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Updated: May 16, 2025
The crouching figure of the scowman became more distinct as he sneaked over the top step and edged toward her. A sudden morbid desire came over the girl to throw herself into the water. She rose unsteadily to her feet, with Snatchet still clutched in her arms. She threw one appealing glance at the tug then, before she could cry out or move, Lem was at her side.
"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "d'ye know, I suspicted ye might." "In th' ol' times whin I was a yachtsman " began Mr. Dooley. "Scowman," said Mr. Hennessy. "Yachtsman," said Mr. Dooley. "Whin I was a yachtsman, all a man needed to race was a flat-bottomed boat, an umbrella, an' a long dhrink.
But I'll come back to the scow, and go with you and Lem, if you let Fluke stay with Mr. Shellington. If you take him, you don't get me." "How ye goin' to help yerself?" Lon questioned, with a belittling sneer. "When I get hold of ye," put in Lem, "ye'll want to stay." The squatter again motioned the scowman to silence.
"It's Flea, it's Flea Cronk!" he gasped. The girl advanced into the room. "What do you want here, Pappy Lon? Did you come to steal?" She saw Lem grimacing at her through the rays of the lantern. The scowman looked so evil, so awful, as he grinningly raised his steel hook, that her faith very nearly fled. Crabbe's heavy face was working with violent emotion.
After a few minutes' thought he said: "Ye can sleep in that back room where ye put the dorg, Flea, and if there's a key in the lock ye can turn it. You come up to the deck with me, Lem." With a dark scowl, the scowman followed the squatter upstairs. He had reckoned that the hour to take Flea was near; but Lon's heavy hand held him back.
And now the last of the great rapids had been run the rapid of the Slave and the scows were almost loaded. Vermilion, the boss scowman, stood upon the running-board of the leading scow and directed the stowing of the freight. He was a picturesque figure Vermilion. A squat, thick half-breed, with eyes set wide apart beneath a low forehead bound tightly around with a handkerchief of flaming silk.
Feature after feature of the scowman came vividly to her, the wind-reddened skin, the foul, tobacco-browned lips, the twitching goiter, all added to the nervous chill that had suddenly come upon the girl. Lem and Lon represented all the world's evil to her, and Everett Brimbecomb all the world's influence. The three had thrust their triple strength between her and happiness.
A smile, sweet and winning, curved his lips. Then he lapsed into unconsciousness again. "Oh, I want him to speak to me, Horace," moaned Ann, "only a little word!" "Wait, Dear," said Horace. "We're doing all we can.... I believe that man over there is dead." He made a motion as if to lean over the scowman; but Scraggy pushed him back. "No, my Lemmy ain't dead," she wailed, "course he ain't dead!"
Snatchet did not cease growling, and the baring of his teeth sent Lem back a step or two. "If he bites me, Flea, I'll knock his brains clean plumb out of him!" With this threat, the scowman came to her again, stretching out his left hand to touch her. Snatchet sent out a bark that was half-yelp and half-growl, and before the man could withdraw his fingers the dog had buried his teeth deep in them.
A man was lifting a woman in his arms, and the downward fall of her head gave evidence of her unconsciousness. As the front door opened, the squatter and the scowman retreated to their quarters. When Everett Brimbecomb threw the body of Screech Owl into the cemetery, both were peering out. They saw the man carry the figure off into the shadows, marking that he returned alone.
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