The Flaming Jewel By Robert W. Chambers

Author of "Ailsa Paige, " "Athalie, " "Barbarians, " "The Business ofLife, " "The Crimson Tide, " "The Dark Star, " "The Fighting Chance, " "TheGirl Philippa, " "The Hidden Children, " "The Laughing Girl, " "The LittleRed Foot, " "The Moonlit Way, " "The Restless Sex, " "The Slayer of Souls, ""Who Goes There, " etc. 

A. L. Burt Company Publishers, New York Published by arrangement withGeorge H. Doran Company

Copyright, 1922, By George H. Doran Company

Transcriber's Note:The irregular spelling of words ("inquire", "enquire", etc. ) in thisetext tend to be reproduced faithfully from the 1922 edition, butaccents are not preserved . . . 

* * * * *

To my friend R. T. Haines-Halsey who unreservedly believes everything Iwrite. 

To R. T. 

* * * * *

I Three Guests at dinner! That's the life! -- Wedgewood, Revere, andDuncan Phyfe!

II You sit on Duncan -- when you dare, -- And out of Wedgewood, usingcare, With Paul Revere you eat your fare. 

III From Paul you borrow fork and knife To wage a gastronomic strife 'nporringers; and platters rare Of blue Historic Willow-ware. 

IV Banquets with cymbal, drum and fife, Or rose-wreathed feasts withriot rife To your chaste suppers can't compare. 

V Let those deny the truth who dare! -- Paul, Duncan, Wedgewood! That'sthe life! All else is bunk and empty air. 

ENVOI The Cordon-bleu has set the pace With Goulash, Haggis, Bouillabaisse, Curry, Chop-suey, Kous-Kous Stew -- I can not offer theseto you, -- Being a plain, old-fashioned cook, -- So pray accept thisscrambled book. 

May, 1922 R. W. C. 

* * * * *

Contents

Episode OneEve

Episode TwoThe Ruling Passion

Episode ThreeOn Star Peak

Episode FourA Private War

Episode FiveDrowned Valley

Episode SixThe Jewel Aflame

Episode SevenClinch's Dump

Episode EightCup and Lip

Episode NineThe Forest and Mr. Sard

Episode TenThe Twilight of Mike

Episode ElevenThe Place of Pines

Episode TwelveHer Highness Intervenes

* * * * *

Episode One

Eve

* * * * *

I

During the last two years, Fate, Chance, and Destiny had been too busyto attend to Mike Clinch. But now his turn was coming in the EternalSequence of things. The stars in their courses indicated the beginningof the undoing of Mike Clinch. 

From Esthonia a refugee Countess wrote to James Darragh in New York: "--After two years we have discovered that it was Jose Quintana's band ofinternational thieves that robbed Ricca. Quintana has disappeared. "ALevantine diamond broker in New York, named Emanuel Sard, may be incommunication with him. "Ricca and I are going to America as soon aspossible. "Valentine. "

The day Darragh received the letter he started to look up Sard. 

But that very morning Sard had received a curious letter from Rotterdam. This was the letter:

"Sardius -- Tourmaline -- Aragonite -- Rhodonite * Porphyry -- Obsidian-- Nugget Gold -- Diaspore * Novaculite * Yu * Nugget Silver -- Amber --Matrix Turquoise -- Elaeolite * Ivory -- Sardonyx * Moonstone -- IcelandSpar -- Kalpa Zircon -- Eye Agate * Celonite -- Lapis -- Iolite --Nephrite -- Chalcedony -- Hydrolite * Hegolite -- Amethyst -- Selenite *Fire Opal -- Labradorite -- Garnet * Jade -- Emerald -- Wood Opal --Essonite -- Lazuli * Epidote -- Ruby -- Onyx -- Sapphire -- Indicolite-- Topaz -- Euclase * Indian Diamond * Star Sapphire -- African Diamond-- Iceland Spar -- Lapis Crucifer * Abalone -- Turkish Turquoise * OldMine Stone -- Natrolite -- Cats Eye -- Electrum * * * 1/5 a a. "

That afternoon young Darragh located Sard's office and presented himselfas a customer. The weasel-faced clerk behind the wicket laid a pistolhandy and informed Darragh that Sard was away on a business trip. 

Darragh looked cautiously around the small office: "Can anybody hearus?"

"Nobody. Why?"

"I have important news concerning Jose Quintana, " whispered Darragh;"Where is Sard?"

"Why, he had a letter from Quintana this very morning, " replied theclerk in a low, uneasy voice. "Mr. Sard left for Albany on the oneo'clock train. Is there any trouble?"

"Plenty, " replied Darragh coolly; "do you know Quintana?"

"No. But Mr. Sard expects him here any day now. "

Darragh leaned closer against the grille: "Listen very carefully; if aman comes here who calls himself Jose Quintana, turn him over to thepolice until Mr. Sard returns. No matter what he tells you, turn himover to the police. Do you understand?"

"Who are you?" demanded the worried clerk. "Are you one of Quintana'speople?"

"Young man, " said Darragh, "I'm close enough to Quintana to give _you_orders. And give Sard orders. . .. And Quintana, too!"

A great light dawned on the scared clerk: "_You_ are Jose Quintana!" hesaid hoarsely. 

Darragh bored him through with his dark stare: "Mind your business, " hesaid. 

* * * * *

That night in Albany Darragh picked up Sard's trail. It led to a dealerin automobiles. Sard had bought a Comet Six, paying cash, and hadstarted north. 

Through Schenectady, Fonda, and Mayfield, the following day, Darraghtraced a brand new Comet Six containing one short, dark Levantine with aparrot nose. In Northville Darragh hired a Ford. 

At Lake Pleasant Sard's car went wrong. Darragh missed him by tenminutes; but he learned that Sard had inquired the way to Ghost LakeInn. 

That was sufficient. Darragh bought an axe, drove as far as Harrod'sCorners, dismissed the Ford, and walked into a forest entirely familiarto him. 

He emerged in half an hour on a wood road two miles farther on. Here hefelled a tree across the road and sat down in the bushes to awaitevents. 

Toward sunset, hearing a car coming, he tied his handkerchief over hisface below the eyes, and took an automatic from his pocket. 

Sard's car stopped and Sard got out to inspect the obstruction. Darraghsauntered out of the bushes, poked his pistol against Mr. Sard's fatabdomen, and leisurely and thoroughly robbed him. 

In an agreeable spot near a brook Darragh lighted his pipe and sat himdown to examine the booty in detail. Two pistols, a stiletto, and ablackjack composed the arsenal of Mr. Sard. A large wallet disclosedmore than four thousand dollars in Treasury notes -- something toreimburse Ricca when she arrived, he thought. 

Among Sard's papers he discovered a cipher letter from Rotterdam --probably from Quintana. Cipher was rather in Darragh's line. Allciphers are solved by similar methods, unless the key is contained in acode book known only to sender and receiver. 

But Quintana's cipher proved to be only an easy acrostic -- the verysimplest of secret messages. Within an hour Darragh had it pencilledout:

Cipher

"Take notice: "Star Pond, N. Y. . .. Name is Mike Clinch. . .. Has FlamingJewel. . .. Erosite. . .. I sail at once. "Quintana. "

Having served in Russia as an officer in the Military IntelligenceDepartment attached to the American Expeditionary Forces, Darragh hadlittle trouble with Quintana's letter. Even the signature was notdifficult, the fraction 1/5 was easily translated Quint; and thefamiliar prescription symbol a a spelled ana; which gave Quintana's namein full. 

He had heard of Erosite as the rarest and most magnificent of all gems. Only three were known. The young Duchess Theodorica of Esthonia hadpossessed one. 

* * * * *

Darragh was immensely amused to find that the chase after Emanuel Sardshould have led him to the very borders of the great Harrod estate inthe Adirondacks. 

He gathered up his loot and walked on through the splendid forest whichonce had belonged to Henry Harrod of Boston, and which now was theproperty of Harrod's nephew, James Darragh. 

When he came to the first trespass notice he stood a moment to read it. Then, slowly, he turned and looked toward Clinch's. An autumn sunsetflared like a conflagration through the pines. There was a glimmer ofwater, too, where Star Pond lay. 

* * * * *

Fate, Chance, and Destiny were becoming very busy with Mike Clinch. They had started Quintana, Sard, and Darragh on his trail. Now theystirred up the sovereign State of New York. 

That lank wolf, Justice, was afoot and sniffing uncomfortably close tothe heels of Mike Clinch. 

* * * * *

II

Two State Troopers drew bridles in the yellowing October forest. Theirsmart drab uniforms touched with purple blended harmoniously with theautumn woods. They were as inconspicuous as two deer in the dappledshadow. There was a sunny clearing just ahead. The wood road they hadbeen travelling entered it. Beyond lay Star Pond. 

Trooper Lannis said to Trooper Stormont: "That's Mike Clinch's clearing. Our man may be there. Now we'll see if anybody tips him off this time. "

Forest and clearing were very still in the sunshine. Nothing stirredsave gold leaves drifting down, and a hawk high in the deep blue skyturning in narrow circles. 

Lannis was instructing Stormont, who had been transferred from the LongIsland Troop, and who was unacquainted with local matters. 

Lannis said: "Clinch's dump stands on the other edge of the clearing. Clinch owns five hundred acres in here. He's a rat. "

"Bad?"

"Well, he's mean. I don't know how bad he is. But he runs a rottendump. The forest has its slums as well as the city. This is the Hell'sKitchen of the North Woods. "

Stormont nodded. 

