Part 23 (1/2)

”Ben used to make me awful mad teasin' for kisses,” she exclaimed. ”I told him an' I air tellin' you, Sandy, I ain't goin' to give any man my kisses less'n I marry him.”

Letts puffed out his chest and struck it with a loud resounding whack.

”I air glad of that,” he grinned. ”It sounds good to me, you bet. I don't want no other man palaverin' over my woman. I got--”

”An' you been makin' me mad lately, too, Sandy,” Tess interrupted, ”what with runnin' after me an' makin' me fight to keep my own kisses, I don't have no peace. Now, I'll tell ye what I'll do. You get busy an' find Andy Bishop, an' git that five thousand, then ye come here again an'

ask me what ye just did, an' ye see what I say to ye. Eh? How'd that suit ye?”

A scarlet flush rushed over Lett's swarthy skin.

”But ye got to promise me ye won't ever try fer no more kisses, till I git married to ye, Sandy,” Tess continued. ”You said what you wanted; now, I've said somethin', an' I mean it too.”

Letts s.h.i.+fted one large boot along a crack in the floor. He was thinking deeply.

”That's pretty tough on a feller when he air lovin' a girl the way I love you, brat,” he said after a while.

”But ye got to promise what I want ye to, Sandy, or mebbe I'll git married to some 'un else.”

”Ye'd better not, kid,” he muttered darkly, ”if ye don't want to git yerself an' the other fellow into trouble.”

”Then ye'd best promise 'bout the kisses,” returned Tess, decidedly.

”I'd kiss ye now fer a two cent piece,” he undertoned pa.s.sionately, but Daddy Skinner had his hand on the other man's arm before he could move toward the cot.

”I wouldn't do nothin' like that, Sandy,” he said, ominously. ”No man don't kiss my brat less'n she air wantin' his kisses. Tessibel said as how when ye git Bishop an' the five thousand, ye can come back....

Today, she ain't feelin' well, an' I air goin' to ask ye to go along home, or wherever ye were pointed fer when ye stopped 'ere.”

Then Daddy Skinner opened the door.

”The leaves won't be fallin' from the trees, brat,” he flung back sulkily, ”afore I come fer ye, an' don't forgit it!”

Daddy Skinner closed the door and dropped the bar after his departed guest, and there was silence in the shanty until the sound of Lysander's footsteps faded away.

Then Tess crawled off the dwarf and stood up.

”Landy,” she groaned, ”wouldn't that crack yer ribs! Now I got to be prayin' to beat the band every minute to keep Andy in the garret an' to save me from bein' married to the hatefullest old squatter devil in the hull world.”

CHAPTER XIV

THE WARDEN'S COMING

At ten o'clock in the morning, the day after Andy Bishop was fitted into Tessibel's straw tick, a covered runabout wound its way along the lower boulevard running to Glenwood. Two men were seated in it, solemn, dark-browed men, with dull eyes and heavy faces. The man holding the reins was heavy set, square shouldered, and more sternly visaged than his companion. Some one had said of Howard Burnett, that the Powers, in setting him up, had used steel cables for his muscles and iron for his bones; and surely there was a grim grip to his jaw that presaged evil to those opposing him.

”Devilish queer,” he muttered, after a long silence, ”how that little dwarf ever disappeared the way he has, isn't it, Todd?”

”Not so strange after all,” protested Todd. ”Andy Bishop could crawl into a rabbit hole and still give the rabbit room to sleep.”