Ben's cries had ceased, but the listening girl could hear the two bodies as they turned over and over beyond on the tracks--and rolled into the ditch. Her feet were nearly frozen but she gathered them under her skirt and dumbly waited.
Then came no sound--there was nothing but a deathly silence in the dim shadows near the land.
Would she ever see either Ben or the dog again? There was no danger that Pete would-"Ben," she called loudly, leaning over the fence. No answer came from the deep trench by the railroad bed.
"Pete, Pete, come to Tessibel, come to Tessibel."
Out of the blackness came the dog, his head hanging low, the angry sparkle in his eyes quenched.
Tess raised the wire once more for Pete's body to wriggle under. The girl shouted anxiously for Ben but no answer came to her call.
Crouching beside Pete, Tessibel reasoned out a way of escape: if she took the brindle bulldog to the hut with her, she would be safe from Ben were he lurking about. She propped the lower wire of the fence high with a stick so that Pete could reach Kennedy's barn on the hill again when she sent him home. Together the girl and the bristling Pete slid silently to the railroad tracks, Tessibel holding tightly to the dog's collar. Some fifty feet beyond he twisted his heavy neck, set forth his huge jaw, and refused to move.
Beside the track was a long dark object--it was undeniably, unquestionably quiet. Tess tugged at the dog's collar and dragged him resisting from the spot.
Down the lane ran the squatter and the dog with no pause save to pick up the cowhide boots from the side of the path, where Tess had cast them in the mad race. She clasped the head of Pete as she opened the hut door.
"Ye can come in, too, Pete," she whispered, lifting the ugly head, "and go home in the morning."
Tessibel locked the door, but did not light a candle. Slipping her wet clothes to the floor, she crawled into Daddy's bed, and with the forgetfulness of youth sank into a sleep.