"All the scum of the wilderness gathers here, " went on Lannis. "Here'swhere half the trouble in the North Woods hatches. We'll eat dinner atClinch's. His stepdaughter is a peach. "

The sturdy, sun-browned trooper glanced at his wrist watch, stretchedhis legs in his stirrups. 

"Jack, " he said, "I want you to get Clinch right, and I'm going to tellyou about his outfit while we watch this road. It's like a movie. Clinch plays the lead. I'll dope out the scenario for you----"

He turned sideways in his saddle, freeing both spurred heels and lolledso, constructing a cigarette while he talked:

"Way back around 1900 Mike Clinch was a guide -- a decent young fellowthey say. He guided fishing parties in summer, hunters in fall andwinter. He made money and built the house. The people he guided werewealthy. He made a lot of money and bought land. I understand he wassquare and that everybody liked him. 

"About that time there came to Clinch's `hotel' a Mr. And Mrs. Strayer. They were `lungers. ' Strayer seemed to be a gentleman; his wife wasgood looking and rather common. Both were very young. He had theconsump bad -- the galloping variety. He didn't last long. A monthafter he died his young wife had a baby. Clinch married her. She alsodied the same year. The baby's name was Eve. Clinch became quite crazyabout her and started to make a lady of her. That was his mania. "

Lannis leaned from his saddle and carefully dropped his cigarette endinto a puddle of rain water. Then he swung one leg over and sat sidesaddle. 

"Clinch had plenty of money in those days, " he went on. "He couldafford to educate the child. The kid had a governess. Then he sent herto a fancy boarding school. She had everything a young girl could want. 

"She developed into a pretty young thing at fifteen. . .. She's eighteennow -- and I don't know what to call her. She pulled a gun on me inJuly. "

"What!"

"Sure. There was a row at Clinch's dump. A rum-runner called JakeKloon got shot up. I came up to get Clinch. He was sick-drunk in hisbunk. When I broke in the door Eve Strayer pulled a gun on me. "

"What happened?" inquired Stormont. 

"Nothing. I took Clinch. . .. But he got off as usual. "

"Acquitted?"

Lannis nodded, rolling another cigarette:

"Now, I'll tell you how Clinch happened to go wrong, " he said. "You seehe'd always made his living by guiding. Well, some years ago HenryHarrod, of Boston, came here and bought thousands and thousands of acresof forest all around Clinch's----" Lannis half rose on one stirrup and, with a comprehensive sweep of his muscular arm, ending in a flourish:"-- He bought everything for miles and miles. And that started Clinchdown hill. Harrod tried to force Clinch to sell. The millionairetactics you know. He was determined to oust him. Clinch got mad andwouldn't sell at any price. Harrod kept on buying all around Clinch andposted trespass notices. That meant ruin to Clinch. He was walled in. No hunters care to be restricted. Clinch's little property was no good. Business stopped. His step-daughter's education became expensive. Heas in a bad way. Harrod offered him a high price. But Clinch turnedugly and wouldn't budge. And that's how Clinch began to go wrong. "

"Poor devil, " said Stormont. 

"Devil, all right. Poor, too. But he needed money. He was crazy tomake a lady of Eve Strayer. And there are ways of finding money, youknow. "

Stormont nodded. 

"Well, Clinch found money in those ways. The Conservation Commissionerin Albany began to hear about game law violations. The Revenue peopleheard of rum-running. Clinch lost his guide's license. But nobodycould get the goods on him. 

"There was a rough backwoods bunch always drifting around Clinch's placein those days. There were fights. And not so many miles from Clinch'sthere was highway robbery and a murder or two. 

"Then the war came. The draft caught Clinch. Malone exempted him, hebeing the sole support of his stepchild. 

"But the girl volunteered. She got to France, somehow -- scrubbed in ahospital, I believe -- anyway, Clinch wanted to be on the same side ofthe world she was on, and he went with a Forestry Regiment and cut treesfor railroad ties in southern France until the war ended and they senthim home. 

"Eve Strayer came back too. She's there now. You'll see her at dinnertime. She sticks to Clinch. He's a rat. He's up against the dry lawsand the game laws. Government enforcement agents, game protectors, State Constabulary, all keep an eye on Clinch. Harrod's trespass signsfence him in. He's like a rat in a trap. Yet Clinch makes money at lawbreaking and nobody can catch him red-handed. 

"He kills Harrod's deer. That's certain. I mean Harrod's nephew'sdeer. Harrod's dead. Darragh's the young nephew's name. He's neverbeen here -- he was in the army -- in Russia -- I don't know what becameof him -- but he keeps up the Harrod preserve -- game-wardens, patrols, watchers, trespass signs and all. "

Lannis finished his second cigarette, got back into his stirrups and, gathering bridle, began leisurely to divide curb and snaffle. 

"That's the layout, Jack, " he said. "Yonder lies the Red Light districtof the North Woods. Mike Clinch is the brains of all the dirty workthat goes on. A floating population of crooks and bums -- gameviolators, boot-leggers, market hunters, pelt `collectors, ' rum-runners, hootch makers, do his dirty work -- and I guess there are some who'llstick you up by starlight for a quarter and others who'll knock yourblock off for a dollar. . .. And there's the girl, Eve Strayer. I don'tget her at all, except that she's loyal to Clinch. . .. And now you knowwhat you ought to know about this movie called `Hell in the woods. ' Andit's up to us to keep a calm, impartial eye on the picture and try tofollow the plot they're acting out -- if there is any. "

Stormont said: "Thanks, Bill; I'm posted. . .. And I'm getting hungry, too. "

"I believe, said Lannis, "that you want to see that girl. "

"I do, " returned the other, laughing. 

"Well, you'll see her. She's good to look at. But I don't get her atall. "

"Why?"

"Because she _looks_ right. And yet she lives at Clinch's with him andhis bunch of bums. Would you think a straight girl could stand it?"

"No man can tell what a straight girl can stand. "

"Straight or crooked she stands for Mike Clinch, " said Lannis, "and he'sa ratty customer. "

"Maybe the girl is fond of him. It's natural. "

"I guess it's that. But I don't see how any young girl can stomach thelife at Clinch's. "

"It's a wonder what a decent woman will stand, " observed Stormont. "Ninety-nine per cent, of all wives ought to receive the D. S. O. "

"Do you think we're so rotten?" inquired Lannis, smiling. 

"Not so rotten. No. But any man knows what men are. And it's a wonderwomen stick to us when they learn. "

They laughed. Lannis glanced at his watch again. 

"Well, " he said, "I don't believe anybody has tipped off our man. It'snoon. Come on to dinner, Jack. "

They cantered forward into the sunlit clearing. Star Pond lay ahead. On its edge stood Clinch's. 

* * * * *

III

Clinch, in his shirt sleeves, came out on the veranda. He had littlelight grey eyes, close-clipped grey hair, and was clean shaven. 

"How are you, Clinch, " inquired Lannis affably. 

"All right, " replied Clinch; "you're the same, I hope. "

"Trooper Stormont, Mr. Clinch, " said Lannis in his genial way. 

"Pleased to know you, " said Clinch, level-eyed, unstirring. 

The troopers dismounted. Both shook hands with Clinch. Then Lannis ledthe way to the barn. 

"We'll eat well, " he remarked to his comrade. "Clinch cooks. "

From the care of their horses they went to a pump to wash. One or tworough looking men slouched out of the house and glanced at them. 

"Hallo, Jake, " said Lannis cheerily. 

Jake Kloon grunted acknowledgment. 

Lannis said in Stormont's ear: "Here she comes with towels. She'spretty, isn't she?"

A young girl in pink gingham advanced toward them across the patch ofgrass. 

Lannis was very polite and presented Stormont. The girl handed them tworough towels, glanced at Stormont again after the introductions, smiledslightly. 

"Dinner is ready, " she said. 

They dried their faces and followed her back to the house. 

It was an unpainted building, partly of log. In the dining room half adozen men waited silently for food. Lannis saluted all, named hiscomrade, and seated himself. 

A delicious odour of johnny-cake pervaded the room. Presently EveStrayer appeared with the dinner. 

There was dew on her pale forehead -- the heat of the kitchen, no doubt. The girl's thick, lustrous hair was brownish gold, and so twisted upthat it revealed her ears and a very white neck. 

When she brought Stormont his dinner he caught her eyes a moment --experienced a slight shock of pleasure at their intense blue -- thegentian-blue of the summer zenith at midday. 

Lannis remained affable, even became jocose at moments: "No hootch fordinner, Mike? How's that, now?"

"The Boot-leg Express is a day late, " replied Clinch, with cold humour. 

Around the table ran an odd sound -- a company of catamounts feedingmight have made such a noise -- if catamounts ever laugh. 

"How's the fur market, Jake?" inquired Lannis, pouring gravy over hismashed potato. 

Kloon quoted prices with an oath. 

A mean-visaged young man named Leverett complained of the price oftraps. 

"What do you care?" inquired Lannis genially. "The other man pays. What are you kicking about, anyway? It wasn't so long ago that muskratswere ten cents. "

The trooper's good-humoured intimation that Earl Leverett took fur inother men's traps was not lost on the company. Leverett's fox visagereddened; Jake Kloon, who had only one eye, glared at the State Trooperbut said nothing. 

Clinch's pale gaze met the trooper's smiling one: "The jays andsquirrels talk too, " he said slowly. "It don't mean anything. Only theshow-down counts. "

"You're quite right, Clinch. The show-down is what we pay to see. Buttalk is the tune the orchestra plays before the curtain rises. "

Stormont had finished dinner. He heard a low, charming voice frombehind his chair:

"Apple pie, lemon pie, maple cake, berry roll. "

He looked up into two gentian-blue eyes. 

