From the Valley of the Missing | Page 4

the danger both she and the child were in, since in all likelihood Lem
would sleep but a few minutes, she slid open the window and looked
out upon the dark river in search of help. Splashes of rain pelted her
face, while a gust of wind caused the scow to creak dismally. Scraggy
could see no human being, only the lights of Albany blinking dimly
through the raging storm. Another shrieking whistle warned her that the
yacht was still near. Sailors' voices shouted orders, followed by the
chug, chug, chug of an engine reversed.
But, in spite of the efforts of the engineer, the wind swung the small
craft sidewise against the scow, and, stupefied, Scraggy found herself
gazing into the face of another woman who was peering from the
launch's window. It was a small, beautiful face shrouded with golden
hair, the large blue eyes widened with terror. For a brief instant the two
women eyed each other. Just then the drunken man above rose and
called Scraggy's name with an oath. She heard him stumbling about,
trying to find the stairs, muttering invectives against herself and her
child.
Scraggy looked down upon the little boy's face, twisted with pain. She
placed her fingers under his chin, closed the tiny jaws, and wrapped the
shawl about the dark head. Without a moment's indecision, she thrust
him through the window-space and said:
"Be ye a good woman, lady, a good woman?"
The owner of the golden head drew back as if afraid.
"Ye wouldn't hurt a little 'un--a sick brat? He--he's been hooked. And

it's his birthday. Take him, 'cause he'll die if ye don't!"
Moved to a sense of pity, the light-haired woman extended two slender
white hands to receive the human bundle, struggling in pain under the
muffling shawl.
"He's a dyin'!" gasped Scraggy. "His pappy's a hatin' him! Give him
warm milk--"
Again the yacht's whistle shrieked hoarsely, drowning her last words.
As the stern of the little boat swung round, Scraggy read, stamped in
black letters upon it:
HAROLD BRIMBECOMB, TARRYTOWN-ON-THE-HUDSON,
NEW YORK.
The yacht shot away up the river, and was lost to the dull eyes that
continued peering for a last glimpse of the phantom-like boat that had
snatched her dying treasure from her. Then, at last, the stricken woman
turned, alone, to meet Lem Crabbe.
"Where's that brat?" he demanded in a thick voice.
"I throwed him in the river," declared the mother. "He were dead. Yer
hook killed him, Lem. He's gone!"
"I'll kill his mammy, too!" muttered Crabbe. "Git ye here--here--down
here--on the floor!"
His throat worked painfully as he threw the threatening words at her;
they mingled harshly with the snarling of the wind and the sonorous
rumble of the river. So great was Scraggy's fright that she sped round
the wooden table to escape the frenzied man. Taking the steps in two
bounds, she sprang to the deck like a cat, thence to the bank, and sped
away into the rain, with Lem's cries and curses ringing in her ears.
CHAPTER TWO

Five years later the Monarch was drawn up to the east bank of the Erie
Canal at Syracuse. It was past midnight, and with the exception of
those on Lem Crabbe's scow the occupants of all the long line of boats
were sleeping. Three men sat silently working in the living-room of the
boat. Lem Crabbe, Silent Lon Cronk, and his brother Eli, Cayuga Lake
squatters, were the workers. At one end of the room hung a broken iron
kettle. Into this Eli Cronk was dropping bits of gold which he cut from
baubles taken from a basket. Crabbe, his short legs drawn up under his
body, held a pair of pliers in his left hand, while caught firmly in the
hook was a child's tiny pin. From this he tore the small jewels, threw
them into a tin cup, and passed the setting on to Eli. The other man,
taciturn and fierce, was flattening out by means of strong pressers
several gold rings and bracelets. The three had worked for many hours
with scarcely a word spoken, with scarcely a recognition of one
another.
Of a sudden Eli Cronk raised his head and said, "Lem, Scraggy was to
Mammy's t'other day."
"I didn't know ye'd been to Ithacy?" Lem made the statement a
question.
"Yep, I went to see Mammy, and she says as how Scraggy's pappy
were dead, and as how the gal's teched in here." His words were low,
and he raised his forefinger to his head significantly.
"She ain't allers a stayin' in the squatter country nuther," he pursued.
"She takes that damn ugly cat of her'n and scoots away for a time. And
none of 'em up there don't know where she goes.