Tessibel's low voice stopped his impudent speech.
"I couldn't tell ye that, Sandy, not even if ye killed me," she murmured. "What was t'uther thing?"
"I air goin' to take ye away with me fer my woman. But ye needn't think I air goin' to marry ye decent like I would in the church t'uther day, fer I won't."
Tessibel, weary and aching, grew cold with fear. She knew the squatter would keep his word, if he could. He would abuse her as Ben had tried to when her father was in Auburn unless help came. Then remembering all the days she had lived and suffered and still'd been saved from Sandy and his like, she breathed a deep sigh.
"I couldn't go with ye, Sandy," she explained.
A cruel expression set Sandy's large, sensuous mouth.
"Ye'll be glad to go with me when I git done with ye." He placed his gun against the chair and stood up. "First, I want to know what made ye act like that in the church fer. Don't ye know me well 'nough to think I'd get ye sooner or later. Ye knowed yer Daddy couldn't always live in the shack. Ye might better took me while ye could. I would jest have beat ye a bit fer yer cussedness, then mebbe after a while I'd fergive ye. But now—"
Tessibel's struggling to her feet broke off the man's volubility. She was so frightened that almost without thought she circled toward the door. Sandy got up and placed himself directly in front of her.
"No, ye don't git out o' here," he sneered, "not till I git through with ye. Jest make up yer mind to that."
Sandy was moving toward her, his eyes gleaming with rage. What could she do? She threw a hasty glance about the shanty. She knew Andy was under the straw tick in the garret and could not hear the low conversation going on in the kitchen.