Lysander Letts left Waldstricker's office highly pleased. He was going to see Tess, and he had twenty-five dollars in his pocket. In the long hours of silent meditation in prison, he'd tried to outline that meeting, and to figure out how he could work Waldstricker. His errand provided for both contingencies.

He swaggered along the street, bumped into people roughly, and for his rudeness gave them oaths instead of apologies. At an inlet saloon, he displayed his money ostentatiously, and bought many drinks for himself and the "setters." The squatter's capacity for the Rhine whiskey had been impaired by his imprisonment, and it was not long before he began to feel the effects of his liquor. A full pint in his hip pocket, Sandy, finally, broke away from his companions and started up the railroad tracks for the Silent City. Staggering a little, he meditated with drunken seriousness what he had done and was going to do.

Famished by his detention in prison, he hungered for the sight of Tess. All the fierce passion of his undisciplined nature clamored for her. And when he had her, he'd carry out all the brutalities conceived in the long nights in his cell. He'd find out the father of her boy. If that duffer, Waldstricker, could discover it, he could. He'd make Tess tell. He'd show Young, too. He'd get even with the lawyer for helping send him to Auburn. His grievance grew more active every step he carried his load of liquor through the broiling sun, the long four miles from Ithaca.

"Wait till I get 'em," he muttered over and over, "I'll show 'em what's what."

Before he reached the lane leading past Young's place to the Skinner shack, he left the tracks and climbed the fence. Throwing his legs over the top, he sat down to enjoy the breeze which blew from the green lake, and, vibrating the leaves and bowing the shrubs and grasses, swept up and over the hill into the illimitable space beyond. Sandy wanted another drink, and reached back to his hip for it. The bottle stuck in the pocket and he jerked at it savagely. He pulled it out, but he, also, lost his balance, and in his efforts to save himself from falling, smashed the bottle on the top rail of the fence. The whiskey ran down to the ground and the thirsty moss drank it up.

Letts gazed at the jagged-edged glass in his hand, stupefied by the magnitude of his calamity. Then he drew a long breath and cursed his luck. He cursed the bottle, the fence, the whiskey, Waldstricker, who'd sent him, and Tess and the unknown man, on whose account he'd been sent. His maledictions included everything except his own drunken clumsiness.

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.

"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.

His small boyish face was still at the pane, when Lysander looked up. Andy saw the upturned glance and flung himself back out of sight. Had Letts seen him? Impelled to look out again, he drew a long breath of relief. Tess and the child were slowly coming, hand in hand, toward the house, and the man they feared was making his way through the orchard.

"I saw Sandy," was the dwarf's greeting. "What was he a botherin' you about, honey?"

"I thought he was going to kill Boy. But suddenly he said good-bye and went away. Were you at the window, Andy?"

"For just a minute, kid. I don't think he saw me. I heard Boy cry, an' that's why I went."

A frightened feeling took possession of the girl.

"I hope he didn't see you. Did he, Andy?"

"Sure not. I was watching him all the time. I dodged back before he looked up."

Tess considered the little man a minute.

"If you saw him look up," she argued, "maybe he saw you looking down. Oh, I hope he didn't, but I'm afraid he did," and she sighed.

Sandy Letts had recognized the dwarf. The shock of the discovery sobered him. He couldn't bother with Tess and her brat any longer. He had business in Ithaca! Waldstricker's five thousand dollars, so long sought and so eagerly desired, summoned him. All the way to town, he built castles in Spain with the money. Through every dream, like a thread of hate, ran the purpose to get Tess, and when he had the girl, to torture her through her child.

When he arrived at Waldstricker's office, he found the elder absent. An evil leer on his face, he swaggered up and down the street, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

He had made the great discovery of his life. He had lined his pockets with gold, and more than that, he had made a lifelong friend of one of the powerful men in Ithaca.

