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its two humps. "Prisoner, look upon the jury; jury, look upon the prisoner." The grizzled head settled itself back between the two pulsing humps; the steady eyes under the shaggy brows looking out for the first time in two days upon the row of men who hated him--all popular citizens of Ithaca. "Foreman, of the jury, have you found the
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prisoner innocent or guilty?" A pause, a hush; then a deliberate: "Guilty of murder in the first degree." A little higher rose the bible-back of the fisherman, lower sunk the large head between the deformed shoulders, like the receding head of a turtle, hiding itself under its shell when an enemy draws near. Skinner still stood with hypnotized eyes fastened
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on the jury; one thought in his mind--Tess. "Orn Skinner," began the judge, "is there any reason why the sentence of this court should not be pronounced upon you in accordance with the law?" The fisherman turned his piercing eyes upon the judge, but attempted not to speak. "Orn Skinner--" The judge was interrupted, there was a disturbing commotion in
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the back of the court-room. He lifted his gavel for silence, his gaze falling upon a dripping, shivering, red-haired girl, who raised to his face a pair of copper-colored eyes in which shone a soul, the magnitude of which the judge could not fathom with all his dignity. "Orn Skinner," he finished, turning again to the fisherman, "twelve men have
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found you guilty of murder in the first degree. The court, then, passes its sentence upon you: you are to hang by the neck until you are--dead." The ponderous form of the doomed man straightened as though unafraid, whilst the commotion increased--Tess was madly tearing her way through detaining hands. Once free, she started up the aisle, the most ridiculous
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little figure ever seen in Ithaca. The red hair was in curls to the girl's hips--the young form covered with but a calico blouse confined about the waist by a piece of hemp rope. Four huge thorns held together the edges of a rent down the center of the skirt, which came just above the knees, Daddy Skinner's cowhide boots
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lifting themselves under the hem. Every one save him whom she loved was unseen by Tess, and everything unheard save the terrible sentence of death. The pain-puckered wrinkles settled out of the wan little face; a smile brightened the brown eyes and dimpled the tender twitching mouth, altering the woful expression--for what was the mandate of an earthly judge compared
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to the majestic promise of Heaven? the student had said--but her smiling eyes fell for a moment on those of Frederick Graves. The boy partly rose but sank back again, white to the ears, a picture of mental suffering. Here through the silence came a shock to the citizens of Ithaca. Sweet as a spring bird carolling its love song
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rose Tessibel's beautiful voice: "Rescue the perishin' Care for the dyin'." On and on up the aisle toward Daddy Skinner, forgetting or not knowing that she was desecrating the dignity of the honorable judge upon the bench, Tessibel clattered. Still no hand stayed her progress. Daddy Skinner was standing outside the railing, close to his attorney, guarded by a deputy.
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His fierce eyes turned at the sound of her voice, and the sight of his beloved snapped them shut like a vise. The old beard, now shaggy and unkempt, trembled, whilst a parched tongue licked over the lips. The long arms of the humpback slowly rose, and Tessibel sang herself into the throbbing bosom of her father. The prisoner's great
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horny hand descended upon the curly head and for a moment the fingers of the girl tried to pry the wrinkled eyelids open. Her singing ceased, and she spoke--no great orator ever had a more intense audience. "It air--it air Tess, Daddy Skinner, did ye think that her--had forgot--and Goddy?" Everyone in the room heard the musical voice. "The jedge
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didn't know," Tess went on, "that God promised that ye was to come home with Tessibel." And then, loosening herself from the trembling fingers, Tess leaned toward the judge, a wealth of hair falling over each shoulder. "Did ye, kind, good man?" His Honor, fascinated by the sight, bent toward her to make sure of her words. "I air Daddy's
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brat," she urged with a smile, "and Goddy in the sky said as how Daddy Skinner would come home with Tessibel ... He air to go with me, ain't he?" Her voice, raised in sudden entreaty, the long eyes filled with an anguished anxiety, sent a pang of pity unknown before through the heart of the judge. The audience rose
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as one man--only a swish and another dead silence. "Ye air to come, Daddy Skinner," and without waiting for any further consent she took her father's hand and drew him slowly through the aisle up which she had so lately sung her way. A man stepped into her path from among the spectators. Tess glanced up, and saw before her
