Lon's brown face yellowed. Had they discovered the secret that he had kept all the dark, revengeful years?
Horace's next words banished that fear: "I shall have to have you identified by one of them before I should even, consider your statement."
Cronk smiled in relief; and Ann shuddered, as she thought of Flukey's frail body in the man's thick, twisting fingers.
"That be easy enough to do. Jest call the gal—or the boy."
"The boy is too ill to get up," said Ann huskily; "and I beg of you to go away and leave them with us. You don't care for them—you know you don't."
"Who said as how I don't care for my own brats?"
"The little girl told me the night she came here that you hated her, and also that you abused them."
"I'll fix her for that!" muttered Lon.
"I don't believe you'll touch her while she is with me," said Horace hotly. "I shall send for the girl, and, if you are their father, then—"
"They can't go!" cried Ann.