Everett!" breathed Ann, disbelieving. "My Everett?"
"Yes, your Everett, Ann. Don't, child, please don't! Ann, Ann, listen to
me!... Yes, sit down.... Now wait!"
He held her closely in his arms until the storm of sobs had passed, and
then placed a pillow under her head and went on gravely:
"Ann, I have come to this conclusion: you love Everett dearly, and I
cannot understand his actions; but I'm not going to intrude upon your
affection for him, nor his for you. I'm going to ask you not to take
sides with either of us. I'm a lawyer, and so is he. Do you understand,
Ann?"
Fearfully she clutched his fingers.
"But Fledra and Floyd--I can't let them go back, I can't! I can't!"
"They're not going back," said Horace firmly. "Mind you, Ann, even to
renew my friendship with Brimbecomb, I shouldn't give them up."
"Renew your friendship!" gasped Ann. "Oh, have you quarreled with him,
Horace?"
"Yes, and told him to leave my office."
Ann sobbed again.
"What a fearful tragedy is hanging over us!" she cried.
"It is worse than I imagined it could be," Horace declared; "much worse,
for I never thought that the squatter could get a reputable firm to
represent him. And as for Everett--well, he never entered my mind. I
told him that he could not take those children, and that he might--"
He remembered plainly what he had said, but did not communicate it to
his sister. She was so frail, so gently modest, that an angry man's
language would hurt her.
"I told him," ended Horace, "to do whatever he thought best, and that,
if Cronk came here again, I should shoot him down like a dog. I think we
ought to tell Fledra, and then, too, I desire to speak to her of
something else. Can you bring her to me, Ann, without frightening
Floyd?"
* * * * *
It did not need Ann's quiet plucking at her sleeve to tell Fledra that
the blow had fallen. She had expected it day after day; until now, when
she faced Horace and looked into his tense face, she felt that her whole
hope had gone.
Ann tiptoed out before her brother opened his lips.
For a moment the harassed man knew not what to say to the silent,
trembling girl.
"Fledra," he began, "the first move has been made in your case by your
father."
"Must we go?" burst from the quivering lips.
"No, no: not if you have told me the truth about your past life--I mean
about your father being cruel to you."
The sensitive face gathered a deep flush:
"I've never lied to you, Brother Horace," she replied gently.
"If I could believe you, child, if I could place absolute confidence in
your word, I should have courage to go into the struggle without losing
hope."
"What's Pappy Lon done?"
"He has employed Everett Brimbecomb to take you back to Ithaca."
Fledra shrank back as if he had struck her. Swiftly into her mind came
the smiling, handsome face of the lawyer whom Ann loved. His brilliant
eyes seared her soul like fire. In all her life, even when facing Lem
Crabbe, she had never felt as she did now. She saw Floyd fading into the
graveyard beyond, while she was being torn from the only haven of rest
she had ever known. Lem Crabbe could not have taken her; but Everett
Brimbecomb could! She felt again his burning kisses, the clasp of his
strong arms, and her own disgust. He seemed a giant of strength, and
Horace's white face and set lips aggravated her fear. Fledra's desire
for comfort had never been so great as the desire she had at this moment
to open her tired heart to Horace and reveal to him Everett's perfidy.
"Did you tell Sister Ann about Mr. Brimbecomb?"
She stumbled over the name.
"Yes."
"What did she say?"
"My sister loves him--you know that. She is heartbroken that he should
have accepted this case. We must make it as easy as we can for her, dear
child."
The girl saw Horace's lips twitch as he spoke, and thought of the love
he had for his sister, and her desire to tell him what she knew died
immediately.
"Do you want me to go with Pappy Lon and not make any trouble for her?"
she whispered.
"No, no, not that! You can't go, Fledra, and they can't take you,
if--you have told me the truth about the man your father wanted to give
you to."
"Floyd and I told the truth," she said seriously, lifting her eyes to
his face; "but for Sister Ann I'd go away with Pappy Lon, and with Lem,
if you'd take care of Fluke till he--"
"Don't, Fledra, don't!" groaned Horace. "It would tear me to pieces to
give you up. But--but you couldn't relieve my mind, Dear, could you?"
Fledra knew what he meant, and shook her head.
"No, not now," she replied.
If it troubled Ann to have Everett take part in their going back to the
squatter country, how much worse she would feel if she knew what he
really had done! Horace's appeal to shield Ann from overmuch burden
strengthened Fledra's courage.
"Can you keep us?" she asked, after a moment's thought.
"I am going to try."
"If you love me well, Brother Horace," said Fledra, "won't you believe
that I'd do anything for Sister Ann and you?"
He nodded his head; but did not speak.
* * * * *
When he reached Ithaca, Lem Crabbe found a flood besieging the forest
city. The creeks of Cascadilla and Six Mile Gorge had overflowed their
banks, and the lower section of the town was under water. He had come
back for the scow, and to find Scraggy. He was determined to force from
her the whereabouts of his son. He wended his way toward the hut of one
of his friends at the inlet, and hailed the boat that conveyed the
squatters to and fro in flood-time. As the boat lapped the muddy water
breaking into the weeds and brushes, Lem saw Eli Cronk perched in
another boat, with a spear in his hand.