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the lowering face of Dominie Graves. From every other soul in that room she had been given the bible-backed prisoner, for the majesty of human law had been forgotten in the appeal to the higher one. "Stop," shouted the pastor, determined to see the sentence of the court carried out. He had placed himself directly in the squatter-girl's path, and,
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turning toward the jury, flashed indignant eyes upon them. "Have you all gone mad?" he demanded. "Are you going to allow a murderer to escape from your hands?" For one instant the condemned giant and the man of God scanned each other's faces with intensity. There was dumb pleading in the one gaze, and hard supremacy in the other. A
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spasmodic tremor ran over the spectators--Tess had struck a note of tragedy in the affair which had been overlooked by the thoughtless throng. The judge, startled, spoke confusedly, "Of course, of course," said he, "such a thing as this--" "Would make our city the laughing-stock of the state," put in Graves, his interruption of the judge passing unheeded. "Skinner, you
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know you can't leave this court with that girl--" Here a small boy broke in: "She's the girl that twiggled her fingers at the minister." Dominie Graves hushed the speaker with a wave of his hand, and went on: "You have committed a murder, Skinner, and have been condemned to die by hanging." His voice was low and vibrant. "And
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there's no escape for you, Skinner," he finished. As his voice died away, Ithaca received another impetus to curiosity and interest. A tall man in the back row rose and came forward. "Mr. Graves," said the stranger solemnly, "you say that this man is to hang for murder. I say that he shall be given another chance for his life,
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and that he shall not hang if I can prevent it." Deforrest Young, the noted professor of law from the University, was looking at Graves. A frown gathered on the broad brow of the minister, and every one gasped as the professor took Tessibel's hands in his. "My child," and he bent lower that she might hear, for her bowed
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head was the only evidence of her grief, "Your prayers have accomplished more than you think. Keep on praying and pray hard, and the next time you come here you shall take home--your Daddy Skinner." Twenty young people had gathered for the toffy pull at Minister Graves'. Tess was the topic of conversation; every one was eager to talk of
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the unheard-of action in the court-room that day. "My mother says," chimed in a pretty girl, "that when that Skinner girl walked up through the court room, she sounded like a horse trotting along." "She had on a pair of man's boots, that's why," said another, "but she has a beautiful voice, hasn't she?" This question was directed to Frederick
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Graves. "Yes," he assented, flushing to his high-forehead line. "And besides a beautiful voice," broke in Richard Hall, "she has a mighty pretty face--and such hair! If she hadn't been crying and had so many people around her, I should have spoken to her. She's worth consoling!" A sharp pang of jealousy shot through Frederick's heart. That another should make
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lighter the burdens of the squatter girl filled him with unrest. A pleading face flashed across his vision and Tessibel's voice rang anew in his ears. He was living over again the moments spent in the cabin, and his heart thrilled at the memory of the momentary glance sent to him over the heads of the spectators in the crowded
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court-room. Teola entered the drawing-room, turning the conversation from Tess to the pleasure of the evening. "Will some one help me pull the toffy?" said she. Her eyes were upon Dan Jordan--he rose quickly to his feet and followed the girl smilingly to the kitchen. "I wanted you to help me get it ready," Teola said; coloring. "I'm glad you
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chose me," replied Dan. "I didn't ask you, did I?" The beautiful head hung low over the brown mixture in the kettle. "Your eyes did," laughed Dan. "Didn't you notice that none of the other boys got up when you spoke." His glance filled with merriment as he went on: "I think, too, that I should have been a little--jealous
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if anyone else had--helped you." "And your hands are so strong," murmured Teola. "You only wanted my hands," queried the boy, trying to catch a glimpse of her face. "I wish you had wanted me for some other--" Teola stood with the long wooden spoon twirling in her fingers. "I did want you for yourself, Dan--" And then she stopped
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and nothing could be heard but the click, click, click, of the toffy as it snapped to and fro in the huge fingers of the student. "I'm mighty glad that I chose Cornell for my college," broke in the boy presently. "I thought first of going to Yale.... And you're pleased, too, Teola, that I came to Ithaca? Aren't you?"