"Lemon pie, please, " he said, blushing. 

* * * * *

When dinner was over and the bare little dining room empty except forClinch and the two State Troopers, the former folded his heavy, powerfulhands on the table's edge and turned his square face and pale-eyed gazeon Lannis. 

"Spit it out, " he said in a passionless voice. 

Lannis crossed one knee over the other, lighted a cigarette:

"Is there a young fellow working for you named Hal Smith?"

"No, " said Clinch. 

"Sure?"

"Sure. "

"Clinch, " continued Lannis, have you heard about a stick-up on thiswood-road out of Ghost Lake?"

"No. "

"Well, a wealthy tourist from New York -- a Mr. Sard, stopping at GhostLake Inn -- was held up and robbed last Saturday toward sundown. "

"Never heard of him, " said Clinch, calmly. 

"The robber took four thousand dollars in bills and some private papersfrom him. "

"It's no skin off my shins, " remarked Clinch. 

"He's laid a complaint. "

"Yes?"

"Have any strangers been here since Saturday evening?"

"No. "

There was a pause. 

"We heard you had a new man named Hal Smith working around your place. "

"No. "

"He came here Saturday night. "

"Who says so?"

"A guide from Ghost Lake. "

"He's a liar. "

"You know, " said Lannis, "it won't do you any good if hold-up men canhide here and make a getaway. "

"G'wan and search, " said Clinch, calmly. 

* * * * *

They searched the "hotel" from garret to cellar. They searched thebarn, boat-shed, out-houses. 

While this was going on, Clinch went into the kitchen. 

"Eve, " he said coolly, "the State Troopers are after that fellow, HalSmith, who came here Saturday night. Where is he?"

"He went into Harrod's to get us a deer, " she replied in a low voice. "What has he done?"

"Stuck up a man on the Ghost Lake road. He ought to have told me. Doyou think you could meet up with him and tip him off?"

"He's hunting on Owl Marsh. I'll try. "

"All right. Change your clothes and slip out the back-door. And lookout for Harrod's patrols, too. "

"All right, dad, " she sad. "If I have to be out to-night, don't worry. I'll get word to Smith somehow. "

Half an hour later Lannis and Stormont returned from a prowl around theclearing. Lannis paid the reckoning; his comrade led out the horses. He said again to Lannis:

"I'm sure it was the girl. She wore men's clothes and she went into thewoods on a run. "

As they started to ride away, Lannis said to Clinch, who stood on theveranda:

"It's still the blue-jay and the squirrel talk between us, Mike, but theshow-down is sure to come. Better go straight while the going's good. "

"I go straight enough to suit me, " said Clinch. 

"But it's the Government that is to be suited, Mike. And if it gets youright you'll be in dutch. "

"Don't let that worry you, " said Clinch. 

* * * * *

About three o'clock the two State Troopers, riding at a walk, came tothe forks of the Ghost Lake road. 

"Now, " said Lannis to Stormont, "if you really believe you saw the girlbeat it out of the back door and take to the woods, she's probablysomewhere in there----" he pointed into the western forest. "But" headded, "what's your idea in following her?"

"She wore men's clothes; she was in a hurry and trying to keep out ofsight. I wondered whether Clinch might have sent her to warn thishold-up fellow. "

"That's rather a long shot, isn't it?"

"Very long. I could go in and look about a bit, if you'll lead myhorse. "

"All right. Take your bearings. This road runs west to Ghost Lake. Wesleep at the Inn there -- if you mean to cross the woods on foot. "

Stormont nodded, consulted his map and compass, pocketed both, unbuckledhis spurs. 

When he was ready he gave his bridle to Lannis. 

"I'd just like to see what she's up to, " he remarked. 

"All right. If you miss me come to the Inn, " said Lannis, starting onwith the led horse. 

* * * * *

The forest was open amid a big stand of white pine and hemlock, andStormont traveled easily and swiftly. He had struck a line by compassthat must cross the direction taken by Eve Strayer when she leftClinch's. But it was a wild chance that he would ever run across her. 

And probably he never would have if the man that she was looking for hadnot fired a shot on the edge of that vast maze of stream, morass anddead timber called Owl Marsh. 

Far away in the open forest Stormont heard the shot and turned in thatdirection. 

But Eve already was very near when the young man who called himself HalSmith fired at one of Harrod's deer -- a three-prong buck on the edge ofthe dead water. 

* * * * *

Smith had drawn and dressed the buck by the time the girl found him. 

He was cleaning up when she arrived, squatting by the water's edge whenhe heard her voice across the swale:

"Smith! The State Troopers are looking for you!"

He stood up, dried his hands on his breeches. The girl picked her wayacross the bog, jumping from one tussock to the next. 

When she told him what had happened he began to laugh. 

"Did you really stick up this man?" she asked incredulously. 

"I'm afraid I did, Eve, " he replied, still laughing. 

The girl's entire expression altered. 

"So that's the sort you are, " she said. "I thought you different. Butyou're all a rotten lot----"

"Hold on, " he interrupted, "what do you mean by that?"

"I mean that the only men who ever come to Star Pond are crooks, " sheretorted bitterly. "I didn't believe you were. You look decent. Butyou're as crooked as the rest of them -- and it seems as if I -- Icouldn't stand it -- any longer----"

"If you think me so rotten, why did you run all the way form Clinch's towarn me?" he asked curiously. 

"I didn't do it for _you;_ I did it for my father. They'll jail him ifthey catch him hiding you. They've got it in for him. If they put himin prison he'll die. He couldn't stand it. I _know. _ And that's why Icame to find you and tell you to clear out----"

The distant crack of a dry stick checked her. The next instant shepicked up his rifle, seized his arm, and fairly dragged him into aspruce thicket. 

"Do you want to get my father into trouble!" she said fiercely. 

The rocky flank of Star Peak bordered the marsh here. 

"Come on, " she whispered, jerking him along the thicket and up the rocksto a cleft -- a hole in the sheer rock overhung by shaggy hemlock. 

"Get in there, " she said breathlessly. 

"Whoever comes, " he protested, "will see the buck yonder, and willcertainly look in here----"

"Not if I go down there and take your medicine. Creep into that caveand lie down. "

"What do you intend to do?" he demanded, interested and amused. 

"If it's one of Harrod's game-keepers, " said the girl, drily, "it onlymeans a summons and a fine for me. And if it's a State Trooper, who isprowling in the woods yonder hunting crooks, he'll find nobody here buta trespasser. Keep quiet. I'll stand him off. "

* * * * *

IV

When State Trooper Stormont came out on the edge of Owl Marsh, the girlwas kneeling by the water, washing deer blood from her slender, sun-tanned fingers. 

"What are you doing here?" she enquired, looking up over her shoulderwith a slight smile. 

"Just having a look around, " he said pleasantly. "That's a nice fatbuck you have there. "

"Yes, he's nice. "

"You shot him?" asked Stormont. 

"Who else do you suppose shot him?" she enquired, smilingly. She rinsedher fingers again and stood up, swinging her arms to dry her hands, -- alithe, grey-shirted figure in her boyish garments, straight, supple, andstrong. 

"I saw you hurrying into the woods, " said Stormont. 

"Yes, I was in a hurry. We need meat. "

"I didn't notice that you carried a rifle when I saw you leave the house-- by the back door. "

"No; it was in the woods, " she said indifferently. 

"You have a hiding place for your rifle?"

"For other things, also, " she said, letting her eyes of gentian-bluerest on the young man. 

"You seem to be very secretive. "

"Is a girl more so than a man?" she asked smilingly. 

Stormont smiled too, then became grave. 

"Who else was here with you?" he asked quietly. 

She seemed surprised. "Did you see anybody else?"

He hesitated, flushed, pointed down at the wet sphagnum. Smith'sfoot-prints were there in damning contrast to her own. Worse than that, Smith's pipe lay on an embedded log, and a rubber tobacco pouch besideit. 

She said with a slight catch in her breath: "It seems that somebody hasbeen here. . .. Some hunter, perhaps, -- or a game warden. . .. "

"Or Hal Smith, " said Stormont. 

A painful colour swept the girl's face and throat. The man, sorry forher, looked away. 

After a silence: "I know something about you, " he said gently. "And nowthat I've seen you -- heard you speak -- met your eyes -- I know enoughabout you to form an opinion. . .. So I don't ask you to turn informer. But the law won't stand for what Clinch is doing -- whatever provocationhe has had. And he must not aid or abet any criminal, or harbour anymalefactor. "

The girl's features were expressionless. The passive, sullen beauty ofher troubled the trooper. 

"Trouble for Clinch means sorrow for you, " he said. "I don't want youto be unhappy. I bear Clinch no ill will. For this reason I ask him, and I ask you too, to stand clear of this affair. 

"Hal Smith is wanted. I'm here to take him. "

As she said nothing, he looked down at the foot-print in the sphagnum. Then his eyes moved to the next imprint; to the next. Then he movedslowly along the water's edge, tracking the course of the man he wasfollowing. 

The girl watched him in silence until the plain trail led him to thespruce thicket. 

"Don't go in there!" she said sharply, with an odd tremor in her voice. 

He turned and looked at her, then stepped calmly into the thicket. Andthe next instant she was among the spruces, too, confronting him withher rifle. 

"Get out of these woods!" she said. 

He looked into the girl's deathly white face. 

"Eve, " he said, "it will go hard with you if you kill me, I don't wantyou to live out your life in prison. "

"I can't help it. If you send my father to prison he'll die. I'drather die myself. Let us alone, I tell you! The man you're after isnothing to us. We didn't know he had stuck up anybody!"

