To this Lem did not reply.  His shrewd eyes traveled up and down the girlish figure in evil meaning.  His thick lips opened, and the swarthy cheeks went awry in a grimace.  Before the hideous spasm of his silent merriment the woman who loved him paled, and turned away with a shudder.  She slouched down the short flight of steps, and the man, with a grin, malicious and cunning, lifted the tin pail to his lips.

“It’s time for her to go,” he muttered as he wiped his mouth, “it’s time for her to go!  Git back here, Scraggy, and take this ’ere drink cup!”

This time the woman appeared with a fat baby in her arms.  Mechanically she unloosened the pail from the bent nail on the end of the pole and put it down, watching the man as he unwound the reins from the hook.  Again the long-eared animals stretched their muscles at his hoarse command.  He paid no more attention to the woman, who, seated on a pile of planks, was eying the square end of the boat.  She drew a plaid shawl close up under the baby’s chin and threaded her listless fingers through his dark curls.  Scraggy’s thin hair was drawn back from her wan face, and her narrow shoulders were bowed with burdens too heavy for her years; but she hugged the little creature sleeping on her breast, and still kept her eyes upon the scene.  Beyond she could see the smoke rising from the buildings in the city of Albany, where they were to draw the boat up for the night.  On each side of the river bank, behind clumps of trees, stood the mansions of those men for whom, according to Scraggy Peterson’s belief, the world had been made.  Finally her gaze dropped to the scow, where little rivers of water made crooked paths across the deck.  Piles of planks reared high at her back, and edged the scow with the squareness of a room.  Scraggy knew that hauling lumber was but the cover for a darker trade.  Yet as she glanced at the stolid, indifferent man trudging behind the mules a lovelight sprang into her eyes.

Later, by an hour, the mules came to a halt at Lem’s order.

“Throw down that gangplank, Scraggy,” stammered Crabbe, “and put the brat below!  I want to get these here mules in.  The storm’ll be here in any minute.”

Obediently the woman hastened to comply, and soon the tired mules munched their suppers, their long faces filling the window-gaps of the stable.

Lem Crabbe followed the woman down the scow-steps amid gusty howls of the wind, and the night fell over the city and the black, winding river.  The man ate his supper in silence, furtively casting his eyes now and then upon the slender figure of the woman.  He chewed fast, uttering no word, and the creaking of the heavy jaws and the smacking of the coarse lips were the only sounds to be heard after the woman had taken her place at the table.  Scraggy dared not yet begin to eat; for something new in her master’s manner filled her with sudden fear.  By sitting very quietly, she hoped to keep his attention upon his plate, and after he had eaten he would go to bed.  She was aroused from this thought by the feeble whimper of her child in the tiny room of the scow’s bow.  Although the woman heard, she made no move to answer the weak summons.