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"Very glad," came the low voice distinctly. "And I've never been so ambitious in all my life as I have since I've been here, and known you, and I was wondering to-day if--if--" Frederick's voice broke off the words; his big form loomed in the doorway before Dan could finish his sentence. "Haven't you kids finished that toffy? Better let
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me help, too." There was a noticeable tremor in Teola's voice as she replied: "We've finished, Frederick, and you can carry the butter and those plates." "I've something important to tell you, Teola," whispered Dan. The girl did not answer, but the student knew that she would listen to him in some future time. The drawing-room was festooned with evergreens
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and winter ferns, wound here and there with streamers of various-colored ribbons. Two large lamps, one in the window, and the other on a table near the dining-room door, sent forth their light through red shades. Glass dishes filled with apples and golden oranges decorated the top of the piano and surrounded the lamps. When Dan and Teola left the
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kitchen, both flushed with the first emotions of their youthful hearts, there came to them gurgles of girlish laughter, intermingled now and then with the loud voice of some merry, happy boy. After two hours of strenuous toffy-pulling the tired young revellers sat down to plates heaped with goodies. Just at this juncture a ring of the door-bell pealed through
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the house. A silence fell over the company and a sound of altercation came to them distinctly. Suddenly the drawing-room door burst violently open and a spectacle, in strange contrast to the cheery scene about them, flashed upon the eyes of the young people. A red-haired girl, unkempt and dripping, wild anxiety portrayed upon her face, stood in the doorway.
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There was not the slightest embarrassment in her glance as her peculiar eyes traveled the lines of boys and girls, sitting round the wall. When at last they fell on Frederick, she took an impetuous step toward him, a brilliant smile lighting the wan face. Stupefaction rested upon the student as he recognized Tessibel Skinner. "It air time--to pray," said
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she, looking straight at him, as he slowly rose from his chair. "Daddy Skinner air to be took away--unless yer God stops the rope." Every word was distinct--unless God would stay the rope. The words repeated themselves over in the boy's brain and his face deepened in color. It was the beautiful faith of the wild, untaught young girl with
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the hot blood rushing in her veins that called forth the flush. His heart sickened with his own lack of confidence in God. He was to preach of a crucified Saviour, but no such faith and hope as this of Tessibel Skinner's would aid him. He was even now ashamed of the girl in cowhide boots and torn, thin skirt.
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As these thoughts floated past him, he saw the young squatter wither under a giggle from a girl in the corner. "Look at her feet," were the words that changed Tessibel's frankness to embarrassment, her eager pathos to wofulness. Tessibel shrank close to the door, for the first time realizing how out of place she was. "I were--I were--a fool
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to come, but--but--" The earnestness of the vibrant voice, the proud, appealing young face moved Frederick to pity and self-reproach. "It was right--you should have come," said he, gently taking her hands, "and no one dare question your privilege to ask a prayer for your father." Still retaining her fingers in his, he turned, explaining: "This is Miss Skinner whose
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father is suffering now from a stroke of the law. We, who have fathers and mothers whom we love, must wish her well." Tessibel sank down, down, among her boots and rags, his words reducing her to tears. Teola came to her brother's side. She had never before been actually in the presence of a squatter, for, when they had
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brought fish and berries to the back door, her mother had always ordered the children to the front of the house; but now, filled with sympathy she stooped down and placed her hand upon Tessibel's head. The touch was so gentle that the fishermaid lifted her eyes to see who sorrowed with her. The squatter covered the white fingers with
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tears and kisses. Then she struggled to her feet, the nails in Daddy's boots scraping the polished floor, making long white marks. To Tessibel there were no other persons in the room save Frederick and his beautiful sister. She made a queer upward movement with her head, wiping the tears away with the tattered sleeve. "I was afeared ye'd forget
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Daddy Skinner," she murmured. "The big man from the hill said like you did. And I says it air prayin' time and I comed." She had forgotten the tears of a few minutes before, forgotten that twenty pairs of searching youthful eyes watched her every movement and mentally criticized her, from the masses of long hair to the rock-torn boots
