"Yes, it's a nice day," she assented.
"Ain't ye goin' to ask me to set down?" demanded Sandy, at the same time helping himself to a rocking chair. "I brought ye somethin', brat." He unwrapped the bundle and took out a huge bunch of flowers.
"Ye want to nurse 'em a long time, 'cause they cost money, them flowers did. They ain't no wild posies!"
"They're awful pretty," she thanked him. "I'll put them in water right away."
While she was arranging the flowers, Sandy got up.
"How do ye like my new togs, kid?" he asked, pivoting around and around on one heel.
"You look very nice," replied Tessibel, gathering courage from his good nature.
"Ye bet I do," grinned Letts. "I air some guy when I air all flashed out in new things. Got all this with Waldstricker's money. Lord, brat--"
Here the man reseated himself. "Ye ought to hear that bloke bluster when he found out ye'd got Andy back. Now for me--I were glad, for I knowed all along the dwarf didn't kill Eb's daddy. But in this world I find ye got to look out for yerself first. That air how I got the five thousand."
"I see!" flared Tess, her disapproval of his spying getting the better of her fear. "But your blood money won't do you any good."
"Won't do me no good? My five thousand won't do me no good? What do ye mean, brat? 'Course it'll do me lots of good. I air a rich man, I air.
It's goin' to buy us a real home, kid, frame house with plastered walls an' shingled roof, painted red an' yeller. All what I want now air my woman, an' I've come fer ye, Tess."
The girl's heart sank. She glanced about helplessly. What could she say or do? There was no other human being within call. In hasty retrospection, her mind swept back to Ben Letts. She shuddered as she remembered the many times he'd made the same demand upon her. And then, she as suddenly remembered how, during those days, she had been saved from men like Ben and Sandy, and courage came again in response to her silent call for help.
"Ye heard what I said, brat, didn't ye?" demanded Sandy, leaning back and throwing one leg over the other. "I air here fer ye."
"Yes, I heard."
"An' ye're comin', ain't ye, kid?" ... His voice was deep and persuasive by reason of the passion that surged through him.... "I air a little sorry fer bein' mean to ye afore, brat, an' now I air rich ye can forgive it, can't ye?"
He bent forward and held out his heavy hands, palms up, ingratiatingly.
"Yes, I forgive you, Sandy, certainly. But--but--"
"Now, there ain't no 'buts' in this matter, kid! Ye said as how ye'd marry me when I got Andy's reward money. Now I got it ye got to keep yer word."
Tessibel shook her head.
"I didn't say I'd marry you," she answered. "I said, away back there, when I was only a little kid, you could come back and ask me again. But I'm a woman, now, and I'm never going to marry anyone."
The squatter leaned his elbows on his knees, cupped his white face in his hands, and glared at the girl steadily.
"Ye're goin' to git married to me today," he growled. "Ye can't play fast and loose with me, kid, an' don't ye think ye can, uther. Get on yer togs. I air goin' to give ye the time of yer life."
Tessibel stood very still. She could hear plainly, through the silence, the lap of the waves on the shore below, and the soft chug-chug of a lake steamer. A bee flew in at the door, lighted on the lace curtain and clung there, making sprawly motions with his thread-like legs. She remembered without effort the day the squatter alluded to--remembered also Daddy Skinner's telling him to go. Perhaps he _had_ thought she meant to marry him if he were rich.
"Sandy," she said, dragging her eyes to the man's face. "When I tell you I can't marry you, I mean it. Please don't ask me any more.... Would you like a piece of cake?"
"Cake?..." snarled Letts. "Hell! What do I want with cake? No, ma'am, I don't want no cake nor nothin' but you, an' I air goin' to have ye, too!"
He got up slowly, as if to make more effective his menacing words.
"If ye put on yer things like I says," he continued, "there won't be no trouble, brat. But if ye don't--" he moved toward her, "ye'll wish ye had."
To this Tessibel couldn't reply. Insistent, in her panting heart, was a constant call for rescue. She looked steadily at Lysander and he glared back at her.
"Tess," he threatened, "ye know me well 'nough not to come any monkey shines on me. I says again, get yer hat, fer I'm goin' to take ye one way or t'other."
"I told you I couldn't," she answered. "I'm not any longer a little girl. I've got to work. I want to learn things and take care of my baby."
She couldn't have said anything that would have fired the squatter's rage any quicker. Her baby! What did he care about the brat?
"Ye don't have to work no more fer Young," he retorted. "I ain't goin'
to have my woman keepin' house fer no professor, an' ye can make up yer mind to it 'out no further clack." In one bound, Sandy rounded the table. "If ye won't do what I tell ye, then, I'll make ye wish ye had.
Ye throwed up at me once, ye brat, ye, I never had no kisses from ye!
After today ye won't be able to say that."
A strong hand shot out, guided by a powerful arm. Fingers clutched for her, but Tess, eluding them, slipped to the window.
"Sandy!" she implored. "Sandy, don't touch me, don't! Wait!"
"I won't wait," snarled Letts. "I air waited years an' years, an' I won't wait no longer."
At that moment there seemed no escape for the girl, who was holding out her hands to keep off the brute facing her. The very quiet of the day, the singing of the birds, and the shrill chirping of the crickets, only added to her sense of isolation. She glanced hopelessly from the huge squatter out into the summer air.
"Ye can't get no help," said Sandy. "Ye might's well give up!... God, ye're all the sweeter fer havin' to fight like I been doin'!"
By a motion, extraordinarily quick for so big a man, he clutched her bodily, and dragged her to him. She lowered her face against his chest and buried it under her curls.
"I air goin' to kiss ye, my pretty wench," muttered Letts. "Gimme yer lips, gimme--"
In the scuffle neither heard the step on the porch and neither saw the tall form loom in the doorway. Sandy wrenched at the red hair, drawing Tessibel's face upward. Then Deforrest Young grappled with him, and in the one blow he landed under the squatter's chin, the angry lawyer concentrated the vim of years of exasperated waiting. Sandy slumped to the floor. Kneeling beside him, Young's leg pressed against something round and hard in Letts' pocket.
A quick investigation brought forth a small revolver.
"Are you hurt, child?" he inquired, getting up. "Did he hurt you?"
"Not a bit, Uncle Forrie, but he scared me awful."
The prostrate man groaned, moved his limbs and sat up, slowly. He glanced around as though trying to figure out what'd happened. The sight of Young, holding the gun Waldstricker's money bought, told Sandy the whole story of his downfall.
"Get up, Letts, and get out of here quick!" Young ordered, prodding him with his foot.
Sandy scrambled to his feet unsteadily.
"Now, take your hat and get out," said Young, "and don't stay in Ithaca, or I'll have you locked up again."
Sandy didn't wait for any further advice. He grabbed his hat and flung out of the door. Deforrest followed him down through the pear orchard to the lane, and there he stood for a long time watching the ex-convict struggle up the hill to the railroad tracks.
When he returned to Tess he found her leaning on the table, her face buried in her hands. She did not lift her head, nor make a move at Deforrest's entrance.