Tess, desiring to avoid contact with him, stopped a few paces away.
"Daddy ain't so well these days, Sandy," she answered. "His heart hurts 'im."
"Ain't that too bad?" the man sympathized. "But, then, brat, yer daddy ain't so young as he were once. Reckon he air not long fer this world. When yer Daddy croaks, what'll you do, Tess? Ye'll need a home. Ye ought to be gettin' a man."
The squatter'd stepped forward directly in front of her while he was urging his suit.
"My daddy ain't old an' he ain't goin' to die, uther," flared Tess, an angry light in her brown eyes. Oh, how she loathed and hated this fellow who blocked her way! "You shan't say such things about my daddy! I don't want any man but 'im." Noting his unshaven cheeks, loose hanging lips, the lips and his large irregular teeth discolored with tobacco, the girl drew back with a gesture of instinctive repulsion. "I wouldn't take you anyway."
Instead of answering her, the squatter placed his great hands upon her shoulders, and holding her thus at arm's length, looked down at her. Her straight young figure, glowing face, and flaming eyes under the ruddy aureole of her hair made a picture of grace, beauty and passion that would have fascinated a more fastidious observer than Sandy Letts.
"God, girl, but ye air a beauty!" he cried, enraptured.
Tessibel's struggles to get away from the grip of the heavy hands aroused the evil passions of the man's nature into insistent activity.
"Here, brat, give yer man a kiss," he commanded, and at the words, his hands slipped from her shoulders, and his strong arms began to close around her body. His face was so close she had to force her hand in between his lips and hers. Then she made a desperate struggle. Rearing the red head backward, she succeeded only in freeing herself partially.
"You let me go, you Sandy!" she cried out sharply. "I'll tell my Daddy on you. Let me go!"