The Secret of the Storm Country Part 83

On the ice-covered rocks, where they were sheltered from the wind, Jake began to talk.

"I wouldn't have asked ye to come, Tess," he apologized, "if we hadn't needed ye bad."

"I wasn't doing anything at home," the girl answered tonelessly.

"Mr. Young weren't there, were he?" asked Brewer.

"No," replied Tess. "His sister's sick and sent for him."

"I guess she air sick, all right," commented Jake, ominously.

If Tess heard, she didn't heed the sinister suggestion in the squatter's speech. She was busy, her whole attention devoted to plans for revenge upon Waldstricker.

The light from Brewer's hut, which was set back a little from the lake sh.o.r.e, in a frost-riven and water-worn niche in the precipitous cliff, shone mistily through the storm. Cut by slanting lines of driving snow-crystals, its milky radiance obscured rather than defined the drifted path. Breathless, from the blizzard's buffeting, they gained, at last, the hut door.

The fisherman lifted the latch and they stepped into the hut. Seated in chairs around the bare little room were several men, squatter friends of the neighborhood. Near the stove stood Ma Brewer, white-faced and anxious. As soon as she recognized the girl, she began to weep and gesticulate hysterically. Tess went to her and seized her hands.

"Why! Ma Brewer, what's the matter? What'd you want of me?"

Before she could answer, a rough voice broke the silence.

"We all wanted ye, Tess."

She wheeled about and looked from one to the other.

Jake was still standing near the door. The triumphant leer on his face was reflected in the several expressions of the other men.

"Then, Ma Brewer wasn't sick?" Tess demanded slowly.

"Nope," said Jake, "but I'll bet someone else air."

Tessibel allowed her eyes to rove about the shack. A slight movement in the corner attracted her attention. There, like a forlorn little lamb, a tight rag about her mouth, her curls matted and damp, crouched Elsie Waldstricker. Instantly, Tess recognized her and her heart pumped with joy. Surely, her prayer had been answered! Here was her opportunity! The child was suffering, she could see that, but the very extremity of torture could hardly repay for the pain Boy'd endured. While Tess was pondering the penalties she'd inflict, a smile touched her lips. The frightened blue eyes searched the hard brown ones, but the child found no comfort or encouragement in the frowning face of the squatter girl.

"It's Waldstricker's brat," declared Jake, exultantly. "I were a snoopin' 'round Eb's place an' run on 'er down near the road by that there bunch of tamaracks. I says, 'What air the matter, Kid,' an' she says, 'I want my ma.' I says, 'Come along an' I'll git 'er fer ye,' an'

the kid come jest like a lamb goes to the slaughterhouse." And Jake threw back his head and roared.

The other men joined in the grim laughter. After a minute, another voice sounded above the last ugly chuckles.

"Now, we got 'er, Tess, ye air to do anythin' ye want to with 'er."

Still, the blue eyes looked into the brown, and, still, Tessibel's heart raged its satisfaction. What were the squatters going to do with Waldstricker's daughter? The girl turned her head slowly and glanced at the row of dark men in their chairs against the wall. She cared nothing for the child on the floor, except that she was the one thing that Waldstricker loved best. Surely, to injure her would injure him! The little feet were tied and so were the small hands. This pleased Tess, too, for she remembered how they'd held Boy when he was imploring them to keep the big man away.

Waldstricker! UnG.o.dly, wicked Waldstricker! His time had come! She'd go and leave the little girl with the squatters. Well she knew that a word from her and the baby would be seen no more.

"I guess when old Eb found out his kid were gone," grated Jake Brewer, "he got a wrench or two hisself."

The heavy voice brought Tess about.

"What'll we do with her?" She flung her hand toward the child in the corner.

"Yer say'll go, brat," put in Longman. "That rich duffer air had his way too long. Us squatters're a goin' to show 'im 'tain't so safe to ride rough shod over everybody."

"You're going to kill her?" asked Tessibel, dully.

"Yep," flung in Brewer, "if ye say so."

Mrs. Brewer was crying softly. Her husband turned fiercely upon her.

"Ma, here," said he, "air makin' some awful fuss over nothin'. She wants the kid took out of the state an' put some'ers. Us men says it air got to die."

"It air too awful, Tessie," sobbed Mrs. Brewer. "The baby ain't done nothin'."

Tessibel refrained from looking at the speaker. Her heart bled afresh at the woman's words. Boy hadn't done anything, either, but Waldstricker'd killed him. It was just, he should give his daughter for her son. It wouldn't bring Boy back, but surely he'd rest easier if Elsie joined him. The thought that her enemy would know the ache that tore her heart, was balm to her own heart. Yet something within her tugged her eyes to the baby on the floor. How Boy'd cried when the convulsive pain had tied his little limbs into cruel knots! She wanted to hear Elsie cry, too.

The wails of her enemy's child might drive the shrieks of her own little one from memory.

"Take the rag off her mouth," said she, quickly.

"She'll cry like a sick cat, if ye do," warned a man.

Tess crossed the room to the corner where Elsie lay and kneeling by her, unfastened the cloth about her mouth. The baby held up her bound hands, blue and swollen from the tight ligature, and whimpered,

"Elsie's hands hurt."

The squatter girl had never voluntarily hurt a living thing. All her life quick sympathy had responded instinctively to helplessness and misery. Even the toads and bats knew her tender care. Waldstricker's child was to her, then, the most loathsome of breathing creatures. She might let the squatters kill her; she might even do it herself. But this was another thing! Face to face with the concrete case of pinching a baby's wrists, her instinct sent her fingers to the tight cords about the uplifted hands. Without conscious purpose, she, also, loosened the plump ankles. Elsie rolled in a whimpering, little heap on the floor.

"I want my Daddy," she whined.

"You can't have your Daddy," answered Tess. Lifting the child to her feet, she noted how like to Deforrest Young's were the little one's eyes.

"Your daddy air a dirty duffer," said Jake. "Give 'er a whack in the face, Tess."

He came forward from his place by the door and stopped near the two girls. The fisherman raised his own fist, and Tessibel moved a little aside. She regretted, now, that she'd loosened the little one's bonds or had done anything to relieve her suffering. She didn't care what they did to Waldstricker's girl. If they wanted to strike her, what affair was it of hers?

She turned her eyes upward, and, there, from among the rafters, she seemed to see Boy's face smiling down upon her. Love, shining from the dear eyes, radiated bliss and joy. How very sweet and peaceful he appeared! Then, Brewer's voice penetrated her consciousness. He was leaning over the rigid little girl.

"Brat," he was saying, "you air goin' to get the lickin' of yer life, an' don't ye ferget it."

"Pretty lady, help baby," mourned Elsie.

Tessibel shoved the squatter aside.

"Don't touch 'er yet," she said in low, distinct tones.

Jake took something from his pockets and thrust it into the girl's hands. It was a small, wiry, riding whip.

"It air the one her pa used on Boy," he muttered. "I stole it from 'is stable."

Tessibel uttered a cry and dropped the whip. The terrible scene in the lane, invoked by the speaker's words and the sight of the whip, poured into her mind a new flood of hate.