"If he's nothing to you, why do you point that rifle at me?"

"I tell you his is nothing to us. But my father wouldn't betray a dog. And I won't. That's all. Now get out of these woods and come backto-morrow. Nobody'll interfere with you then. "

Stormont smiled: "Eve, " he said, "do you really think me as yellow asthat?"

Her blue eyes flashed a terrible warning, but, in the same instant, hehad caught her rifle, twisting it out of her grasp as it exploded. 

The detonation dazed her; then, as he flung the rifle into the water, she caught him by neck and belt and flung him bodily into the spruces. 

But she fell with him; he held her twisting and struggling with all hersuperb and supple strength; staggered to his feet, still mastering her;and, as she struggled, sobbing, locked hot and panting in his arms, hesnapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists and flung her aside. 

She fell on both knees, got up, shoulder deep in spruce, blood runningfrom her lip over her chin. 

The trooper took her by the arm. She was trembling all over. He took athin steel chain and padlock from his pocket, passed the links aroundher steel-bound wrists, and fastened her to a young birch tree. 

Then, drawing his pistol from its holster, he went swiftly forwardthrough the spruces. 

When he saw the cleft in the rocky flank of Star Peak, he walkedstraight to the black hole which confronted him. 

"Come out of there, " he said distinctly. 

After a few seconds Smith came out. 

"Good God!" said Stormont in a low voice. "What are you doing here, Darragh?"

Darragh came close and rested one hand on Stormont's shoulder:

"Don't crab my game, Stormont. I never dreamed you were in theConstabulary or I'd have let you know. "

"Are _you_ Hal Smith?"

"I sure am. Where's the girl?"

"Handcuffed out yonder. "

"Then for God's sake go back and ac as if you hadn't found me. TellMayor Chandler that I'm after bigger game than he is. "

"Clinch?"

"Stormont, I'm here to _protect_ Mike Clinch. Tell the Mayor not totouch him. The men I'm after are going to try to rob him. I don't wantthem to because -- well, I'm going to rob him myself. "

Stormont stared. 

"You must stand by me, " said Darragh. "So must the Mayor. He knows methrough and through. Tell him to forget that hold-up. I stopped thatman Sard. I frisked him. Tell the Mayor. I'll keep in touch withhim. "

"Of course, " said Stormont, "that settles it. "

"Thanks, old chap. Now go back to that girl and let her believe thatyou never found me. "

A slight smile touched their eyes. Both instinctively saluted. Thenthey shook hands; Darragh, alias Hal Smith, went back into thehemlock-shaded hole in the rocks; Trooper Stormont walked slowly downthrough the spruces. 

When Eve saw him returning empty handed, something flashed in her pallidface like sunlight across snow. 

Stormont passed her, went to the water's edge, soaked a spicy handful ofsphagnum moss in the icy water, came back and wiped the blood from herface. 

The girl seemed astounded; her face surged in vivid colour as heunlocked the handcuffs and pocketed them and the little steel chain. 

Her lip was bleeding again. He washed it with wet moss, took a cleanhandkerchief from the breast of his tunic and laid it against her mouth. 

"Hold it there, " he said. 

Mechanically she raised her hand to support the compress. Stormont wentback to the shore, recovered her rifle from the shallow water, andreturned with it. 

As she made no motion to take it, he stood it against the tree to whichhe had tied her. 

Then he came close to her where she stood holding his handkerchiefagainst her mouth and looking at him out of steady eyes as deeply blueas gentian blossoms. 

"Eve, " he said, "you win. But you won't forgive me. . .. I wish wecould be friends, some day. . .. We never can, now. . .. Good-bye. "

Neither spoke again. Then, of a sudden, the girl's eyes filled; andTrooper Stormont caught her free hand and kissed it; -- kissed it againand again, -- dropped it and went striding away through the underbrushwhich was now all rosy with the rays of the sunset. 

* * * * *

After he had disappeared, the girl, Eve, went to the cleft in the rocksabove. 

"Come out, " she said contemptuously. "It's a good thing you hid, because there was a real man after you; and God help you if he everfinds you!"

Hal Smith came out. 

"Pack in your meat, " said the girl curtly, and flung his rifle acrossher shoulder. 

Through the ruddy afterglow she left the way homeward, a man'shandkerchief pressed to her wounded mouth, her eyes preoccupied with thestrangest thoughts that ever had stirred her virgin mind. 

Behind her walked Darragh with his load of venison and his alias, - andhis tongue in his cheek. 

Thus began the preliminaries toward the ultimate undoing of Mike Clinch. Fate, Chance, and Destiny had undertaken the job in earnest. 

* * * * *

Episode Two

The Ruling Passion

* * * * *

I

Nobody understood how Jose Quintana had slipped through the SecretService net spread for him at every port. 

The United States authorities did not know why Quintana had come toAmerica. They realised merely that he arrived for no good purpose; andthey had meant to arrest and hold him for extradition if requested; fordeportation as an undesirable alien anyway. 

Only two men in America knew that Quintana had come to the United Statesfor the purpose of recovering the famous "Flaming Jewel, " stolen by himfrom the Grand Duchess Theodorica of Esthonia; and stolen from Quintana, in turn, by a private soldier in an American Forestry Regiment, on leavein Paris. This soldier's name, probably, was Michael Clinch. 

One of the men who knew why Quintana might come to America was JamesDarragh, recently of the Military Intelligence, but now passing as ahold-up man under the name of Hal Smith, and actually in the employmentof Clinch at his disreputable "hotel" at Star Pond in the North Woods. 

The other man who knew why Quintana had come to America was EmanuelSard, a Levantine diamond broker of New York, Quintana's agent inAmerica. 

* * * * *

Now, as the October days passed without any report of Quintana'sdetention, Darragh, known as Hal Smith at Clinch's dump, began tosuspect that Quintana had already slid into America through the meshesof the police. 

If so, this desperate international criminal could be expected atClinch's under some guise or other, piloted thither by Emanuel Sard. 

So Hal Smith, whose duty was to wash dishes, do chores, and also tosupply Clinch's with "mountain beef" -- or deer taken illegally -- madeit convenient to prowl every day in the vicinity of the Ghost Lake road. 

He was perfectly familiar with Emanuel Sard's squat features and parrotnose, having robbed Mr. Sard of Quintana's cipher and of $4, 000 atpistol point. And one morning, while roving around the guide's quartersat Ghost Lake Inn, Smith beheld Sard himself on the hotel veranda, incompany with five strangers of foreign aspect. 

During the midday dinner Smith, on pretense of enquiring for a guide'slicense, got a look at the Inn ledger. Sard's signature was on it, followed by the names of Henri Picquet, Nicolas Salzar, VictorGeorgiades, Harry Beck, and Jose Sanchez. And Smith went back throughthe wilderness to Star Pond, convinced that one of these gentlemen wasQuintana, and the remainder, Quintana's gang; and that they were here todo murder if necessary in their remorseless quest of "The FlamingJewel. " Two million dollars once had been offered for the FlamingJewel; and had been refused. 

Clinch probably possessed it. Smith was now convinced of that. But hewas there to rob Clinch of it himself. For he had promised the littleGrand Duchess to help recover her Erosite jewel; and now that he hadfinally traced its probably possession to Clinch, he was wondering howthis recovery was to be accomplished. 

To arrest Clinch meant ruin to Eve Strayer. Besides he knew now thatClinch would die in prison before revealing the hiding place of theFlaming Jewel. 

Also, how could it be proven that Clinch had the Erosite gem? Thecipher from Quintana was not sufficient evidence. 

No; the only way was to watch Clinch, prevent any robbery by Quintana'sgang, somehow discover where the Flaming Jewel had been concealed, takeit, and restore it to the beggared young girl whose only financialresource now lay in the possible recovery of this almost priceless gem. 

* * * * *

Toward evening Hal Smith shot two dear near Owl Marsh. To poach on hisown property appealed to his sense of humour. And Clinch, neverdreaming that Hal Smith was the James Darragh who had inherited Harrod'svast preserve, damned all millionaires for every buck brought in, andbecame friendlier to Smith. 

* * * * *

II

Clinch's dump was the disposal plant in which collected the human sewageof the wilderness. 

It being Saturday, the scum of the North Woods was gathering at the StarPond resort. A venison and chicken supper was promised -- and a danceif any women appeared. 

Jake Kloon had run in some Canadian hooch; Darragh, alias Hal Smith, contributed two fat deer and Clinch cooked them. By ten o'clock thatmorning many of the men were growing noise; some were already drunk bynoon. Shortly after midday dinner the first fight started --extinguished only after Clinch had beaten several of the backwoodsaristocracy insensible. 

Towering amid the wreck of the battle, his light grey eyes a-glitter, Clinch dominated, swinging his iron fists. 

When the combat ended and the fallen lay starkly where they fell, Clinchsad in his pleasant, level voice:

"Take them out and stick their heads in the pond. And don't go for toget me mad, boys, or I'm liable to act up rough. "

They bore forth the sleepers for immersion in Star Pond. Clinchrelighted his cigar and repeated the rulings which had caused thefracas:

"You gotta play square cards here or you don' play none in my house. Noliving thumb-nail can nick no cards in my place and get away with it. Three kings and two trays is better than three chickens and two eggs. If you don't like it, g'wan home. "

He went out in his shirt sleeves to see how the knock-outs werereviving, and met Hal Smith returning from the pond, who reportedprogress toward consciousness. They walked back to the "hotel"together. 

