"What do ye want?" demanded Tess.
Sandy growled inarticulately, gave a kick to the floor, and rattled the latch.
"I want to come in, I said. I air goin' to talk to ye!"
Tessibel thought of Ben Letts and of how he, too, had demanded entrance to her home in just such a manner as his cousin was doing now. She glanced about for something with which to protect herself if needed. She wished with all her soul the brindle bull were with her then in the shanty.
Sandy gave another rough pull at the latch-string.
"Open the door, Tess," he growled again, "or I'll bust it down."
Tess knew Sandy would carry out his threat, and, if he broke down the door, his temper would be worse than now. She muttered a prayer to quiet the terror in her heart, and slipped up the bar. Sandy, gun in hand, stepped into the kitchen, and Tess closed the door.
"What do ye want, Sandy?" she questioned.
"I want to talk to ye, what do ye 'spose I want?" he flung out, swaggering his shoulders.
"Well, sit down," invited Tess, seeking to propitiate. "Ye knowed Daddy was dead, didn't ye, Sandy?"