Bye and bye, he got down from the fence, muttering and grumbling to himself. Cautiously, in spite of his inflamed temper, he worked his way through the trees. There was no sign of life about the house, but large hammocks swung in the breeze on the porch. The squatter walked around and around, keeping far enough away so his movements could not be noticed. He stopped under a large tree to look up at the windows Waldstricker had described.
Attracted by a sound to his right, he wheeled about and saw Tessibel coming down the hill. His breath came sharply through his dark teeth. Never had the girl been so desirable, and for the instant, he felt possessed to rush upon her, to take her in his arms, to hold her close. Then, Waldstricker came into his mind. Before he worked his will on the squatter girl, he must find out the name of the unknown man. He had to please the elder to get the rest of the money. But to speak to her would be all right. He might discover something. He walked stealthily through the trees and placed himself so that when the girl turned toward the house, she would meet him face to face.
Tess was humming happily. When her eyes rested upon Lysander Letts, she stopped.
"Hello, brat!" grinned Sandy.
The girl didn't answer. His prison pallor fascinated her. It contrasted so sharply with the wind-tanned brown of the swarthy skin she remembered. All the accumulated horror of him, which had been forgotten while he was safely restrained at Auburn, swept over her.
"I said hello!" sniggered the other, once more. "Ain't ye glad to see me?"
Ignoring his question, the frightened girl assumed a haughtiness quite unusual, and in her turn questioned coldly, "What do you want?"
"What do I want?" mocked Letts, not a whit disturbed by her manner. "I want you!"
Tessibel stepped to one side, but the squatter put himself in front of her, again.
"Now none of yer foolin'," he growled, and he added to his remarks a collection of sulphurous epithets.
"Sandy," commanded the young woman, still in her grand manner, "step out of my way! Right now! Do you hear?"
Unmoved, her drunken tormentor flung up his arms, hands open in assumed disgust.
"Well, hark to the way the squatter girl's talkin', will ye?" he sneered. "I'll take that outten ye, kid, afore I've had ye long. Where air yer brat?"
The brown eyes, responsive to his suggestion, glanced toward the house. There was Boy coming slowly up the little path toward her. He dearly enjoyed the rare occasions when visitors came, and his face lighted up when he saw the man talking to his mother.