ion to which she had been brought a happy bride.

CHAPTER XLIX

TESSIBEL AND ELSIE

Gloom lay over the Silent City. Bitter hatred burned in the simple heart
of every squatter. Waldstricker's open enmity had expressed itself in a
series of injuries, calculated to enrage them. The shanty folk resented
his cruelty to Mother Moll. The destruction of her shack promised a
similar fate to their homes. When the story of Waldstricker's attack
upon Boy Skinner spread among them, fierce threats were muttered at the
fishing holes and by the firesides. The wintry winds of the Storm
Country, shrieking over the desolate masses of ice and snow, were not
more fierce and cruel than the squatters' demand for vengeance. The
daily bulletins of the little one's illness kept the interest alive and
added to the growing excitement and indignation.

Day after day, the doctor had come to the Young home, each time shaking
his head more gravely. To Deforrest, the helpless witness of the
unfolding tragedy, the days and nights were but a continuing torture.
Andy Bishop stole about the house like a small white ghost, waiting upon
Tessibel and Mother Moll. One morning, a few days before Christmas, the
doctor told Deforrest Young he considered Boy beyond earthly help. And
now it devolved upon the lawyer to tell Tessibel she must lose her baby.

He went softly to the sick room. Whiter than the pillow upon which his
cheek rested, Boy lay relaxed, breathing rapidly. Tess stood at the foot
of the bed, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. Anxious eyes
turned to greet Young. At the bedside the man stopped a moment and
looked down upon the little figure. Shocked by the imminent signs of
approaching dissolution, he went over and placed an arm around the girl.

"He's awful sick," Tess whispered. "What'd the doctor say?"

"I'm afraid, Tess--I'm afraid," he answered, unable to frame the medical
man's decision.

Dawning comprehension and dismay struggled in the young mother's eyes,
for the agonized tones of the well-loved voice and the tender solicitude
of the supporting arms had put into Young's halting words the dread
import of his message.

"You mean--you mean--?" she questioned.

"Tess, darling; my pretty child," Young murmured helplessly.

The red head dropped upon his chest and for a moment Tess clung to him
as though to find protection from the menacing horror. Then she freed
herself, dropped on her knees by the bedside, and rested