“I said as how I’d settle with ye, Flea,” he said, “and now I’m goin’ to.”

But Lon glared so fiercely that Crabbe closed his mouth and retreated.

“It ain’t time fer ye to settle yet, Lem, I’m a thinkin’,” said Lon.  “Ye keep shet up, or I’ll settle with ye afore ye has a chance to fix Flea.”  Turning to the girl, he questioned her.  “Did ye tell anyone ye was goin’ with me?” Fledra nodded her head.  “Did ye tell Flukey?”

“Yes, and Mr. Shellington.  But I told them both that I came of my own free will.  But you know I came because I wanted Mr. Shellington to live and Flukey to stay where he is.  But I ain’t going to be alone in this room with Lem tonight—­I tell you that!”

Lon sat down and smoked moodily on his pipe.  After a few minutes’ thought he said: 

“Ye can sleep in that back room where ye put the dorg, Flea, and if there’s a key in the lock ye can turn it.  You come up to the deck with me, Lem.”

With a dark scowl, the scowman followed the squatter upstairs.  He had reckoned that the hour to take Flea was near; but Lon’s heavy hand held him back.  When they were standing side by side in the darkness of the barge-deck, Cronk spoke.

“Lem,” he said, “I told ye before that Flea ain’t like Flukey.  She’d just as soon throw herself into that water as she’d look at ye.  She ain’t afraid of nothin’ but you, and ye’ve got to keep yer hands offen her till I git her foul, do ye hear?”

“Ye ain’t keepin’ me away just fer the sake of that high-toned Brimbecomb pup, be ye, Lon?”

“Nope.  I’d rather you’d have her, Lem, ’cause ye’ll beat her and make her wish a hundred times a day that she’d drowned herself.  I say, if ye let me fix this thing, ye’ll come out on the top of the heap.  If ye don’t, she’ll raise a fuss, and, if that damned governor gets wind of it, he might catch on that the kid be his.  He’d run us both down afore ye could say jackrabbit.  Ye let Flea alone till I say ye can have her.”

“If yer dealin’ fair—­”

The squatter interrupted his companion with an angry growl.

“Have I ever cheated ye out of any money?”

“Nope,” answered Lem.

“Then I won’t cheat ye out of no girl; fer I love a five-cent piece better’n Flea any time.  Now, shet up, and we’ll go down to sleep!”

* * * * *

Fledra fled into the back room, and, closing the door quickly, slipped the bolt.  She glanced about the cabin, which through the candlelight looked dirty and miserably mean.  But it was a haven of escape from Lem, and she welcomed it.  A large can of tobacco was on a wooden box.  Fledra knew this belonged to the canalman and that he would come after it.  She picked it up, and, opening the door, shoved it far into the other room.  She could bear Lon’s muttering voice on the deck above, and the swish of the water as the tug pulled the scow along.  Once more she carefully locked the cabin door, and then, with a sob, dropped to her knees, burying her face in the coarse blanket that covered the bunk.  Long and wildly she wept, her sobs frequently stopping the utterance of an attempted prayer.  Finally her exhaustion overcame her, and she fell into a troubled sleep.