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on her feet. She only remembered the student--that he was smiling into her eyes, and that, his sister, too, Teola Graves, had sympathized with her. With a radiant, grateful smile, she turned to go, the door opening under her eager grasp. It was here that Dan Jordan spoke: "Won't Miss Skinner have some coffee?" Tessibel looked at him with an
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incredulous glance. He, too, had come forward and stood with his kindly gray eyes fixed upon her face. "Yes, yes, of course," hurriedly put in Teola, "pardon me--I forgot.... You shall have my cup.... Here, Tessibel! I may call you that, mayn't I? Please drink some of mine." Teola held the cup invitingly to the shivering lips, and Tessibel swallowed
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it down in one gulp. "I air goin' now," she said desperately, wiping away coffee drops that lingered upon her face, "and ye ain't goin' to forget?" This last was to Frederick, and he shook his head emphatically. He would not forget again; he would make the girl's father a special medium to establish a line of faith between the
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God he professed to love and himself--the quality of which should be no less than the one that Tessibel had cultivated during her weary weeks of waiting. No thought entered anyone's mind of asking the girl if she were afraid of the dark night--she seemed so much a part of the darkness, of the falling snow and thrashing trees, that
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she was allowed to depart without a question. As he stood on the Rectory steps, the clicking of the big boots came to Frederick long after the slender form had disappeared from sight. After that the party broke up, for the merriment had died in Tessibel's grief. An impression had been made upon the thoughtless boys and girls, and a
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shadow rested on each face as they bade "good-night" to their young hostess. "She's the prettiest girl I ever saw," confided Teola to Frederick afterward; "her eyes are the color of a marigold." In her heart Teola was glad that she had gone to the squatter in sympathy, for, upon leaving, Dan Jordan had whispered words that had burned deep
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into her soul: "You are an angel, Teola _dear_, and I--love--you." For one instant the tall student had bent his head, laying his lips upon hers--and had gone without another word. The last day of the trial was so different from that of Tessibel's dreams! Again she must cross the dark Hoghole trestle alone on her way to the hut.
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But the singing in her heart when she left the Rectory took away the pain of her loneliness. Frederick Graves had said that she had done right in coming to him and asking prayers for "Daddy Skinner." Her faith in the student carried her above the material things of the earth, more than her absolute faith in God, for like
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women, Tessibel lived and had faith through the man of her choice. It was nearly midnight when she passed Kennedy's wheat field in which capered Pete, the brindle bulldog. She called to him softly, pronouncing his name twice in loving resonance, which brought a low, pleased howl from the coarse throat of the dog. But the exhausted squatter-girl did not
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wait to touch the long, red tongue as Pete thrust his nose through the fence. She passed quickly down the lane to her father's hut. Turning the corner of the mud cellar, she saw dimly a man's form leaning against the shanty door. Her eyes were accustomed to marking correctly through the darkness, and it took Tess but a moment
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to ascertain that the lounging figure was Ben Letts. In an instant, the first real fear she had ever felt swept over her and she drew back into the shadows. As a child she had fled from this man because he tantalized her; as a woman she dreaded him more than any reptile that came from the earth. The man,
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hearing footsteps, raised his head; the silence continuing, he dropped it again, thinking he had been mistaken, and resumed his former position of waiting. Tessibel wondered if she should go bravely forward--insist that the shanty was hers, and that he should go away. The mud cellar was between her and the waiting man, and as she peered closer to see
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if Ben were still there one brilliant tangle of hair fell over her shoulder. Ben Letts caught the movement and Tessibel knew it. Alert as a young deer, she turned and fled back up the lane. Daddy's boots impeded her speed and one after the other she kicked them off. She could hear the man running after her, shouting his
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rage into her tingling ears. He was gaining upon the girl and commanded her to stop. "If I get my claws on ye once," he growled, "it'll be bad for ye." Tessibel heard and flew faster. There was no one to help her and her only salvation lay in her own two sturdy little legs and bruised feet. She reached
