Lon sat back in his chair and laughed loudly. "Ye'll play with her till ye make her desprite," snarled Lem, "and when she be gone ye can holler the lungs out of ye, and she won't come back. If ye'd left her to me, I'd a drubbed her till she wouldn't think of Tarrytown. I says as how she comes to this scow tonight. Ye can't dicker with me like ye can with that kid, Lon!" Cronk narrowed his eyelids to slits and contemplated the scowman. "I want to have a little fun with her afore ye git her," he said. "I love to see her damn face go white and red, and her teeth shut tight like a rat-trap. She won't do none of them things when you git done with her, Lem." Crabbe rubbed the length of his short arm with a coarse towel. "Yep, I can make her forgit that she's got blood what'll come in her face," chuckled he. "'Tain't no fun ownin' women, if ye can't make 'em holler once in awhile. But ye didn't say as how she were a comin' here tonight." "Nope, not tonight," answered Lon; "'cause when I showed her that it didn't make no difference 'bout her stayin' whether she were mine or not, she just tumbled down like a hit ox. My! but it were a fine sight!" Lem lifted the steel hook in deep reflection and caught the clasps together. "I'm a wonderin', Lon," he said presently, "if I'm to ever git her." "Yep, tomorry," assured Lon. "Honest Injun?" demanded Lem. "Honest Injun," replied Lon. "If ye takes her tonight, she'll only cut up like the devil. That's the worst of them damn women, they be too techy when they come of stock like her." "I like 'em when they're techy--it ain't so easy to make 'em do what a man wants 'em to as 'tis t'other kind--say like Scraggy. I love a gal what'll spit in yer face. God! what a lickin' Flea'll git, if she tries any of them fine notions of her'n on me! For every kiss Shellington gived her, I'll draw blood outen her hide!" Lem paused in his work, and then added in a stammering undertone, "But I love the huzzy!" The other bent far forward to catch the scowman's words, delighting in the mental picture of Fledra's lithe body writhing under the lash. The proud spirit of the girl would break under the physical pain! * * * * * Fledra was still lying on the bed when Lon returned to the hut. "Git up and git supper!" Cronk growled in her ear. Mechanically she rose, sliced a few cold potatoes into the skillet, and arranged the table for one person. "Put down two plates!" roared the squatter. "I can't eat, Lon," Flea said in a whisper. He noticed that she had dropped the paternal prefix. "Put down another plate, I say!" he shouted. "Ye be goin' to Lem's tomorry, and ye'll go tonight if ye put on any airs with me! See?" Fledra placed a plate for herself, and sat down opposite Lon. Choking, she crushed the food into her mouth and swallowed it with effort. For even one night's respite she would suffer anything! * * * * *