“I’ve been goin’ to ask ye fellers somethin’ for a long time.  Might as well now as any other night, eh?”

“Yep,” replied Eli eagerly.

“‘Tain’t nothin’ that will take any money out yer pockets; ’twill put it in, more likely.  We’ve been stealin’ together for how long, Lem?  How long we been pals?”

“Nigh onto ten years, I’m thinkin’.  It were that year that Tilly Jacobson got burned, weren’t it?”

“Yep, for ten years,” replied Lon, ignoring Lem’s last query, “and we’ve allers been hones’ with each other.  I’ve been hones’ with both of ye, and ye’ve been hones’ with me.  Eh?”

“Yep.”

“Lem, do ye want all the swag in this here room, only a sharin’ up with Eli, without havin’ to share and share alike with me?”

A small jewel bounded from the steel hook, and the pliers fell from Lem’s fingers.  Eli dropped back upon his bare feet.

“What’s in the wind?” demanded Lem.

“Only want ye to help me with a job some night that won’t be nothin’ to nuther of ye.  But it’s all to me.  Will ye?”

Lem wriggled nearer on the floor.  “Ye mean stealin’, Lon?” he demanded.

“Yep.”

“And we ain’t to share up with it?”

“Nope; but ye’re to have all that’s in this here room.  If I tell ye, will ye help?”

Crabbe looked at Eli, and a furtive look was shot back.  Each was afraid of the other; but for the big, gloomy man before them they had vast respect.

“What be ye goin’ to steal, Lon?  Tell us before we say we’ll help.”

“Kids,” muttered Lon moodily.

“Live kids?” asked Eli, in great surprise.

“Yep, live ones.  What do I want with dead ones?  Will ye help?”

“Can’t see no good a swipin’ kids.  What do ye want with ’em?”

“I’ll tell ye if ye sit up and listen to me.”

Crabbe dropped his hooked arm and leaned against the wall.  Eli lighted a pipe.  A mysterious change had passed over Silent Lon’s face.  The blue eyes glowed out from under a massive brow, and a mouth cruel and vindictive set firm-jawed over decayed teeth.

“I’ll tell ye this much for all time, Lem Crabbe:  that ye lied when ye said that no woman could love no man—­ye lied, I say!”

So fierce had he become that the man with the hook drew back into the corner and sat staring sullenly.  Eli puffed more vigorously on his pipe.

Lon went on: 

“I had a woman oncet,” said he, “and she were every bit mine.  And she were little—­like this.”

The big fellow measured off a space with his hand and, straightening again, stood against the wall of the scow, his head reaching almost to the ceiling.

“She were mine, I say, and any man what says she weren’t—­”

“Where be she?” interrupted Lem curiously.

“Dead,” replied Lon, “as dead as if she’d never been alive, as dead as if she’d never laid ag’in’ my heart when I wanted her!  God! how I wanted her!”