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the tracks but did not dare run the ties--she might trip in the darkness, and nothing could save her from her enemy. Her eyes, strained with convulsive fright, lifted one moment to the sky, and her glance fell directly upon the giant pine whose branches formed the image of her fantastic God. Her lips fell apart with a gasp--she fancied
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her Deity sent her an assurance of aid. "Goddy--Goddy," was her petition, "for the love of yer Christ ... and the student." Suddenly out upon the air rang the voice of one of Tessibel's friends. The brindle bulldog from Kennedy's farm had heard the unequal race. With short tail raised, his fat neck bristling with stubby hair, he started for
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the tracks, as Tess did for the fence when she heard his growl. As the girl came on and on, the dog bounded along the ground toward her. Tess opened her lips and spoke sharply--and a pleased bark came in response. God had heard and answered her. One wild leap in the air, and the sound of tearing clothes as
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her already tattered skirt came in contact with the barbed wire--and Tess was crouching down in the safe-keeping of the brindle bull. The dog whirled frantically around, licking her face. Fear weakened her tongue--she could not speak--only little spasmodic sobs burst from the parted lips. She caught the huge dog to her breast and waited. Ben Letts was on the
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tracks; she could hear his big chest heaving with fast-coming breath. He halted on the other side of the fence. Pete scented an enemy and straightened out his strong muscles like whip cords, a hoarse growl coming from between his jaws. Ben leaned over the fence with an oath. "Ye'd better come away from him," he grunted threateningly. "Ye air
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thinking the brute can save ye--but I'll put a bullet through his pate." Tessibel knew that the man had no rifle with him; and by the time he could get one she and the dog would be far away. Her mind worked fast under the pressure. "What do you want, Ben Letts?" she demanded. "I just wanted to talk to
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yer," wheedled the man. "Come over the fence, will ye?" "Ye can talk to me here," sullenly replied Tess. "I don't want to hear none of yer dum gab." "It air somethin' nice--it air candy," feigned Ben. Then the tones hardened in the coarse voice, and he ended: "Ye can't stay always with the brute." "To-night I can, and in
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the day I ain't afeared--I don't want no candy." The brindle bulldog lifted his head again and sent a low snarl in the direction of the fisherman--Ben in his rage had come too close to the fence. The animal's warning sent him back. Months before, Pete had buried his teeth in the man's hand and Ben would bear the marks
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to his grave. "Ye go home, Ben Letts," insisted Tess. "Ye ain't no business here. Go home to yer mammy." "I'm a-goin' to stay, just the same," rejoined Ben, sitting down upon the tracks. Tessibel wound her arms around the dog's neck, banking the red curls under her cheek for a pillow. It was good to rest with her friend.
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Between the fence wires she could see the branches of the pine tree, its shadowy arms creating odd figures across the light streaks in the sky. What a wonderful being the student's God was! He had listened to the cry of a squatter and had saved her. "Yer daddy ain't a-comin' home," Ben Letts broke in upon her meditations. "He
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air," retorted Tess. "He air the nextest time I go for him." "It air a lie," insisted the fisherman, "ye comes with me to the minister and I'll make yer an hones' woman. Ye'll have to cut that mop and settle down like a woman should. Do ye hear?... Tessibel, I says an hones' woman!" Tessibel shifted her head from
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Pete's neck and sat up. "Ye says as how--ye and--me--will go to the minister?" "Yep." "And we air to be--married ... eh?" "Yep." "How about--the--brat--and--and--and Satisfied's girl?" Myra's secret had slipped from her. Ben's silence invited her to proceed. "Yer brat air sick to his grave, he air," said she mournfully, a tear settling in her voice, making its sweetness
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rough, "and Myry air a-dyin' of a broken heart.... If yer wants to make an hones' woman, make her one, that air what I says, I does. And ye broke her arm on the ragged rocks! Ye did! And then yer comes--and talks about bein' hones'," the musical voice rose to a cry. "Ye can't make a woman hones' for
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ye ain't hones' yerself." Without a sound Ben rose from the tracks, reached for a stone and whirled it through the fence at Tessibel. The stone missed her, but struck the dog. Trembling with rage, Pete lifted his great body with a low, vicious growl. Tessibel sprang from the ground, whilst another stone hurtled through the air, catching her curls