"Eli!" shouted Lem.
Eli greeted him with a wave of the pole.
The boats neared each other, and Lem shouted that he wanted to get into
Cronk's craft.
"What ye doin'?" asked Crabbe, as the boat he had just left shot away
toward the bridge.
"Catching frogs," replied Eli. "I sell a lot of 'em to the hotels, and
this flood is jest the thing to make 'em thick." He lowered his spear
and brought up a struggling frog. Throwing it into a covered box, he
peered again into the water.
"Where's Lon?" he said, straightening again with another victim.
"To Tarrytown."
"What's he to Tarrytown fer?"
"He's a gittin' Flea and Flukey. That's where they runned to."
"He ain't found 'em, has he? Truth, now!"
"Yep, truth," answered Lem; "and he's got a fine-lookin' lawyer-pup to
git 'em for him."
As Eli again and again thrust his spear into the water, Lem told the
story of the finding of the twins. He refrained from speaking of his
experience with Screech Owl; but said finally, as if with little
interest:
"Ye ain't seen Scraggy, has ye?"
"Nope; and she ain't in her hut, nuther; or she wasn't awhile back,
'cause I stopped there, when I was a lookin' for Lon."
"When did ye git back to town?"
"I dunno jest what day it were," responded Cronk, spearing again.
"Can I git up the tracks, Eli?" inquired Lem presently.
"Ye'll have to wade in mud to yer knees fer a spell after ye leave the
boat."
"I can take the hill over the tracks for a way. Will ye row me up as far
as ye can?"
"Yep, I'll row ye up," replied Eli, proceeding with his work.
* * * * *
Late in the afternoon, Lem Crabbe, wet to his knees and covered with
mud, entered the scow. He had stopped at Screechy's hut, knocked, and,
having received no answer, clicked down the hill to the boat.
He made up his mind to stay there until Scraggy came back; then he would
go back to Tarrytown and bring the twins to Ithaca. Every morning Lem
mounted the hill, only to find that Screech Owl had not returned. But
one day, just at dusk, as he appeared before the hut, he saw the
flickering of a candle. He did not wait to knock, but entered, and found
Scraggy stretched out on the old bed. She looked up as if she had
expected him, noted his dark face, and lowered her head again.
"Black Pussy's gone, Lem. I've got a cold settin' on me here," she
whispered, wheezing as she laid her hand on her chest.
"I hope it'll kill ye!" grunted Lem. "What did you leave the toolhouse
fer, when I told ye to stay?"
"What toolhouse, Lemmy?" The dazed eyes looked up at him in surprise.
"Don't try none of yer guff on me. I want to know who ye went to see in
Tarrytown, and who the man was that throwed ye over the fence, and then
lugged ye off to that vault?"
Scraggy sat up painfully.
"I wasn't throwed over no fence."
"Ye was, 'cause I seed the man when he done it. I wish now that I'd a
gone and settled with him. Who was he, Screechy?"
"I dunno," she answered.
Lem bent over her, his eyes blazing with wrath.
"Ye want to git yer batty head a workin' damn quick," he shouted, "or
I'll slit yer throat with this!" The rusty hook was thrust near the
thin, drawn face.
"I can't think tonight," muttered Screech Owl, "'cause the bats be a
runnin' 'bout in my head. When I think, I'll tell ye, Lemmy."
"Where be that boy?" demanded Lem.
Scraggy shook her head. Every time she thought of Lem's questions, there
was an infernal tapping of unnumbered winged creatures at the walls of
her brain.
"There ain't no boy that I knows of," she said listlessly, sinking down
again. "And ye wouldn't slit my neck when I ain't done nothin', would
ye, Lemmy?"
"Ye has done somethin'," growled Lem. "Ye has kep' that brat from me
these years past, and now he's big 'nough I'm goin' to have him! Ye
hear?" Every word he uttered came forth with effort. The red mark under
his chin moved relentlessly, preventing him from speaking with
clearness.
Scraggy writhed beneath the tightening grasp of the man's wet fingers.
"I'll choke ye to death!" Lem gasped, between throaty convulsions.
"Lemmy, Lemmy dear--"
Another twist of Lem's fingers, and the woman sank back unconscious. Lem
shook her roughly.
"Scraggy, Scraggy!" he cried wildly. "Set up! I Want to talk to ye! Set
up!"
The silence in the gloomy hut, the whiteness of the seemingly dead
woman, filled Lem with superstitious dread. He grasped his lantern and
ran out, failing to close the door.
The frightened man made off up the hill, and, passing through the
Stebbins farm by the Gothic church and dark graveyard, he tramped the
Trumansburg road to Ithaca. The tracks were covered with water as they
had been when Eli had given him the lift toward the settlement. But the
flood had so receded that by drawing his trousers up over his boots Lem
managed to get through the mud to the bridge. From there he sought the
house of Middy Burnes, where he made an agreement with the tugman that
the scow should be towed from Ithaca to Tarrytown.