Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

Horace Shellington took a long breath as he entered his office one morning in the latter part of March. The blustering wind that had raged all night had almost subsided, and he felt glad for Floyd's sake; for, no matter how warm they kept the little lad, the sound of the wind through the trees and the dismal wail of the branches at night made him shiver and fret with nervous pain. Horace had scarcely seated himself when Everett Brimbecomb entered the room.

"Hello, Horace!" said the latter jovially. "I was going to come in yesterday, but was not quite ready to see you. Haven't been able to get a word with you in several days."

Horace offered a chair, and Everett sank into it.

"You are always so busy when I run in to see Ann," Brimbecomb went on, "that one would think you were not an inmate of that house."

"Yes," said Horace, "I've been studying up on an interesting case I expect to handle very soon."

Everett laughed.

"So have I," he said, narrowing his lids and looking at Shellington.

"When one is connected with offices as we are, Everett," remarked Horace uninterestedly, "there is little time for visiting."

"I find that, too," replied Everett.

During the last few weeks Horace had seen little of his sister's fiancé; in fact, since their quarrel he had drawn away from the young man as a companion; but above everything else he desired his gentle sister to be happy, and the man before him was the only one to make her so. He thought of this, and smiled a little more cordially as he said:

"Is there anything I can do for you, Everett?"

"Well, yes, there is," admitted Brimbecomb.

"I'll do anything I can," replied Horace heartily.

Brimbecomb hesitated before going on. Shellington looked so grave, so dignified, so much more manly than he had ever seen him, that he scarcely dared open his subject.

"It's something that may touch you at first, Horace," he explained; "but--"

Horace, unsuspicious, bent forward encouragingly:

"Go ahead," he said.

Everett flushed and looked at the floor.

"A case has just come into our office, and, as my father is gone from home, I have taken it on."

Horace listened expectantly. Everett could have struck the man in the face, he hated him so deeply. He groaned mentally as he thought of Scraggy and her wild-eyed cat and of his endeavor to close her lips as to her relation to him. It was a great fear within him that soon his father would appear as his mother had. The time might come when this haughty man before him would have reason to look upon him with contempt. To make Horace understand his present power was the one thought that now dominated him.

With this in mind, he began to speak again:

"A man came to us with a complaint that you were keeping his children from him."

If Horace had received the blow the other longed to give, he could not have been more shocked.

"I believe his name is Cronk," went on Everett, taking a slip from his pocket; "yes, Lon Cronk."

Horace took his paper-knife from the table and twirled it in his fingers. His face had grown ashen white, his lips were set closely over his teeth.

"I have met this Cronk," he said in a low tone.

"So I understand. He told me that he had been at your home, and had demanded his children, and that you had refused to give them up."

"I did!" There was no lack of emphasis in the words.

"And you said that he could not have them unless he went to law for them."

"I did!" said Horace again.

"And he came to me."

Horace rose to his feet, a deep frown gathering on his brow. Everett rose also, and the two men faced each other for a long moment.

"And you took the case?" Horace got out at last.

"Yes, I took the case," Everett replied.

"And yet you knew that Ann loved them?"

"I was--was sure that if you both understood--"

The speaker's hesitation brought forth an ejaculation from Shellington.

"What are we to understand?"

"That justice must be done the father," responded Everett quickly.

Horace squared his jaw and snapped out:

"Do I understand that, in spite of the near relationship of our family, you are willing to deal a blow to my sister and me that, if it falls, will be almost unbearable? You intend to fight with this squatter for his children?"

"I don't intend to fight, Horace, if you're willing to give them to me. I had much rather have our present relations go on as they are, without a breach in them. I think, if you and Ann talk it over, you will see that by giving the boy and girl into my hands--"

Horace came a step nearer, with darkening brow:

"You can go straight to hell!" he said, so fiercely that Everett started back. "And the sooner you go, the better I shall be pleased," his face reddened as he finished, "and so will Ann!"

"You're speaking for someone who has not given you authority," Everett sneered. "Your sister will give me at least one of those children--I imagine, the girl. I think the father is more particular about having her."

"I should think he would be, and you may take him this message from me: that, if he sneaks about my house at any time of day or night, I'll have him shot like a dog, for every man can protect his own; and if you--"

Everett, seeing his chance, broke in:

"He would be protecting his own, if he came to your home, for his own are there; and we are going to have those children before another month goes by!"

"Try it, and perhaps I may bring to your mind what you once said to me about that girl," muttered Horace, with set teeth. "Your errand being finished, Mr. Brimbecomb, you may go!"

Everett had received the worst of the encounter. He had expected that Horace would consider Fledra's and Floyd's case in a gentler way, would probably compromise for Ann's sake. He went out not a little disturbed.

* * * * *

Horace waited for a few moments after Brimbecomb left him before he took his hat and coat and went home. Ann was surprised to see him, and more surprised when he drew her into the drawing-room, where he mysteriously closed the door.

"Ann," he said solemnly, "I believe the turning point in your life has come. And I want you to judge for yourself and take your own stand without thinking of my happiness or comfort."

The young woman lifted startled eyes and searched his face.