"Say, young fella, " said Clinch in his soft, agreeable way, "you want tokeep your eye peeled to-night. "

"Why?" inquired Smith. 

"Well, there'll be a lot o' folks here. There'll be strangers, too. . .. Don't forget the State Troopers are looking for you. "

"Do the State Troopers ever play detective?" asked Smith, smiling. 

"Sure. They've been in here rigged out like peddlers and lumber-jacksand timber lookers. "

"Did they ever get anything on you?"

"Not a thing. "

"Can you always spot them, Mike?"

"No. But when a stranger shows up here who don't know nobody, he neversees nothing and he don't never learn nothing. He gets no hootch outame. No, nor no craps and no cards. He gets his supper; that's what hegets . .. And a dance, if there's ladies -- and if any girl favours him. That's all the change any stranger gets out of Mike Clinch. "

They had paused on the rough veranda in the hot October sunshine. 

"Mike, " suggested Smith carelessly, "wouldn't it pay you better to gostraight?"

Clinch's small grey eyes, which had been roaming over the prospect oflake and forest, focussed on Smith's smiling features. 

"What's that to you?" he asked. 

"I'll be out of a job, " remarked Smith, laughing, "if they ever landyou. "

Clinch's level gaze measured him; his mind was busy measuring him too. "Who the hell are you, anyway?" he asked. "_I_ don't know. You stickup a man on the Ghost Lake Road and hide out here when the StateTroopers come after you. And now you ask me if it pays better to gostraight. Why didn't _you_ go straight if you think it pays?"

"I haven't got a daughter to worry about, " explained Smith. "If theyget me it won't hurt anybody else. "

A dull red tinge came out under Clinch's tan:

"Who asked _you_ to worry about Eve?"

"She's a fine girl: that's all. "

Clinch's steely glare measured the young man:

"You trying to make up to her?" he enquired gently. 

"No. She has no use for me. "

Clinch reflected, his cold tiger-gaze still fastened on Smith. 

"You're right, " he said after a moment. "Eve is a good girl. Some dayI'll make a lady of her. "

"She _is_ one, Clinch. "

At that Clinch reddened heavily -- the first finer emotion ever betrayedbefore Smith. He did not say anything for a few moments, but his grimmouth worked. Finally:

"I guess you was a gentleman once before you went crooked, Hal, " hesaid. "You act up like you once was. . .. Say; there's only one thing onGod's earth I care about. You've guessed it, too. " He was off again onhis ruling passion. 

"Eve, " nodded Smith. 

"Sure. She isn't my flesh and blood. But it seems like she's more, even. I want she should be a lady. It's _all_ I want. That damnedmillionaire Harrod bust me. But he couldn't stop me giving Eve herschooling. And now all I'm livin' for is to be fixed so's to give hermoney to go to the city like a lady. I don't care how I make money; allI want is to make it. And I'm a-going to. "

Smith nodded again. 

Clinch, now obsessed by his monomania, went on with an oath:

"I can't make no money on the level after what Harrod done to me. And Igotta fix up Eve. What the hell do you mean by asking me would it payme to travel straight. I dunno. "

"I was only thinking of Eve. A lady isn't supposed to have a crook fora father. "

Clinch's grey eyes blazed for a moment, then their menacing glaredulled, died out into wintry fixity. 

"I warn't bon a crook, " he said. "I ain't got no choice. And don'tworry, young fella; they ain't a-going to get me. "

"You can't go on beating the game forever, Clinch. "

"I'm beating it----" he hesitated -- "and it won't be so long, neither, before I turn over enough to let Eve live in the city like any lady, with her autymobile and her own butler and her swell friends, in a bighouse like she is educated for----"

H broke off abruptly as a procession approached from the lake, escortingthe battered gentry who now were able to wabble about a little. 

One of them, a fox-faced trap thief named Earl Leverett, slunk hastilyby as though expecting another kick from Clinch. 

"G'wan inside, Earl, and act up right, " said Clinch pleasantly. "Yououghter have more sense than to start a fight in my place -- you and SidHone and Harvey Chase. G'wan in and behave. "

He and Smith followed the procession of damaged ones into the house. 

The big unpainted room where a bar had once been was blue with cheapcigar smoke; the air reeked with the stench of beer and spirits. Ascore or more shambling forest louts in their dingy Saturday finery weregathered here playing cards, shooting craps, lolling around tables andtilting sloping glasses at one another. 

Heavy pleasantries were exchanged with the victims of Clinch's ponderousfists as they re-entered the room from which they had been borne sorecently, feet first. 

"Now, boys, " said Clinch kindly, "act up like swell gents and behavefriendly. And if any ladies come in for the chicken supper, why, goldang it, we'll have a dance!"

* * * * *

III

Toward sundown the first woodland nymph appeared -- a half-shy, half-bold, willowy thing in the rosy light of the clearing. 

Hal Smith, washing glasses and dishes on the back porch for Eve Strayerto dry, asked who the rustic beauty might be. 

"Harvey Chase's sister, " said Eve. "She shouldn't come here, but Ican't keep her away and her brother doesn't care. She's only a child, too. "

"Is there any harm in a chicken supper and a dance?"

Eve looked gravely at young Smith without replying. 

Other girlish shapes loomed in the evening light. Some were met bygallants, some arrived at the veranda unescorted. 

"Where do they all come from? Do they live in trees like dryads?" askedSmith. 

"There are always squatters in the woods, " she replied indifferently. 

"Some of these girls come from Ghost Lake, I suppose. "

"Yes; waitresses at the Inn. "

"What music is there?"

"Jim Hastings plays a fiddle. I play the melodeon if they need me. "

"What do you do when there's a fight?" he asked, with a side glance ather pure profile. 

"What do you suppose I do? Fight, too?"

He laughed -- mirthlessly -- conscious always of his secret pity forthis girl. 

"Well, " he said, "when your father makes enough to quit, he'll take youout of this. It's a vile hole for a young girl----"

"See here, " she said, flushing; "you're rather particular for a youngman who stuck up a tourist and robbed him of four thousand dollars. "

"I'm not complaining on my own account, " returned Smith, laughing;"Clinch's suits me. "

"Well, don't concern yourself on my account, Hal Smith. And you'dbetter keep out of the dance, too, if there are any strangers there. "

"You think a State Trooper may happen in?"

"It's likely. A lot of people come and go. We don't always know them. "She opened a sliding wooden shutter and looked into the bar room. Aftera moment she beckoned him to her side. 

"There are strangers there now, " she said, "-- that thin, dark man wholooks like a Kanuk. And those two men shaking dice. I don't know whothey are. I never before saw them. "

But Smith had seen them at Ghost Lake Inn. One of them was Sard. Quintana's gang had arrived at Clinch's dump. 

A moment later Clinch came through the pantry and kitchen and out ontothe rear porch where Smith was washing glasses in a tub filled from anever-flowing spring. 

"I'm a-going to get supper, " he said to Eve. "There'll be twenty-threeplates. " And to Smith: "Hal -- you help Eve wait on the table. And ifanybody acts up rough you slam him on the jaw -- don' argue, don't wait-- just slam him good, and I'll come on the hop. "

"Who are the strangers, dad?" asked Eve. 

"Don't nobody know 'em, girlie. But they ain't State Troopers. Theytalk like they was foreign. One of 'em's English -- the big, bony onewith yellow hair and mustache. "

"Did they give any names?" asked Smith. 

"You bet. The stout, dark man calls himself Hongri Picket. French, Iguess. The fat beak is a fella names Sard. Sanchez is the guy with aface like a Canada priest -- Jose Sanchez -- or something on that style. And then the yellow skinned young man is Nichole Salzar; the Britisher, Harry Beck; and that good lookin' dark gent with a little black CharlieChaplin, he's Victor Georgiades. "

"What are those foreigners doing in the North Woods, Clinch?" enquiredSmith. 

"Oh, they all give the same spiel -- hire out in a lumber camp. But_they_ ain't no lumberjacks, " added Clinch contemptuously. I don't knowwhat they be -- hootch runners maybe -- or booze bandits -- or they donesomething crooked som'ers r'other. It's safe to serve 'em drinks. "

Clinch himself had been drinking. He always drank when preparing tocook. 

He turned and went into the kitchen now, rolling up his shirt sleevesand relighting his clay pipe. 

* * * * *

IV

By nine o'clock the noisy chicken supper had ended; the table had beencleared; Jim Hastings was tuning his fiddle in the big room; Eve hadseated herself before the battered melodeon. 

"Ladies and gents, " said Clinch in his clear, pleasant voice, whichcarried through the hubbub, "we're going to have dance -- thanks andbeholden to Jim Hastings and my daughter Eve. Eve, she don't drink andshe don't dance, so no use askin' and no hard feelin' toward nobody. 

"So act up pleasant to one and all and have a good time and no roughstuff in no form, shape, or manner, but behave like gents all and swelldames, like you was to a swarry on Fifth Avenue. Let's go!"

He went back to the pantry, taking no notice of the cheering. Thefiddler scraped a fox trot, and Eve's melodeon joined in. A vastscuffling of heavily shod feet filled the momentary silence, accented bythe shrill giggle of young girls. 

"They're off, " remarked Clinch to Smith, who stood at the pantry shelfprepared to serve whiskey or beer upon previous receipt of payment. 

In the event of a sudden raid, the arrangements at Clinch's were quitesimple. Two large drain pipes emerged from the kitchen floor besideSmith, and ended in Star Pond. In case of alarm the tub of beer waspoured down one pipe; the whiskey down the other. 

Only the trout in Star Pond would ever sample that hootch again. 

