From the Valley of the Missing | Page 3

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 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