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in its flight. Then she lifted the lower wire of the barbed fence. Pete crouched, and wiggled his flattened body through. Ben hadn't expected this--he turned and ran. The skurrying legs of the dog carried him quickly on after the fisherman. While Ben, screeching like a great night owl, hooted out his fear of the maddened dog, and yelled for
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Tess to call him off. The girl did not speak, only waited, waited until a louder cry from the hunted man assured her that Pete had gripped him. Tessibel scarcely dared breathe; her friend, God's earthly instrument, sent to save her, and her mortal enemy were in deadly combat. Ben's cries had ceased, but the listening girl could hear the
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two bodies as they turned over and over beyond on the tracks--and rolled into the ditch. Her feet were nearly frozen but she gathered them under her skirt and dumbly waited. Then came no sound--there was nothing but a deathly silence in the dim shadows near the land. Would she ever see either Ben or the dog again? There was
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no danger that Pete would-- "Ben," she called loudly, leaning over the fence. No answer came from the deep trench by the railroad bed. "Pete, Pete, come to Tessibel, come to Tessibel." Out of the blackness came the dog, his head hanging low, the angry sparkle in his eyes quenched. Tess raised the wire once more for Pete's body to
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wriggle under. The girl shouted anxiously for Ben but no answer came to her call. Crouching beside Pete, Tessibel reasoned out a way of escape: if she took the brindle bulldog to the hut with her, she would be safe from Ben were he lurking about. She propped the lower wire of the fence high with a stick so that
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Pete could reach Kennedy's barn on the hill again when she sent him home. Together the girl and the bristling Pete slid silently to the railroad tracks, Tessibel holding tightly to the dog's collar. Some fifty feet beyond he twisted his heavy neck, set forth his huge jaw, and refused to move. Beside the track was a long dark object--it
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was undeniably, unquestionably quiet. Tess tugged at the dog's collar and dragged him resisting from the spot. Down the lane ran the squatter and the dog with no pause save to pick up the cowhide boots from the side of the path, where Tess had cast them in the mad race. She clasped the head of Pete as she opened
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the hut door. "Ye can come in, too, Pete," she whispered, lifting the ugly head, "and go home in the morning." Tessibel locked the door, but did not light a candle. Slipping her wet clothes to the floor, she crawled into Daddy's bed, and with the forgetfulness of youth sank into a sleep. The next morning after her encounter with
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Ben Letts, Tess sat up in bed, wondering what had happened. Then she remembered. One slant ray of sun breaking through the dirty curtain showed that the day was far advanced. She jumped out of bed, opened the door and allowed Pete to scamper away. After kindling a fire and frying a fish, she sat down to eat. Suddenly a
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knock on the door startled her. Ben might return even after his lesson of the night before. Without unclasping the lock, she called out: "Who air it?" "It air me, Tessibel. Open the door.--It air Myry!" Tess flung open the door with a smile. She drew back, seeing Myra's seamed face, white and drawn. "Ye be sick, Myry?" "Nope!" "Air
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it the brat, then?" "Nope, it air Ben Letts. He were hurt by the Brindle Bull at Kennedy's Farm. Ezy and 'Satisfied' found him near dead on the tracks and took him home." Tess stood waiting, wide-eyed, without a word. "He wouldn't say nothin' about it," complained Myry; "just says that he air goin' to get even with some one."
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"Have ye seen him?" stammered Tess. "Yep, this mornin' in his shanty. He were cut bad. They got the horse doctor to sew him up. He air sick, Ben air!" "And the brat," demanded Tess, changing the subject purposely. "Sick the hours through," replied Myra bitterly. "He hes got the pitifullest cry that breaks my heart all the time. But
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he ain't so sick as his pappy." "Ben Letts ain't a-goin' to die, air he?" Tessibel's woful expression caused Myra to shake her head emphatically, her thin lips twitching, then tightening under the nervous strain. "Nope, he ain't, but he air goin' to be sick a long time. He air the brat's pa, and I want to do somethin' for
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him." "What?" "He air wantin' to see ye, Tessibel. Will ye go to him?" "Nope," Tess burst forth spontaneously. Myra looked at her curiously. "He ain't amountin' to much," she ventured, "but he air a pappy--that air somethin', ain't it?" "Yep," mused Tessibel. "A daddy air more than a mammy." So had Tessibel and Myra been brought up to believe.
