The squatter saw her first; but in the semidarkness did not recognize her. He lifted his arm, and a flash of steel sent her trembling backward.
"Don't open yer mug, Kid, or I'll shoot yer head off!"
Then he recognized her, and stepped back to Lem's side.
"It's Flea, it's Flea Cronk!" he gasped.
The girl advanced into the room.
"What do you want here, Pappy Lon? Did you come to steal?"
She saw Lem grimacing at her through the rays of the lantern. The scowman looked so evil, so awful, as he grinningly raised his steel hook, that her faith very nearly fled. Crabbe's heavy face was working with violent emotion. His full neck moved with horrid convulsions, while a discord of low noises came from his throat. The girl, clad in her white nightgown, under which he could trace the slender body, filled him again with passionate longing.
"By God! it's little Flea!" he exclaimed at last.
"Yep," threw back Lon. "We found somethin' we didn't expect—eh, Lem?"
"Did you come to steal?" Fledra demanded again, this time looking at the canalman.