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. "Boy, run back home," she called. Sandy made a dash down the hill toward the child, shouting curses and commands to him. "Wait, kid! Don't ye move! I want ye." The young mother instantly flew after him. Her swift feet took her on and on, up to and past the squatter whose speed was impaired by his years of confinement and the whiskey he'd swallowed. Then, she flung herself in front of the child and held out her arms. "Stop, Sandy! Wait!" she panted. "I'll talk to you. Let the baby go home." The race which had flushed the girl's cheeks and deepened her breathing, left the fat squatter wind-broken and exhausted. "Let 'im go, then," gasped Sandy. "Go back, Boy dear," urged Tess. Boy didn't move. He seemed mesmerized by the strangely white face of the drunken man. "Mummy, come home, too," he hesitated. "Yer mummy can't. Git out, ye beggar, afore I kick ye!" threatened Sandy. His breathing was easier but the discomfort he felt aggravated his ugly mood. He reached forth one of his great arms and, seizing the child by the shoulder, threw him roughly to the ground. The little one, more frightened than hurt, cried loudly. His shrill shriek of terror reached the ears of the dwarf. Alarmed, Andy sprang to the window and looked out. The scene on the lawn below petrified him. Tess was picking up the child, and standing over her, fists doubled menacingly, was--Lysander Letts. Andy thought the enraged squatter was going to kill her and Boy. Wholly forgetful of his own danger, he continued to watch.