He saw Waldstricker when he turned the corner from State and made his way down Tioga. The squatter turned into the large building, slunk in an alcove, and waited. He heard the heavy tread of the elder on the stairs, heard him pass and go higher up. A few minutes later, he followed.

When he opened the door, Waldstricker greeted him.

"Back again?"

"Yep," chuckled Letts.

"With news, I hope," stated the other.

"Sure," replied Sandy.

"Then tell me," answered Waldstricker, peremptorily. "I'm busy today."

"Did ye ever hear anything of Bishop?" asked the squatter.

"No, I never did."

"Want to?"

"Yes."

"Air that reward up, yet?"

"Certainly. But why all this talk? If you know anything speak out!"

Sandy walked very near the rich man, lowered his voice, and said,

"I found 'im, mister."

Ebenezer's nose was offended by the rank odor of liquor Sandy exuded.

"You're not telling me the truth," he asserted. "You've been drinking. You're drunk now."

"Yep, I air drunk some, but I air tellin' ye what's so," insisted Letts. "Andy Bishop air the man ye saw t'other day."

"In my brother-in-law's house!" gasped Waldstricker, beginning to comprehend all that Sandy's discovery meant.

"Yep, that air it," replied Sandy.

"My God, oh, I thank thee!" ejaculated the elder, falling into his chair.

"How long he air been there, I don't know," continued Sandy.

"And that doesn't matter.... Now, then, to get him back to Auburn. I want it fixed to hustle him there quick, so Young can't put a stay on the proceedings."

Breathing hard, he took out his watch.

"It's half past four. Do those people have the least idea you saw Bishop?"

"Nope, but I saw 'im all right," said Letts, an expression of satisfied malice animating his ugly white face. "Maybe we can't make it hot for that dum lawyer who air got my girl, now."

Towering over Waldstricker's desire to lock up his father's murderer, was the wish to get even with Deforrest Young and Tessibel Skinner. If they'd had the dwarf all this time, they were all in his power. Now, he would wring their hearts! He'd show them no mercy.

"We'll even up some old scores, eh, Sandy?" he agreed.... "You get sober and be here tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, sober—cold sober, understand?"

"Sure, Mr. Waldstricker, sure, I get ye. I ain't tight now, not real soused."

Moving to the door, he stopped. "But I air not goin' to swig any more booze till we gets Andy Bishop an' I finger that reward."

More intoxicated by his dreams of affluence than by the liquor he'd had, the pale-faced graduate of Auburn swung out of the room and clattered down the stairs.

After Waldstricker'd written and despatched a letter and a telegram, he closed the office and went home.

Helen met him smilingly.

"Elsie's asleep," she announced, taking his hat.

He snatched it from her slender fingers, and his wife moved back. She looked more closely into his face and the exaltation shining in his eyes frightened her.

She followed him into the drawing room and closed the door. Patiently, she waited until her husband had thrown himself into a chair and was looking at her.

"What is it, dear?" she murmured.

"I have your brother just where I want him," fell from his lips.

"Now, what's Deforrest done to displease you?"

"I've found Andy Bishop in his house!"

The woman couldn't believe her ears. It could not be! She mustn't take him seriously.

"Oh, how perfectly ridiculous!" she said, relieved.

"It's true enough," replied Ebenezer, getting up. "There's no doubt about it, and the prison yawns for him and for that Skinner girl, too.... No! no!... You needn't beg for 'em. I won't hear it!... They've done enough to me.... Now, it's my turn!"

"Ebenezer," gasped Helen, "don't do anything you'll be sorry for. If Forrie has had the dwarf there, let him tell you why. If you put him in prison for it, I couldn't—I couldn't live with you!... Can't you understand that?"

"As you please, madam. I shall do my duty, even if the criminal is your brother."

"But you couldn't get along without Elsie and me."

She was very near him now, having taken little steps while she was speaking.

"Without Elsie!" he mocked. "I don't have to live without Elsie. You can do as you please, but my daughter stays with me, and your brother, my dear, and the woman he's living with—go to jail."