From the Valley of the Missing | Page 3

ye, little 'un, allers, allers, no matter what
yer pappy does!"
She whispered this under her breath; then, dragging the red shawl about

her shoulders, appeared in the living-room with the child hidden from
view.
"An' I'll tell ye somethin' else, too," burst in Lem, pulling out a corncob
pipe: "that it ain't none of yer business if I steal or if I don't. I was born
a thief, as I told ye many a time, and last night ye made Lon Cronk and
Eli mad as hell by chippin' in."
"They be bad men," broke in the woman, "and ye know--"
"I know ye're a damn blat-heels, and I know more'n that: that yer own
pappy ain't no angel, and ye needn't be a sayin' my friends ain't no right
here--ye see? They be--"
"They be thieves and liars, too," interrupted Scraggy, allowing the
sleeping babe to sink to her knees, "and the prison's allers a yawnin' for
'em!"
"Wall, I ain't a runnin' this boat for fun," drawled Lem, "nor for to draw
lumber for any ole guy in Albany. Ye know that I draw it jest to hide
my trade, and if, after ye leave here, ye open yer head to tell what ye've
seen, ye'll get this--ye see?" He held up the hooked arm menacingly.
"Ye've seen me rip up many a man with it, ain't ye, Scraggy?"
"Yep."
"And I ain't got nothin' ag'in' rippin' up a woman, nuther. So, when ye
go back to yer pa in Ithacy, keep yer mouth shet.... Will ye let up that
there cryin'?"
Suppressing her tears, Scraggy shoved back a little from the table. "I
love ye, Lem," she choked, "and, if ye let me stay, I'll do whatever ye
say. I won't talk nothin' 'bout drink nor stealin'. If I go ye'll get another
woman! I know ye can't live on this here scow without no woman."
"And that ain't none of yer business, nuther--ye hear?" Lem grunted,
settling deep into his chair, with an oath. "I'll get all the women in
Albany, if I want 'em! I don't never want none of yer lovin' any more!"

During this bitter insult a storm-cloud broke overhead, sending sheets
of water into the river. The wind howled above Crabbe's words, and he
brought out the last of his sentence in a higher key. Suddenly the shrill
whistle of a yacht brought the drunken man to his feet.
"It's some 'un alone in trouble," he muttered. But his tones were not so
low as to escape the woman.
"Ye won't do no robbin' tonight, Deary--not tonight, will ye, Lem?
'Cause it's the baby's birthday."
Crabbe flung his squat body about toward the girl. "Shet up about that
brat!" he growled. "I don't care 'bout no birthdays. I'll steal, if the man
has anything and he's alone. I'll kill him like this, if he don't give up.
Do ye want to see how I'd kill him?"
His eyes blazing with fire, he lifted the steel hook, brandished it in the
air, and brought it down close to the thin, drawn face.
Scraggy, uttering a cry, sprang to her feet. "Lemmy, Lemmy, I love ye,
and the brat loves ye, too! He'll grin at ye any ole day when ye cluck at
him. And I teached him to say 'Daddy,' to surprise ye on his birthday.
Will ye list to him--will ye?"
In her eagerness to take his attention from the shrieking yacht, now
close to the scow, Scraggy advanced toward the swaying man. She tried
to lift brave eyes to his face; but they were filled with tears as they met
his drunken, shifting look.
"Lem, Lemmy dear," she pleaded, "we love ye, both the brat an' me!
He can say 'Daddy'--"
"Git out of my way, git out! Some'n' be a callin'. Git out, I say!"
"Not yet, not yet--don't go yet, Deary.... Deary! Wait till the kid says
'Daddy.'" She held out the rosy babe, pushing him almost under Lem's
chin. "Look at him, Lemmy! Ain't--he--sweet? He's yer own pretty
boy-brat, and--"

Her loving plea was cut short; for the man, with a vicious growl, raised
his stumped arm, and the sharp part of the hook scraped the skin from
her hollow cheek. It paused an instant on the level of her chin, then
descended into the upturned chest of the child. With a scream, Scraggy
dragged the boy back, and a wail rose from the tiny lips. Crabbe turned,
cursing audibly, and stumbled up the steps to the stern of the boat. The
woman heard him fall in his drunken stupor, and listened again and
again for him to rise. Her face was white and rigid as she stopped the
flow of blood that drenched the infant's coarse frock. Then, realizing