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Updated: May 2, 2025
"Let the kid go, Bill," laughed Hank, who until now had kept silent. "We were all thinkin' 'twere Lem's silver. I'll tell un 'twere not the silver but somethin' else that you takes from the Captain that you were hidin' in the cache," said Jamie hopefully. "You goin' to tell that! You heard what we said, and you goin' to blab it?" the man roared in a rage.
The cat, scrambling to the floor inside, was Lem's answer. He knocked again. "Scraggy! Scraggy!" he called. "It be Lemmy! Open the door!" Through her deep sleep came the voice Screech Owl had loved, and still loved. She sat up in bed, trembling violently, pushing back with a pathetic gesture the gray hair from her eyes. She had been dreaming of Lem dreaming that she had heard his voice.
We had not needed the information, delivered from the pulpit that evening, that Lem's was a case of special judgment we knew that, already. There was a ferocious thunder-storm, that night, and it raged continuously until near dawn.
Andy and Jamie ran down with David. No trace of the boat was to be found. In the earth above the shore were plainly to be seen the tracks of two men wearing hobnailed boots. "They's fresh tracks," declared David. "Made this marnin'," Andy agreed. "They's the same kind of tracks as the ones I see under Lem's window. Whoever 'twere made these tracks shot Lem and took his silver."
Lem Wacker flushed and winced, for the pointed question struck home. "I don't want no mistering!" he growled. "Lem's good enough for me. And I don't take no call-down from any stuck-up kid, I want you to understand that." "You'd better get to the crossing if you're making any pretense of real work," suggested Bart just then.
Lem's information with scarcely a smile at its manner. "I tell you, though, money won't buy everything," went on the housekeeper, scalding a fresh panful of china. "Here's a fresh wiper, Miss Sylvy. Mr. Derwent's ben entirely incapacitated for business or pleasure for years. What good's his money to him?
The shock of the girl's appearance had awed them both. They were nearing the toolhouse before Scraggy came into Lem's mind. The whole situation was changed, now that Flea was coming to him. It was the same to him whether she wanted to come or not; nor did it matter that he had promised Screech Owl that she should be in the scow.
But he let them go, almost as soon as he had the girls, and as Molly exclaimed when they had retreated to Captain Lem's room: "I never felt I was such a litty-bitty-no-account creature in all my life! I wouldn't be an Indian squaw for anything! But wasn't he just grand and hideous?" Then Captain signalled to them that they would better return to the house.
What became of the bullet she never knew, but she firmly declined any further lessons in the fine art of sharpshooting. "Look at Lem's face!" whispered Herbert to Molly who giggled and returned: "Wait till it comes my turn, I'll show him something!"
"Were ye meanin' to drown yer self?" The girl shook her head, and glanced fearfully at Lem. "Were ye a worryin' her, Lem Crabbe?" demanded the squatter hoarsely. "I were a tryin' to kiss her," growled Lem. "A man can kiss his own woman, can't he? And that dog bit me. Look at them fingers!" Through the dim candlelight Lem's sullenness answered the dark look that Lon threw on him.
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