Part 45 (1/2)

”Sure he didn't, Tess,” Andy comforted. ”Course not!”

The willows moaned their weird song to the night, the wind shrieked in battling anger over the tin on the roof, while the snowflakes came against the window like pale eyes looking in upon the squatter girl and the dwarf on his knees beside the cot bed.

CHAPTER XXVII

DADDY SKINNER'S DEATH

It was Sat.u.r.day evening, three days after Tessibel Skinner had been churched from Hayt's Chapel. The night wind called forth moaning complaints from the willow trees. The rasping of their bare limbs against the tin roof of the cottage did not disturb Daddy Skinner struggling for breath in the room below. All the familiar night-noises kept a death vigil with the squatter girl.

A sound outside made her lift her head. Kennedy's brindle bull was scratching to come in. She rose, went to the door and opened it. Pete ambled over the threshold and curled down by the stove.

”Anythin' the matter, brat?” whispered Andy.

”No, I were lettin' in the dog,” explained Tess, resuming her seat beside Daddy Skinner who was stretched, dying, on her cot. She had moved him from the back room into the warm kitchen, and at that moment he was sleeping restlessly. The sight of his working face brought a quick hand to Tessibel's lips, and her white teeth set deeply into the upraised knuckles to help stifle the groans. Every trouble of her own sank into insignificance before the calamity facing her. Many times Tess had viewed death afar off, but not until the past three days had it threatened her own loved ones. In that hour she was experiencing the extremity of sorrow, and each aching nerve in her body seemed to possess a stabbing volition of its own, for again and again the torturing points stung her flesh like whips.

For three long days she had managed somehow to uphold the dear, dying father. No word had come from Deforrest Young, and Tess felt sure he had returned twenty-four hours before. Perhaps Waldstricker had robbed her of her dearest friend. Bitterly pained, the girl realized what the loss would mean to her. Yet she had no censure in her heart for Deforrest Young; indeed no bitterness for Frederick Graves; only a deep, deep grat.i.tude to the one, and a great, overwhelming love for the other. And while thinking of what an empty void her life was becoming, Tess saw her father's head turn and his lids lift heavily.

”Daddy!” she murmured, but if he heard, he did not heed. He was gazing steadily at something over and beyond her head, and then he smiled at it. In superst.i.tious dread, the squatter girl glanced where the faded eyes were directed. What had he seen? A face, perhaps, or the pa.s.sing shade that always haunted a squatter shanty when some one was dying, but then, many times she, too, had seen faces in the rafters up there among the dry nets.

”My pretty brat,” were the words that brought her startled eyes back to her father. Her throat filling with heavy sobs, she went over and kissed him stormily. The h.o.r.n.y, stiff fingers gathered a few of her red curls and drew them slowly upward until parched lips touched them, while tears stole from under withered lids, and Tess cried out in sharp anguish.

”Daddy Skinner, I can't live without ye!” she moaned, cupping his face with her hands. ”Take Tessibel with ye; take 'er, please!”

She cuddled at his side, lifted one of his heavy arms and put it around her in pleading anguish. Just then it seemed as if it would put off the approach of death if she insisted on staying within the broad grasp of Daddy Skinner's arms.

She was wiping away his tears, tenderly touching the dying face with faltering fingers.

”I saw yer ma,” choked Skinner thickly, and he smiled again.

Tess turned her head, a dreadful sinking in her soul. Her mother's face, then, was what Daddy had seen away off up there among the rafters. The mother who had died so long ago had come after her dear one. Drawing one tense set of fingers backward across her cheek, Tess stood up quickly.

Perhaps--perhaps--

She threw a glance at the ceiling. Daddy Skinner had seen her mother.

They were going away together. If they would but take her with them!

She turned unsteadily to go she knew not where, but the sound of her father's voice brought her quickly back.

”Brat,” he faltered, ”lean down--I want to tell ye somethin'.”

Tess bent her ear close to the thick blue lips.

”I air here, Daddy! Tess air here,” she mourned.

Long, laboring breaths moved the red curls hanging about the girl's rigid face.

”I said as how I air here, Daddy,” she murmured again, touching him.

But Daddy Skinner was once more gazing into the dark rafters, his jaws apart, the greyness of death settling about his mouth.

”Daddy! Daddy!” screamed Tess. ”Don't look like that! Don't go away--oh, Daddy, please!... Andy! Andy!”