Part 71 (2/2)
”Where is that squatter girl? I'll stand nothing from you or that brother of yours! Where is he, and where is she?”
Ann stood silently praying for strength. So plainly had Everett shown his colors that she felt disgust grow in her heart, although her eyes were directed straight upon him. She hoped that the girl in the loft upstairs would not come down until Governor Vandecar returned. Again she sent up a soul-moving pet.i.tion for help.
”You can't have her!” she said, trying to speak calmly. ”She is going to marry my brother, Everett.”
Just then Fledra, robed in her own clothes, scrambled to the top rung of the ladder. She paused halfway down and glanced over the scene below with unbelieving eyes.
”Go back up, Fledra,” commanded Ann.
”I don't think she'll go back up,” gritted Brimbecomb. ”Come down!” He advanced a step, with his hand upon his hip. ”I've something to coax you with,” he declared in an undertone. ”It is this!”
Fledra saw the revolver, noted the expression on the man's face, and stepped slowly down the ladder. The silence of the moment that followed was broken by several loud hoots of an owl. The first one seemed in direct proximity to the hut; the last ones came faintly from the sh.o.r.e of the lake.
When she saw the gun, Ann whitened to the ears, and the threat in Everett's eyes caused Lem to gurgle in his throat, as if he would speak but could not.
”I told you,” said Everett, with his lips close to Fledra's ear, ”that I would use any means to get you.... Stand aside there--you two!”
He turned his flas.h.i.+ng eyes upon the scowman and Ann, and, placing his arm about Fledra, drew her forward. The girl was so dazed at the turn of affairs that she allowed Everett to drag her, unresisting, half the length of the room. Then her glance moved upward to Ann. Miss Sh.e.l.lington's face was as pallid as death, and her horrified look at Everett brought Fledra to her senses. The girl looked appealingly at Lem. The scowman's squinted eyes and the contortions of his face caused Fledra to cry out:
”Lem, Lem, save me! save me!”
Crabbe drew his heavy body more compactly together, and, with his eyes glued upon the revolver, advanced along the wall toward Brimbecomb. His frightful wheezes and choking gulps attracted the lawyer's attention to him, and the gun was suddenly leveled at his breast.
”Stand back there, Crabbe!” ordered Everett. ”You have nothing to do with this.”
But, as the lawyer spoke, Lem sprang forward with the fierceness of a wild beast. Instantly followed the report of a revolver; but the bullet went wide and sunk into the opposite wall, for, as Everett aimed at Lem, Fledra twisted and struck his arm so heavily that his fingers loosened and the weapon clattered across the room.
The impact of the scowman's body bore the lawyer down, while Fledra was thrown away from the struggle by a sweep of Lem's left arm. Ann was petrified with fear; but this did not keep her from picking up the girl from the floor. In her terror she took in each motion of the fighters.
She saw Lem lift his left hand, and heard the sickening thud as his great brown fist struck Everett full in the face. She saw the hook flash in the candlelight, then bury its glittering p.r.o.ng in the other's neck.
Everett screamed once, then was silent; for with his unmaimed hand the scowman had grasped his enemy's throat and was shaking the body as a dog does a rat. In his frenzy, Lem threshed and tumbled Brimbecomb about on the hut floor, the sight of his rival's blood sending him mad; and always the sound of his gasps and chokes rose above the struggle. Of a sudden the gurgles in the throat of the scowman ceased, his face became purple black, and it seemed to Ann that his blood must burst through the thick skin. With one last movement he again buried his hook in Everett, then tried to throw the body from him; but, instead, he himself, fell in a heap on the floor.
Suddenly the door opened, and Scraggy Peterson staggered into the hut.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
She sent no glance at Ann, nor did she see Fledra shrinking in the corner. No thought came to her weak brain save of the two men at grips with death. She staggered forward with a cry.
”Lemmy, Lemmy, ye wouldn't kill yer own brat?... He's our little 'un!...
Lemmy!... G.o.d!... Ye've killed him!”
Scraggy put her hands on Everett, and saw Lem struggle to sit up, the l.u.s.t of killing still blazing in his eyes. He had heard the woman's words, and as he slowly grasped the import of them he turned over and raised his head while pulling desperately at his throat.
”Oh, Lemmy, love,” she murmured, ”ye've killed him this time! He's dead!” She leaned farther over, and kissed the white face of her son.
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