"Can you tell me," his agitation did not allow him to speak calmly,—"can you tell me, please, where Lon Cronk lives?"
Although his question was low and broken, Scraggy caught each word.
"Down to the edge of the lake, Mister," she replied. "It's a goin' to be a dark night to be out in, ain't it?"
In his relief, Brimbecomb drew a long breath. She had not recognized him! The dim light of the candle showed him that the same dazed expression still remained in her faded eyes. The smirk on her face, the crouch of her emaciated figure, about which the rags swirled in the wind, the dismal hut, and the loneliness of her surroundings, made such a picture of woe that Everett shuddered and hastened to get the information, that he might hurry away from the awful place.
"Is there a scow down there that belongs to—"
"That there scow belongs to Lem Crabbe," broke in Scraggy. "Yep, it comed in this mornin'. Lem be a good man, a fine man, the bestest man ye ever see."
Brimbecomb took some money from his pocket and, placing it in her fingers, hurried away.
Fledra heard Everett when he came to Lon's shanty door and knocked. She heard the squatter call him by name. She knew now that the only hope for Ann's love for Brimbecomb was that Lem would keep his word and insist upon Lon's holding faith with him.
Cronk ordered her roughly to come to him. When she appeared, the two men looked at her keenly. As she evinced no surprise at his presence, the lawyer knew that she had been told of his coming. He made an attempt to take her hand; but, as once before, Fledra flung her arms behind her.