Clinch, now slightly intoxicated, leaned heavily on the pantry shelfbeside Smith, adjusting his pistol under his suspenders. 

"Young fella, " he said in his agreeable voice, "you're dead right. Yousure said a face-full when you says to me, `Eve's a lady, by God!'_You_ oughta know. You was a gentleman yourself once. Even if you taketo stickin' up the turn. She _is_ a lady. All I'm livin' for is to gether down to the city and give her money to live like a lady. I'll do ityet. . .. Soon! . .. I'd do it to-morrow -- to-night -- if I dared . .. IfI thought it sure fire. . .. If I was dead certain I could get away withit. . .. I've _got_ money, _Now!_ . .. Only it ain't in _money_ . .. Smith?"

"Yes, Mike. "

"You know me?"

"Sure. "

"You size me up?"

"I do. "

"All right. If you ever tell anyone I got money that ain't money I'llshoot you through the head. "

"Don't worry, Clinch. "

"I ain't. You're a crook; you won't talk. You're a gentleman, too. _They_ don't sell out a pal. Say, Hal, there's only one fella I don'twant to meet. "

"Who's that, Mike?"

"Lemme tell you, " continued Clinch, resting more heavily on the shelfwhile Smith, looking out through the pantry shutter at the dancing, listened intently. 

"When I was in France in a Forestry Rig'ment, " went on Clinch, loweringhis always pleasant voice, "I was to Paris on leave a few days beforethey sent us home. "

"I was in the washroom of a caffy -- a-cleanin' up for supper, whendod-bang! into the place comes a-tumblin' a man with two cops pushingand kicking him. 

"They didn't see me in there for they locked the door on the man. Hewas a swell gent, too, in full dress and silk hat and all like that, anda opry cloak and white kid gloves, and mustache and French beard. 

"When they locked him up he stood stock still and lit a cigarette, ascool as ice. Then he begun walkin' around looking for a way to get out;but there wasn't no way. 

"Then he seen me and over he comes and talks English right away: `Wantto make a thousand francs, soldier?' sez he in a quick whisper. `You'reon, ' sez I; `Show your dough. ' `Them Flies has went to get theCommissaire for to frisk me, ' sez he. `Go to 13 roo Quinze Octobre andgive it to the concierge for Jose Quintana. ' And he shoves the packeton me and a thousand-franc note. 

"Then he grabs me sudden and pulls open my collar. God, he was strong. 

"`What's the matter with you?' says I. `Lemme go or I'll mash your mugflat. ' `Lemme see your identification disc, ' he barks. 

"Bein' in Paris for a bat, I had exchanged with my bunkie, Bill Hanson. `Let him look, ' thinks I; and he reads Bill's check. 

"`If you fool me, ' says he, 'I'll folly ye and I'll do you in if ittakes the rest of my life. You understand?' `Sure, ' says I, me tonguein me cheek. `Bong! Alez vouz en!' says he. 

"`How the hell, ' sez I, `do I get out of here?' `You're a Yankeesoldier. The Flies don't know you were in here. You go and kick onthat door and make a holler. '

"So I done it good; and a cope opens and swears at me, but when he seesa Yankee soldier was locked in the wash-room by mistake, he lets me out, you bet. "

Clinch smiled a thin smile, poured out three fingers of hooch. 

"What else?" asked Smith quietly. 

"Nothing much. I didn't go to no roo Quinze Octobre. But I don't neverwant to see that fella Quintana. I've been waiting till it's safe tosell -- what was in that packet. "

"Sell what?"

"What was in that packet, " replied Clinch thickly. 

"What was in it?"

"Sparklers -- since you're so nosey. "

"Diamonds?"

"And then some. I dunno what they're called. All I know is I'll croakQuintana if he even turns up askin' for 'em. He frisked somebody. Ifrisked him. I'll kill anybody who tries to frisk me. "

"Where do you keep them?" enquired Smith naively. 

Clinch looked at him, very drunk: "None o' your dinged business, " hesaid very softly. 

The dancing had become boisterous but not unseemly, although all the menhad been drinking too freely. 

Smith closed the pantry bar at midnight, by direction of Eve. Now hecame out into the ballroom and mixed affably with the company, evendancing with Harvey Chase's sister once -- a slender hoyden, all flushedand dishevelled, with a tireless mania for dancing which seemed tointoxicate her. 

She danced, danced, danced, accepting any partner offered. But Smith'sskill enraptured her and she refused to let him go when her beau, a latearrival, one Charly Berry, slouched up to claim her. 

Smith, always trying to keep Clinch and Quintana's men in view, took nopart in the discussion; but Berry thought he was detaining Lily Chaseand pushed him aside. 

"Hold on, young man!" exclaimed Smith sharply. "Keep your hands toyourself. If your girl don't want to dance with you she doesn't haveto. "

Some of Quintana's gag came up to listen. Berry glared at Smith. 

"Say, " he said, "I seen you before somewhere. Wasn't you in Russia?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Yes, you was. You was an officer! What you doing at Clinch's?"

"What's that?" growled Clinch, shoving his way forward and shoulderingthe crowd aside. 

"Who's this man, Mike?" demanded Berry. 

"Well, who do you think he is?" asked Clinch thickly. 

"I think he's gettin' the goods on you, that's what I think, " yelledBerry. 

"G'wan home, Charlie, " returned Clinch. "G'wan, all o'you. The danceis over. Go peaceable, every one. Stop that fiddle!"

The music ceased. The dance was ended; they all understood that; butthere was grumbling and demands for drinks. 

Clinch, drunk but impassive, herded them through the door out into thestarlight. There was scuffling, horse-play, but no fighting. 

The big Englishman, Harry Beck, asked for accommodations for his partover night. 

"Naw, " said Clinch, "g'wan back to the Inn. I can't bother with youfolks to-night. " And as the others, Salzar, Georgiades, Picquet andSanchez gathered about to insist, Clinch pushed them all out of doors ina mass. 

"Get the hell out o' here!" he growled; and slammed the door. 

He stood for a moment with head lowered, drunk, but apparently capableof reflection. Eve came from the melodeon and laid one slim hand on hisarm. 

"Go to bed, girlie, " he said, not looking past her. 

"You also, dad. "

"No. . .. I got business with Hal Smith. "

Passing Smith, the girl whispered: "You look out for him and undresshim. "

Smith nodded, gravely preoccupied with coming events, and nervinghimself to meet them. 

He had no gun. Clinch's big automatic bulged under his armpit. 

When the girl had ascended the creaking stairs and her door, above, closed, Clinch walked unsteadily to the door, opened it, fished out hispistol. 

"Come on out, " he said without turning. 

"Where?" enquired Smith. 

Clinch turned, lifted his square head; and the deadly glare in his eyesleft Smith silent. 

"You comin?"

"Sure, " said Smith quietly. 

But Clinch gave him no chance to close in: it was death even to swerve. Smith walked slowly out into the starlight, ahead of Clinch -- slowlyforward in the luminous darkness. 

"Keep going, " came Clinch's quiet voice behind him. And, after they hadentered the woods, -- "Bear to the right. "

Smith knew now. The low woods were full of sink-holes. They wereheaded for the nearest one. 

* * * * *

On the edge of the thing they halted. Smith turned and faced Clinch. 

"What's the idea?" he asked without a quaver. 

"Was you in Roosia?"

"Yes. "

"Was you an officer?"

"I was. "

"Then you're spyin'. You're a cop. "

"You're mistaken. "

"Ah, don't had me none like that. You're a State Trooper or a SecretService guy, or a plain, dirty cop. And I'm a-going to croak you. "

"I'm not in any service, now. "

"Wasn't you an army officer?"

"Yes. Can't an officer go wrong?"

"Soft stuff. Don't feed it to me. I told you too much anyway. I wasbabblin' drunk. I'm drunk now, but I got sense. D'you think I'll runchances of sittin' in State's Prison for the next ten years and leaveEve out here alone? No. I gotta shoot you, Smith. And I'm a-going todo it. G'wan and say what you want . .. If you think there's some kindo' god you can square before you croak. "

"If you go to the chair for murder, what good will it do Eve?" askedSmith. His lips were crackling dry; he moistened them. 

"Sink holes don't talk, " said Clinch. "G'wan and square yourself, ifyou're the church kind. "

"Clinch, " said Smith unsteadily, "if you kill me now you're as good asdead yourself. Quintana is here. "

"Say, don't hand me that, " retorted Clinch. "Do you square yourself orno?"

"I tell you Quintana's gang were at the dance to-night -- Picquet, Salzar, Georgiades, Sard, Beck, Jose Sanchez -- the one who looks like aFrench priest. Maybe he had a beard when you saw him in that cafewash-room----"

"What!" shouted Clinch in sudden fury. "What yeh talkin' about, youpoor dumb dingo! Yeh fixin' to scare me? What do _you_ know aboutQuintana? Are you one of Quintana's gang, too? Is that what you're upto, hidin' out at Star Pond. Come on, out with it! I'll have it allout of you now, Hal Smith, before I plug you----"

He came lurching forward, swinging his heavy pistol as though he meantto brain his victim, but he halted after the first step or two and stoodthere, a shadowy bulk, growling, enraged, undecided. 

And, as Smith looked at him, two shadows detached themselves from thetrees behind Clinch -- silently -- silently glided behind -- struck inutter silence. 

Down crashed Clinch, black-jacked, his face in the ooze. His pistolflew from his hand, struck Smith's leg; and Smith had it at the sameinstance and turned it like lightning on the murderous shadows. 

"Hands up! Quick!" he cried, at bay now, and his back to the sink-hole. 

Pistol levelled, he bent one knee, pushed Clinch over on his back, lestthe ooze suffocate him. 

"Now, " he said coolly, "what do you bums want out of Mike Clinch?"

"Who are you?" came a sullen voice. "This is none o' your bloodybusiness. We want Clinch, not you. "

"What do you want of Clinch?"

"Take your gun off us!"

"Answer, or I'll let go at you. What do you want of Clinch?"

"Money. What do you think?"

"You're here to stick up Clinch?" enquired Smith. 

"Yes. What's that to you?"

"What has Clinch done to you?"

"He stuck _us_ up, that's what! Now, are you going to keep out ofthis?"

"No. "

"We ain't going to hurt Clinch. "

"You bet you're not. Where's the rest of your gang?"

"What gang?"

"Quintana's, " said Smith, laughing. A wild exhilaration possessed him. His flanks and rear were protected by the sink-hole. He had Quintana'sgang -- two of them -- over his pistol. 

"Turn your backs and sit down, " he said. As the shadowy formshesitated, he picked up a stick and hurled it at them. They sat downhastily, hands up, backs toward him. 

"You'll both die where you sit, " remarked Smith, "if you yell for help. "

Clinch sighed heavily, stirred, groped on the damp leaves with hishands. 

"I say, " began the voice which Smith identified as Harry Beck's, "ifyou'll come in with us on this it will pay you, young man. "

"No, " drawled Smith, "I'll go it alone. "

"It can't be done, old dear. You'll see if you try it on. "

"Who'll stop me? Quintana?"

"Come, " urged Beck, "and be a good pal. You can't manage it alone. We've got all night to make Clinch talk. I now how, too. You'll getyour share----"

"Oh, stow it, " said Smith, watching Clinch, who was reviving. He sat uppresently, and put both hands over his head. Smith touched him silentlyon the shoulder and he turned his heavy, square head in a dazed way. Blood striped his visage. He gazed dully at Smith for a little while, then, seeming to recollect, the old glare began to light his pale eyes. 

The next instant, however, Beck spoke again, and Clinch turned inastonishment and saw the two figures sitting there with backs towardSmith and hands up. 

Clinch stared at the squatting forms, then slowly moved his head andlooked at Smith and his levelled pistol. 

"We know how to make a man squeal, " said Harry Beck suddenly. "He'lltalk. We can make Clinch talk, no fear! Leave it to us, old pal. Areyou with us?" He started to look around over his shoulder and Smithhurled another stick and hit him in the face. 

"Quiet there, Harry, " he said. "What's my share if I go in with you?"

"One sixth, same's we all get. "

"What's it worth?" asked Smith, with a motion of caution toward Clinch. 

"If I say a million you'll tell me I lie. But it's nearer three -- oryou can have my share. Is it a go?"

"You'll not hurt Clinch when he comes to?"

"We'll make him talk, that's all. It may hurt him some. "

"You won't kill him?"

"I swear by God----"

"Wait! Isn't it better to shoot him after he squeals? Here's a lovelysink-hole handy. "

"Right-o! We'll make him talk first and then shove him in. Are youwith us?"

"If you turn your head I'll blow the face off you, Harry, " said Smith, cautioning Clinch to silence with a gesture. 

"All right. Only you better make up your mind. That cove is likely towake up now any time, " grumbled Beck. 

Clinch looked at Smith. The latter smiled, leaned over, and whispered:

"Can you walk all right?"

Clinch nodded. 

"Well, we better beat it. Quintana's whole gang is in these woods, somewhere, hunting for you, and they might stumble on us here, at anymoment. " And, to the two men in front: "Lie down flat on your faces. Don't stir; don't speak; or it's you for the sink-hole. . .. Lie down, Itell you! That's it. Don't move till I tell you to. "

Clinch got up from where he was sitting, cast one murderous glance atthe prostrate forms, then followed Smith, noiselessly, over the stretchof sphagnum moss. 

* * * * *

When they reached the house they saw Eve standing on the steps in hernight-dress and bare feet, holding a lantern. 

"Daddy, " she whimpered, "I was frightened. I didn't know where you hadgone----"

Clinch put his arm around her, turned his bloody face and looked atSmith. 

"It's _this, _" he said, "that I ain't forgetting, young fella. What youdone for me you done for _her. _

"I gotta live to make a lady of her. That's why, " he added thickly, "I'm much obliged to you, Hal Smith. . .. Get to bed, girlie----"

"You're bleeding, dad?"

"Aw, a twig scratched me. I been in the woods with Hal. G'wan to bed. "

He went to the sink and washed his face, dried it, kissed the girl, andgave her a gentle shove toward the stairs. 

"Hal and I is sittin' up talkin' business, " he remarked, bolting thedoor and all the shutters. 

* * * * *

When the girl had gone, Clinch went to a closet and brought back twoWinchester rifles, two shot guns, and a box of ammunition. 

"Goin' to see it out with me, Hal?"

"Sure, " smiled Smith. 

"Aw' right. Have a drink?"

"No. "

"Aw' right. Where'll you set?"

"Anywhere. "

"Aw' right. Set over there. They may try the back porch. I'll jestset here a spell, n'then I'll kind er mosey 'round. . .. Plug the firstfella that tries a shutter, Hal. "

"You bet. "

Clinch came over and held out his hand. 

"You said a face-full that time when you says to me, `Clinch, ' you says, `Eve _is_ a lady. ' . .. I gotta fix her up. I gotta be alive to do it. . .. That's why I'm greatly obliged to yeh, Hal. "

He took his rifle and walked slowly toward the pantry. 

"You bet, " he muttered, "she _is_ a lady, so help me God. "

* * * * *

Episode Three

On Star Peak

* * * * *

I

Mike Clinch regarded the jewels taken from Jose Quintana as legitimateloot acquired in war. He was prepared to kill anybody who attempted totake the gems from him. 

At the very possibility his ruling passion blazed -- his mania to makeof Eve Strayer a grand lady. 

But now, what he had feared for years had happened. Quintana had foundhim, -- Quintana, after all these years, had discovered the identity anddwelling place of the obscure American soldier who had robbed him in thewash-room of a Paris cafe. And Quintana was now in America, here inthis very wilderness, tracking the man who had despoiled him. 

* * * * *

Clinch, in his shirt-sleeves, carrying a rifle, came out on the logveranda and sat down to think it over. 

He began to realise that he was likely to have trouble with a man ascold-blooded and as dogged as himself. 

Nor did he doubt that those with Quintana were desperate men. 

On whom could he count? On nobody unless he paid their hire. Noneamong the lawless men who haunted his backwoods "hotel" at Star Pondwould lift a finger to help him. Almost any among them would haverobbed him, -- murdered him, probably, -- if it were known that thejewels were hidden in the house. 

He could not trust Jake Kloon; Leverett was as treacherous as only aborn coward can be; Sid Hone, Harvey Chase, Blommers, Byron Hastings, --he knew them all too well to trust them, -- a sullen, unscrupulous pack, partly cowardly, always fierce, -- as are any creatures that livefurtively, feed only by their wits, and slink through life just outsidethe frontiers of law. 

And yet, one of this gang had stood by him -- Hal Smith -- the man hehimself had been about to slay. 

Clinch got up from the bench where he had been sitting and walked downto the pond where Hal Smith sat cleaning trout. 

"Hal, " he said, "I been figuring some. Quintana don't dare call in theconstables. I can't afford to. Quintana and I've got to settle this onour own. "

Smith slit open a ten-inch trout, stripped it, flung the entrails outinto the pond, soused the fish in water, and threw it into a milk pan. 

"Whose jewels were they in the beginning?" he enquired carelessly. 

"How do I know?"

"If you ever found out----"

"I don't want to. I got them in the way, anyway. And it don't make nodifference how I got 'em; Eve's going to be a lady if I go to the chairfor it. So that's that. "

Smith slit another trout, gutted it, flung away the viscera but laidback the roe. 

"Shame to take them in October, " he remarked, "but people must eat. "

"Same's me, " nodded Clinch; "I don't want to kill no one, but Eve she'sgotta be a lady and ride in her own automobile with the proudest. "

"Does Eve know about the jewels?"

Clinch's pale eyes, which had been roving over the wooded shores of StarPond, reverted to Smith. 

"I'd cut my own throat before I'd tell her, " he said softly. 

"She wouldn't stand for it?"

"Hal, when you said to me, `Eve's a lad, by God!' you swallered the hullpie. That's the answer. A lady don't stand for what you and I don'tbother about. "

"Suppose she learns that you robbed the man who robbed somebody else ofthese jewels. "

Clinch's pale eyes were fixed on him: "Only you and me know, " he said inhis pleasant voice. 

"Quintana knows. His gang knows. "

Clinch's smile was terrifying. "I guess she ain't never likely to knownothing, Hal. "

"What do you purpose to do, Mike?"

"Still hunt. "

"For Quintana?"

"I might mistake him for a deer. Them accidents is likely, too. "

"If Quintana catches you it will go hard with you, Mike. "

"Sure. I know. "

"He'll torture you to make you talk. "

"You think I'd talk, Hal?"

Smith looked up into the light-coloured eyes. The pupils were pinpoints. Then he went on cleaning fish. 

"Hal?"

"What?"

"If they get me, -- but no matter; they ain't a-going to get me. "

"Were you going to tell me where those jewels are hidden, Mike?"enquired the young man, still busy with his fish. He did not lookaround when he spoke. Clinch's murderous gaze was fastened on the backof his head. 

"Don't go to gettin' too damn nosey, Hal, " he said in his alwaysagreeable voice. 