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The squatter women fawned at the feet of their brutal husbands, as a beaten dog cringes to its master. That Ben Letts had broken Myra's arm on the ragged rocks, and yet the girl wanted to aid him, showed Tess the superiority of the male sex, and Myra loved the squint-eyed fisherman, she evidenced it in every action. The lips
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of the younger squatter were sealed about the trail which she herself had laid in the midnight tragedy. But through the tender young heart flashed the hope that the experience with the dog would cause Ben Letts to turn his face toward the wretched, shrunken creature, who had suffered so much through him. She contemplated Myra an instant. "Do ye
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want me to see him?" she asked, rising. "Yep," replied Myra, the dull eyes filled with a momentary sparkle. "He hes somethin' to say to ye, and I did say as how ye would come." "Air he alone?" questioned Tess. "Nope, his mammy air with him--we'll go now--eh?" Slipping on Daddy's boots was Tessibel's assent, and they started through the
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underbrush in silence. "The brat ain't goin' to die, air he?" asked Tess presently. It had been several days since she had seen Myra's little son. The troubles of Daddy Skinner had taken up every moment of her time. "Mebbe," grunted Myra unemotionally; "he howls like a sick pup from mornin' till night." "I air a goin' home with ye,
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Myry," assured Tessibel; "he won't yap when I sings to him." The lake had risen over the strip of beach, its waters freezing against the rocks. This forced the girls to take the path through the wood to the hill beyond. Until they came in sight of Ben Letts' cabin, they said no more. At their knock Ben's mother softly
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opened the door. Her shaggy gray hair had not been combed and her fierce old eyes glowed with agony unsoftened by tears. "Ben air too sick to get up," she explained awkwardly, presenting each girl a chair, "I said as how ye couldn't come, Tessibel, but Ben said Myry were to bring ye." From the back room came the sound
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of belabored breathing and a hoarse voice called for Tessibel. The squatter girl rose to her feet, her color changing from red to white. The thought of the fisherman with his dog-bitten face was repulsive to her. "Ye be goin' in with me to see him, ain't ye, Myry?" The brown eyes entreated that she should not be sent to
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Ben Letts alone. Myra Longman shook her head. She knew that the brat's pa did not want to see her, and again she shook her head as Tessibel waited. "He air been askin' all the mornin' for ye, Tess," urged Mrs. Letts, "Ben ain't no likin' for Myry, Ben ain't!" A dull red flush crimsoned Myra Longman's face. She watched
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Tess enviously as the girl tiptoed through the doorway and disappeared. Ben Letts was stretched out on the rope cot, his massive head and thick neck swathed in bandages. Two huge hands, with patches of plaster here and there lay outside the red Indian blanket. The swollen upper lid was tightly pressed over his blind eye, the squint one slowly
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opening at Tessibel's entrance. She looked down upon the bandaged face but for a moment; neither of them spoke. "I see ye comes," Ben broke in at last. "Yep, I's here ... What do ye want?" A drop of salt water oozed from the weak eye; Ben moved his head as if in pain. "Sop up the tear with the
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rag, will ye, Tess?" he grunted. "It air burnin' like hell fire." Tessibel took the soiled cloth in her fingers, and not too lightly did as Ben bade her. "Ye didn't tell Myry how I comed sick, did ye?" asked Ben, settling his head back upon the pillow. Tess gave a negative gesture. "Er no one else?" "Nope!" "Ye be
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a pert girl, Tessibel, and I were a cuss for trying to scare ye--but the brindle bull has got to die." "Nope, he ain't got to die," frowned Tess. "When I gets up he eats what I gives him," assured Ben. "He has to die, I says, I does.... But ye be a pert gal, Tess." Ben moved his head
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to bring the girl within the vision of his one eye. "What be ye wantin' with me?" Tess muttered. "I wants to go home." She saw another tear roll down the plastered cheek, and repeated her operation with the rag. "What do ye want?" she demanded again. "To tell ye thet I air a goin' to make an hones' woman
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of ye. I's a goin' to marry ye. I knows I's a pappy, but the brat'll die, and he'll be forgot like yer daddy will!" Tess instantly froze into a white, tense little form. She did not follow the fisherman's glance as he motioned her to take up the cloth. "I's a tellin' yer mammy to wipe yer old eye,"
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she said pettishly. "I ain't got no notion of bein' an hones' woman ... I hates yer like I hates Ezry Longman." She wheeled to go out, but the man stayed her with a grunt. "I's to be sick for a long time," exclaimed he, "and mammy will step to the grave most any day ... I wants pert fingers
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to put the plasters on my cuts." Here he groaned and fought for the cloth, the salt tears scorching the rents in the skin as they rolled hot from the red eye and soaked into the plasters. The squatter girl mechanically wiped away the tears, turning again. "Myry air pert," she said, halting in the door. "She air more than
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