Vandecar shuddered and shook his head; but before he could speak Cronk wailed dazedly: 

“Ye might have come and telled me yerself, ye might a knowed how I wanted ye to!”

“I told you that I did come and you were gone,” Vandecar answered emphatically.

“Ye didn’t think how I loved her, how I’d a dreamed of huggin’ my own little brat!”

Vandecar interrupted again: 

“I took the baby with me, Lon Cronk.”  At the word “baby,” Lon dragged his heavy hand backward across his eyes.  “The baby,” continued the governor, “was no bigger than this,—­a wee bit of a girl, such as all big men love to father.”

The squatter stood rigidly up against the wall, until his head almost reached the ceiling.  His fierce eyes centered themselves upon Vandecar.

“If I’d a knowed, Mister,” he mumbled, “that ye’d took my little Midge’s hand in yer’n, that ye soothed her when she was a howlin’ fer me, I wouldn’t have cribbed yer kids—­I’ll be damned if I would ’ave!  But I hated ye—­Christ! how I hated ye!  I could only think how ye wouldn’t help me.”  He shuddered, wiped his wet lips, and went on, “After that I went plumb to hell.  There weren’t no living with me in prison, lessen I were strapped in the jacket till my meat were scorched.  It seemed as how it made my hurt less for her to have my own skin blistered.  Then, when I got out of prison, I never once took my eyes offen ye, and when yer woman gived ye Flea and Flukey—­”

A cry from Fledra brought all eyes upon her save Lon’s.

“When yer woman gived ye the two kids,” he went on, “I let ’em stay long enough for ye to love ’em; then I stole ’em away.  But, if I’d a knowed that ye tooked mine—­” He moved forward restlessly and almost whispered, “Mister, will ye tell me how the little ’un looked?  And were it warm and snuggly?  Did ye let it lay ag’in’ ye—­and sleep?” The miserable, questioning voice rose in demand, but lowered again.  “Did ye let it grab hold of yer fingers—­oh, that were what I wanted more’n anythin’ else!  And that’s why I stealed yours; so ye’d know what sufferin’ was.  If ye’d only telled me, Mister—­if ye’d only telled me!”

Vandecar groaned—­groaned for them all, no more for himself and for his gentle wife than for the great hulk of a man wrestling in agony.  Tears rose slowly to his lids; but he dashed them away.

“Cronk,” he cried, “Cronk, for God’s sake, don’t—­don’t!  I’ve borne an awful burden all these years, and every time I’ve thought of her I’ve thought of you and wondered where you were.”

“I were with my little woman in spirit,” the squatter interrupted, “when I weren’t tryin’ to get even with you.  Mister, will ye swear by God that ye telled me the truth about the baby?”

“I swear by God!” repeated Vandecar solemnly.