"What is it, Horace--that squatter again? Has he made a move against us?"

Horace bent over and took her hands in his.

"He has not only made a move against us, as far as the children are concerned, but he has used an instrument you would never have dreamed of." Seeing his sister did not reply, he went on, "Just what legal procedure they will undertake I don't know; but that will come out in time. Cronk went to Everett Brimbecomb with the case, and I was notified this morning by Everett to give up the children."

"Everett!" breathed Ann, disbelieving. "My Everett?"

"Yes, your Everett, Ann. Don't, child, please don't! Ann, Ann, listen to me!... Yes, sit down.... Now wait!"

He held her closely in his arms until the storm of sobs had passed, and then placed a pillow under her head and went on gravely:

"Ann, I have come to this conclusion: you love Everett dearly, and I cannot understand his actions; but I'm not going to intrude upon your affection for him, nor his for you. I'm going to ask you not to take sides with either of us. I'm a lawyer, and so is he. Do you understand, Ann?"

Fearfully she clutched his fingers.

"But Fledra and Floyd--I can't let them go back, I can't! I can't!"

"They're not going back," said Horace firmly. "Mind you, Ann, even to renew my friendship with Brimbecomb, I shouldn't give them up."

"Renew your friendship!" gasped Ann. "Oh, have you quarreled with him, Horace?"

"Yes, and told him to leave my office."

Ann sobbed again.

"What a fearful tragedy is hanging over us!" she cried.

"It is worse than I imagined it could be," Horace declared; "much worse, for I never thought that the squatter could get a reputable firm to represent him. And as for Everett--well, he never entered my mind. I told him that he could not take those children, and that he might--"

He remembered plainly what he had said, but did not communicate it to his sister. She was so frail, so gently modest, that an angry man's language would hurt her.

"I told him," ended Horace, "to do whatever he thought best, and that, if Cronk came here again, I should shoot him down like a dog. I think we ought to tell Fledra, and then, too, I desire to speak to her of something else. Can you bring her to me, Ann, without frightening Floyd?"

* * * * *

It did not need Ann's quiet plucking at her sleeve to tell Fledra that the blow had fallen. She had expected it day after day; until now, when she faced Horace and looked into his tense face, she felt that her whole hope had gone.

Ann tiptoed out before her brother opened his lips.

For a moment the harassed man knew not what to say to the silent, trembling girl.

"Fledra," he began, "the first move has been made in your case by your father."

"Must we go?" burst from the quivering lips.

"No, no: not if you have told me the truth about your past life--I mean about your father being cruel to you."

The sensitive face gathered a deep flush:

"I've never lied to you, Brother Horace," she replied gently.

"If I could believe you, child, if I could place absolute confidence in your word, I should have courage to go into the struggle without losing hope."

"What's Pappy Lon done?"

"He has employed Everett Brimbecomb to take you back to Ithaca."

Fledra shrank back as if he had struck her. Swiftly into her mind came the smiling, handsome face of the lawyer whom Ann loved. His brilliant eyes seared her soul like fire. In all her life, even when facing Lem Crabbe, she had never felt as she did now. She saw Floyd fading into the graveyard beyond, while she was being torn from the only haven of rest she had ever known. Lem Crabbe could not have taken her; but Everett Brimbecomb could! She felt again his burning kisses, the clasp of his strong arms, and her own disgust. He seemed a giant of strength, and Horace's white face and set lips aggravated her fear. Fledra's desire for comfort had never been so great as the desire she had at this moment to open her tired heart to Horace and reveal to him Everett's perfidy.

"Did you tell Sister Ann about Mr. Brimbecomb?"

She stumbled over the name.

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

"My sister loves him--you know that. She is heartbroken that he should have accepted this case. We must make it as easy as we can for her, dear child."

The girl saw Horace's lips twitch as he spoke, and thought of the love he had for his sister, and her desire to tell him what she knew died immediately.

"Do you want me to go with Pappy Lon and not make any trouble for her?" she whispered.

"No, no, not that! You can't go, Fledra, and they can't take you, if--you have told me the truth about the man your father wanted to give you to."

"Floyd and I told the truth," she said seriously, lifting her eyes to his face; "but for Sister Ann I'd go away with Pappy Lon, and with Lem, if you'd take care of Fluke till he--"

"Don't, Fledra, don't!" groaned Horace. "It would tear me to pieces to give you up. But--but you couldn't relieve my mind, Dear, could you?"

Fledra knew what he meant, and shook her head.

"No, not now," she replied.

If it troubled Ann to have Everett take part in their going back to the squatter country, how much worse she would feel if she knew what he really had done! Horace's appeal to shield Ann from overmuch burden strengthened Fledra's courage.

"Can you keep us?" she asked, after a moment's thought.

"I am going to try."

"If you love me well, Brother Horace," said Fledra, "won't you believe that I'd do anything for Sister Ann and you?"

He nodded his head; but did not speak.

* * * * *

When he reached Ithaca, Lem Crabbe found a flood besieging the forest city. The creeks of Cascadilla and Six Mile Gorge had overflowed their banks, and the lower section of the town was under water. He had come back for the scow, and to find Scraggy. He was determined to force from her the whereabouts of his son. He wended his way toward the hut of one of his friends at the inlet, and hailed the boat that conveyed the squatters to and fro in flood-time. As the boat lapped the muddy water breaking into the weeds and brushes, Lem saw Eli Cronk perched in another boat, with a spear in his hand.

"Eli!" shouted Lem.

Eli greeted him with a wave of the pole.

The boats neared each other, and Lem shouted that he wanted to get into Cronk's craft.

"What ye doin'?" asked Crabbe, as the boat he had just left shot away toward the bridge.

"Catching frogs," replied Eli. "I sell a lot of 'em to the hotels, and this flood is jest the thing to make 'em thick." He lowered his spear and brought up a struggling frog. Throwing it into a covered box, he peered again into the water.

"Where's Lon?" he said, straightening again with another victim.

"To Tarrytown."

"What's he to Tarrytown fer?"

"He's a gittin' Flea and Flukey. That's where they runned to."

"He ain't found 'em, has he? Truth, now!"

"Yep, truth," answered Lem; "and he's got a fine-lookin' lawyer-pup to git 'em for him."

As Eli again and again thrust his spear into the water, Lem told the story of the finding of the twins. He refrained from speaking of his experience with Screech Owl; but said finally, as if with little interest:

"Ye ain't seen Scraggy, has ye?"

"Nope; and she ain't in her hut, nuther; or she wasn't awhile back, 'cause I stopped there, when I was a lookin' for Lon."

"When did ye git back to town?"

"I dunno jest what day it were," responded Cronk, spearing again.

"Can I git up the tracks, Eli?" inquired Lem presently.

"Ye'll have to wade in mud to yer knees fer a spell after ye leave the boat."

"I can take the hill over the tracks for a way. Will ye row me up as far as ye can?"

"Yep, I'll row ye up," replied Eli, proceeding with his work.

* * * * *

Late in the afternoon, Lem Crabbe, wet to his knees and covered with mud, entered the scow. He had stopped at Screechy's hut, knocked, and, having received no answer, clicked down the hill to the boat.

He made up his mind to stay there until Scraggy came back; then he would go back to Tarrytown and bring the twins to Ithaca. Every morning Lem mounted the hill, only to find that Screech Owl had not returned. But one day, just at dusk, as he appeared before the hut, he saw the flickering of a candle. He did not wait to knock, but entered, and found Scraggy stretched out on the old bed. She looked up as if she had expected him, noted his dark face, and lowered her head again.

"Black Pussy's gone, Lem. I've got a cold settin' on me here," she whispered, wheezing as she laid her hand on her chest.

"I hope it'll kill ye!" grunted Lem. "What did you leave the toolhouse fer, when I told ye to stay?"

"What toolhouse, Lemmy?" The dazed eyes looked up at him in surprise.

"Don't try none of yer guff on me. I want to know who ye went to see in Tarrytown, and who the man was that throwed ye over the fence, and then lugged ye off to that vault?"

Scraggy sat up painfully.

"I wasn't throwed over no fence."

"Ye was, 'cause I seed the man when he done it. I wish now that I'd a gone and settled with him. Who was he, Screechy?"

"I dunno," she answered.

Lem bent over her, his eyes blazing with wrath.

"Ye want to git yer batty head a workin' damn quick," he shouted, "or I'll slit yer throat with this!" The rusty hook was thrust near the thin, drawn face.

"I can't think tonight," muttered Screech Owl, "'cause the bats be a runnin' 'bout in my head. When I think, I'll tell ye, Lemmy."

"Where be that boy?" demanded Lem.

Scraggy shook her head. Every time she thought of Lem's questions, there was an infernal tapping of unnumbered winged creatures at the walls of her brain.

"There ain't no boy that I knows of," she said listlessly, sinking down again. "And ye wouldn't slit my neck when I ain't done nothin', would ye, Lemmy?"

"Ye has done somethin'," growled Lem. "Ye has kep' that brat from me these years past, and now he's big 'nough I'm goin' to have him! Ye hear?" Every word he uttered came forth with effort. The red mark under his chin moved relentlessly, preventing him from speaking with clearness.

Scraggy writhed beneath the tightening grasp of the man's wet fingers.

"I'll choke ye to death!" Lem gasped, between throaty convulsions.

"Lemmy, Lemmy dear--"

Another twist of Lem's fingers, and the woman sank back unconscious. Lem shook her roughly.

"Scraggy, Scraggy!" he cried wildly. "Set up! I Want to talk to ye! Set up!"

The silence in the gloomy hut, the whiteness of the seemingly dead woman, filled Lem with superstitious dread. He grasped his lantern and ran out, failing to close the door.

The frightened man made off up the hill, and, passing through the Stebbins farm by the Gothic church and dark graveyard, he tramped the Trumansburg road to Ithaca. The tracks were covered with water as they had been when Eli had given him the lift toward the settlement. But the flood had so receded that by drawing his trousers up over his boots Lem managed to get through the mud to the bridge. From there he sought the house of Middy Burnes, where he made an agreement with the tugman that the scow should be towed from Ithaca to Tarrytown.