baby," mourned Elsie.

Tessibel shoved the squatter aside.

"Don't touch 'er yet," she said in low, distinct tones.

Jake took something from his pockets and thrust it into the girl's
hands. It was a small, wiry, riding whip.

"It air the one her pa used on Boy," he muttered. "I stole it from 'is
stable."

Tessibel uttered a cry and dropped the whip. The terrible scene in the
lane, invoked by the speaker's words and the sight of the whip, poured
into her mind a new flood of hate.

Yes! Elsie should be treated as her father had treated Boy! She stooped
and picked up the whip. The men leaned forward, watching intently. Their
heavy breathing and Ma Brewer's sobs mingled with the ticking of the
clock and the storm's racket against the hut sides.

She studied the whip and tested its hissing pliability. That tip had
stung Boy beyond endurance. The length of it had put him in his grave.
Waldstricker's hands had tortured her son. She would make his daughter
pay the reckoning. She drew a deep breath and raised her arm.

Elsie had crept unnoticed to her side, and as Tess glanced down, the
child touched her hand with little fingers, marble-cold. The girl drew
away from the suppliant touch, then, lowered the whip and stood
considering the baby face.

"I hate you worse'n anyone in the whole world," she spat out.

"Then, lick 'er," growled Longman, and the other squatters muttered
their approval.

Elsie dropped her head against Tessibel, and clung to her skirt.

"I want my--mover," she burst out, crying.

"Get even with Waldstricker, brat," said another voice.

Tess raised her arm and glancing along the uplifted whip, again, she
looked into Boy's eyes, and, as she gazed, the little face in the
rafters receded, grew dimmer.

She dropped the whip, and unmindful of the squatters, lifted her hands.

"Mummy's baby boy!" she called. The happy eyes faded last from her sight
and it seemed to her they summoned her thence. A moment more, she stood
shivering, staring into the shadows, and, then, she turned upon the
dark-browed men.

"You said I could do anything I wanted to with 'er, eh?"

"Yep," Brewer assented. "Beat 'er, kill 'er, the more the better for
us-uns."

"Then give me a blanket to wrap her in. I'll take her home
where--where--Boy--died."

Brewer's lips fell apart and he laughed evilly.

"Good idee, brat," he said. "Ye can make it a thousand times worser for
the kid if ye do.... Get a blanket, Ma."

Car