Daddy Skinner's Death

For three long days she had managed somehow to uphold the dear, dying father. No word had come from Deforrest Young, and Tess felt sure he had returned twenty-four hours before. Perhaps Waldstricker had robbed her of her dearest friend. Bitterly pained, the girl realized what the loss would mean to her. Yet she had no censure in her heart for Deforrest Young; indeed no bitterness for Frederick Graves; only a deep, deep gratitude to the one, and a great, overwhelming love for the other. And while thinking of what an empty void her life was becoming, Tess saw her father's head turn and his lids lift heavily.

"Daddy!" she murmured, but if he heard, he did not heed. He was gazing steadily at something over and beyond her head, and then he smiled at it. In superstitious dread, the squatter girl glanced where the faded eyes were directed. What had he seen? A face, perhaps, or the passing shade that always haunted a squatter shanty when some one was dying, but then, many times she, too, had seen faces in the rafters up there among the dry nets.

"My pretty brat," were the words that brought her startled eyes back to her father. Her throat filling with heavy sobs, she went over and kissed him stormily. The horny, stiff fingers gathered a few of her red curls and drew them slowly upward until parched lips touched them, while tears stole from under withered lids, and Tess cried out in sharp anguish.