f
his heart, dissolved his rage and stayed his action.

"Well, I'll be damned!" was all he said, and Tess smiled again. She
didn't mind if he swore. The one thing she desired was to get rid of him
as soon as possible. She was conscious of the gyrations of Andy Bishop
curled in the straw under her slender body, and she knew her curls were
shrouding a face distorted with anxiety.

"Are you sick, kid?" questioned Burnett, when he could draw a natural
breath.

"Well, ye see," acknowledged Tess, "I ain't 'xactly sick, but I got my
ankle all packed up. Sometimes girls hurt their ankles an' they have to
put a rag 'round 'em."

Tessibel was very careful not to say she'd hurt hers in this explanation
to Burnett's question.

"An' then ye see, sir," she pursued, "if ye turn yer foot over an' can't
walk, ye have to go to bed a spell, huh?"

"Well, I should say so!" asseverated Burnett, mustering the manner he
always used with ladies. "Say, by George, I didn't know Orn Skinner had
a pretty kid like you."

"My, didn't ye?" gurgled Tess, with shy lids drooping and her color
mounting. "I thought everybody in the hull world knew I were Daddy's
brat. He air had me fer ever so long. I been growed up for a lot of
years." She shifted the owl in her arms. "This owl air named Deacon....
Want to pet 'im a minute, huh?"

The warden threw back his head and roared. He felt as if he'd been hung
up for days by the thumbs--that this girl had mercifully cut the ropes
and let him down once more to peace and happiness.

"No, thanks, I'll let you keep your pet," he laughed good-humoredly.
"Queer play fellow for a girl, that's my opinion."

After a few more compliments, through which Tessibel flirted her way
into the big man's regard, the officer rose to his feet.

"Little lady, I came here for a specific reason," he announced.
Unquenchable mischief shone upon him from smiling, enquiring eyes.

"Oh," giggled Tess, "anyway, I air awful glad ye come."

The grim lips of the deputy curled upward again. Tess adored his mouth
twisted at the corners like that.

"I might as well get it over first as last," ventured Burnett. "But I'm
more'n anxious you shouldn't be mad at me. The fact is we've traced a
man down from Auburn--"

Tessibel interrupted him, startled; at least she acted so.

"From Auburn!" she gasped.

"Yes, ma'am, a murderer! Andy Bishop. Little man like this," the warden
explained, measuring a short space from the floor. "By som