throat ended in a grunt. He slung a small basket over the hook and went
off up the rocks to his scow.

"Ye can go to bed, Flukey," said Lon. "Ye've done a good night's
work--and mind ye it ain't wicked to take what ye want from them havin'
plenty."

Lon hesitated before proceeding. "And, Flukey, if ye know what's good
for Flea, don't be settin' her up ag'in' my wishes, 'cause if she don't
do what I tell her it'll be the worse for her!... Scoot to bed!"

The boy stood for a moment, opened his lips to plead with the big,
sullen squatter for his sister; but, changing his mind, limped off to
the cabin.

* * * * *

When the shanty was quiet a girl's figure shrouded in black curls
crawled across the hut floor to the loft ladder. Flea ascended quickly;
but halted at the top to catch her breath. She could hear from the other
side of the partition the sound of Lon's heavy snores, and from the
corner came the lighter breathing of her brother. Through the small loft
window the moonbeams shone, and by them Flea could see the boy's dark
head and strong young arm under the masses of thick hair.

She began to crawl toward the cot, wriggling like a huge worm across the
bare boards. Several times she paused, trying to suppress her frightened
heartbeats. Then, lifting her hand, she placed it over Flukey's mouth
and whispered: