"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 shifted 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 passionately, 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."
"That's true, too, but you'd think his deformity would prevent his getting very far.... Now wouldn't you?"
"Well, I don't know about that, either." The speaker struck a match under the lapel of his coat, and cupping the tiny flame in his hand, held it up to the dead cigar in his mouth, and added between puffs, "Human nature's a funny thing!... Now Andy's got a kind a pleasin' way with him ... even if he is deformed, ... and he's got a peach of a voice. Why, he speaks as soft as a woman.... I wouldn't want him to ask me to do anything I was set against if I didn't want to do it."
"Rotten rubbish!" spat out Burnett. "I don't give a tinker's damn about his voice. It's up to me to run the dwarf to earth, and I'm goin' to do it."
After a very long silence, Todd turned to Burnett.
"But what does get me is why the five thousand Waldstricker's put up, ain't been bait to catch Bishop before this," he said ruminatively.
"Well, it hain't, that's evident," growled Burnett, setting his teeth.
As a rabbit lifts its head, frightened at unusual sights and sounds, so Jake Brewer lifted a startled face as Howard Burnett pulled up his horse suddenly at the squatter's side. The warden stopped the man's progress by lifting his hand.
"Say, you, wait a minute there," he added to his imperative gesture.
Jake paused, curious and attentive.
"Haven't seen a dwarf, anywhere, named Bishop, have you?" Burnett shot forth, leaning toward Brewer.
The squatter shook his head. "There be some Bishops round here," he retorted surlily, "but there ain't no dwarf as I know of by that name."
"Where's the road leadin' down to that row of shacks by the lake?"
demanded Burnett. "Ain't there a lot of squatters living there?"
Brewer assented by a wag of his head.
"No end of 'em," said he, "but there ain't no very easy way gettin' down with a horse.... Still, mebbe ye could.... Might tie yer wagon an' walk down."
"Who're you?" shouted the warden, gruffly.
Jake cringed as if the questioner had struck him.
"Jake Brewer," was the unsteady response.
"What's your business?"
"I ain't got no real business," replied the other apologetically. "I fishes an' hunts an' things like that."
"A squatter--eh?"
"Yep, I air a squatter all right," Jake admitted, "but I air a decent man, an' allers been decent. I don't do nothin' I hadn't ought to."
"Who's sayin' you do?" snapped Burnett. "Now, I want to ask you a few questions. I'm from Auburn Prison, and if you lie to me, I'll put you where the dogs won't bite you.... Do you get me?"
Jake's jaw dropped, but he stood still, and looked at the officer anxiously.