Smith soused all the fish in water again: "You'd better tell somebody ifyou go gunning for Quintana. "

"Did I ask your advice?"

"You did not, " said the young man, smiling. 

"All right. Mind your business. "

Smith got up from the water's edge with his pan of trout:

"That's what I shall do, Mike, " he said, laughing. "So go on with yourprivate war; it's no button off _my_ pants if Quintana gets you. "

He went away toward the ice-house with the trout. Eve Strayer, doingchamber work, watched the young man from an upper room. 

The girl's instinct was to like Smith, -- but that very instinct arousedher distrust. What was a man of his breeding and education doing atClinch's dump? Why was he content to hang around and do chores? A manof his type who had gone crooked enough to stick up a tourist in anautomobile nourishes higher- though probably perverted -- ambitions thana dollar a day and board. 

She heard Clinch's light step on the uncarpeted stair; went on making upSmith's bed; and smiled as her step-father came into the room, stillcarrying his rifle. 

He had something else in his hand, too, -- a flat, thin packet wrappedin heavy paper and sealed all over with black wax. 

"Girlie, " he said, "I want you should do a little errand for me thismorning. If you're spry it won't take long -- time to go there and getback to help with noon dinner. "

"Very well, dad. "

"Go git your pants on, girlie. "

"You want me to go into the woods?"

"I want you to go to the hole in the rocks under Star Peak and lay thispacket under the hootch cache. "

She nodded, tucked in the sheets, smoothed blanket and pillow with defthands, went out to her own room. Clinch seated himself and turned ablank face to the window. 

It was a sudden decision. He realised now that he couldn't keep thejewels in his house. War was on with Quintana. The "hotel" would bethe goal for Quintana and his gang. And for smith, too, if evertemptation over-powered him. The house was liable to an attempt atrobbery any night, now; -- any day, perhaps. It was no place for thepacket he had taken from Jose Quintana. 

Eve came in wearing grey shirt, breeches, and puttees. Clinch gave herthe packet. 

"What's in it, dad?" she asked smilingly. 

"Don't you get nosey, girlie. Come here. "

She went to him. He put his left arm around her. 

"You like me some, don't you, girlie?"

"You know it, dad. "

"All right. You're all that matters to me. . .. Since your mother wentand died. . .. After a year. . .. That was crool, girlie. Only a year. Well, I ain't cared none for nobody since -- only you, girlie. "

He touched the packet with his forefinger:

"If I step out, that's yours. But I ain't a-going to step out. Put itwith the hootch. You know how to move that keystone?"

"Yes, dad. "

"And watch out that no game protector and none of that damnmillionaire's wardens see you in the woods. No, nor none o' these herefancy State Troopers. You gotta watch out _this_ time, Eve. It meanseverything to us -- to you, girlie -- and to me. Go tip-toe. Lay low, coming and going. Take a rifle. "

Eve ran to her bed-room and returned with her Winchester and belt. 

"You shoot to kill, " said Clinch grimly, "if anyone wants to stop you. But lay low and you won't need to shoot nobody, girlie. G'wan out theback way; Hal's in the ice house. "

* * * * *

II

Slim and straight as a young boy in her grey shirt and breeches, Evecontinued on lightly through the woods, her rifle over her shoulder, hereyes of gentian-blue always alert. 

The morning turned warm; she pulled off her soft felt hat, shook out herclipped curls, stripped open the shirt at where her snowy throat wheresweat glimmered like melted frost. 

The forest was lovely in the morning sunlight -- lovely and still --save for the blue-jays -- for the summer birds had gone and only birdsdestined to a long Northern winter remained. 

Now and then, ahead of her, she saw a ruffed grouse wandering in thetrail. These, and a single tiny grey bird with a dreary noteinterminably repeated, were the only living things she saw except hereand there a summer-battered butterfly of the Vanessa tribe flitting insome stray sunbeam. 

The haunting odour of the late autumn was in the air -- delicately acrid-- the scent of frost-killed brake and ripening wild grasses, ofbrilliant dead leaves and black forest loam pungent with mast from beechand oak. 

Eve's treat was light on the moist trail; her quick eyes missed nothing-- not the dainty imprint of deer, fresh made, nor the sprawlinginsignia of rambling raccoons -- nor the big barred owl huddled on apine limb overhead, nor, where the swift gravelly reaches of the brookcaught sunlight, did she miss the swirl of the furrowing and milling ofpainted trout on the spawning beds. 

Once she took cover, hearing something stirring; but it was only ayearling buck that came out of the witch-hazel to stare, stamp, andwheel and trot away, displaying the danger signal. 

In her cartridge-pouch she carried the flat, sealed packet which Clinchhad trusted to her. The sack swayed gently as she strode on, slappingher left hip at every step; and always her subconscious mind remained onguard and aware of it; and now and then she dropped her hand to feel ofthe pouch and strap. 

The character of the forest was now changing as she advanced. The firsttamaracks appeared, slim, silvery trunks, crowned with the gold ofautumn foliage, outer sentinels of that vast maze of swamp and streamcalled Owl Marsh, the stronghold and refuge of forest wild things --sometimes the sanctuary of hunted men. 

From Star Peak's left flank an icy stream clatters down to the levelfloor of the woods, here; and it was here that Eve had meant to quenchher thirst with a mouthful of sweet water. 

But as she approached the tiny ford, warily, she saw a saddled horsetied to a sapling and a man seated on a mossy log. 

The trappings of horse, the grey-green uniform of the man, left no roomfor speculation; a trooper of the State Constabulary was seated there. 

His cap was off; his head rested on his palm. Elbow on knee, he satthere gazing at the water -- watching the slim fish, perhaps, darting upstream toward their bridal-beds hidden far away at the headwaters. 

A detour was imperative. The girl, from the shelter of a pine, lookedout cautiously at the trooper. The sudden sight of him had merelychecked her; now the recognition of his uniform startled her heart outof its tranquil rhythm and set the blood burning in her cheeks. 

There was a memory of such a man seared into the girl's very soul; -- aman whose head and shoulders resembled this man's, -- who had the samebright hair, the same slim and powerful body, -- and who moved, too, asthis young man moved. 

The trooper stirred, lifted his head to relight his pipe. 

The girl knew him. Her heart stood still; then heart and blood ran riotand she felt her knees tremble, -- felt weak as she rested against thepine's huge trunk and covered her face with unsteady fingers. 

Until the moment, Eve had never dreamed what the memory of this manreally meant to her, -- never dreamed that she had capacity for emotionso utterly overwhelming. 

Even now confusion, shame, fear were paramount. All she wanted was toget away, -- get away and still her heart's wild beating, -- control thestrange tremor that possessed her, recover mind and sense and breath. 

She drew her hand from her eyes and looked upon the man she hadattempted to kill, -- upon the young man who had wrestled her off herfeet and handcuffed her, -- and who had bathed her bleeding mouth withsphagnum, -- and who had kissed her hands----

She was trembling so that she became frightened. The racket of thebrook in his ears safeguarded her in a measure. She bent over nearlydouble, her rifle at a trail, and cautiously began the detour. 

* * * * *

When at length the wide circle through the woods had been safelyaccomplished and Eve was moving out through the thickening ranks oftamarack, her heart, which seemed to suffocate her, quieted; and sheleaned against a shoulder of rock, strangely tired. 

After a while she drew from her pocket _his_ handkerchief, and looked atit. The square of cambric bore his initials, J. S. Blood from her lipremained on it. She had not washed out the spots. 

She put it to her lips again, mechanically. A faint odour of tobaccostill clung to it. 

By every law of loyalty, pride, self-respect, she should have held thisman her enemy. Instead, she held his handkerchief against her lips, --crushed it there suddenly through her skin from throat to hair. 

Then, wearily, she lifted her head and looked out into the grey andempty vista of her life, where the dreary years seemed to stretch likemilestones away, away into an endless waste. 

She put the handkerchief into her pocket, shouldered her rifle, moved onwithout looking about her, -- a mistake which only the emotion of themoment could account for in a girl so habituated to caution, -- for shehad gone only a few rods before a man's strident voice halted her:

"Halte la! Crosse en air!"

"Drop that rifle!" came another voice from behind her. "You're covered!Throw your gun to the ground!"

She stood as though paralysed. To the right and left she heard peopletrampling through the thicket toward her. 

"Down with that gun, damn you!" repeated the voice, breathless fromrunning. All around her men came floundering and crashing toward herthrough the undergrowth. She could see some of them. 

As she stopped to place her rifle on the dead leaves, she drew the flatpacket from her cartridge sack at the same time and slid it deftly undera rotting log. Then, calm but very pale, she stood upright to faceevents. 

The first man wore a red and yellow bandanna handkerchief over the lowerhalf of his face, pulled tightly across a bony nose. He held a longpistol nearly parallel to his own body; and when he came up to where shewas standing he poked the muzzle into her stomach. 

She did no flinch; he said nothing; she looked intently into the tworatty eyes fastened on her over the edge of his bandanna. 

Five other men were surrounding her, but they all wore white masks ofvizard shape, revealing chin and mouth. 

They were different otherwise, also, wearing various sorts and patternsof sport clothes, brand new, and giving them an odd, foreign appearance. 

What troubled her most was the silence the maintained. The man wearingthe bandanna was the only one who seemed at all a familiar figure, --merely, perhaps, because he was American in build, clothing, andmovement. 

He took her by the shoulder, turned her around and gave her a shoveforward. She staggered a step or two; he gave her another shove and shecomprehended that she was to keep on going. 

Presently she found herself in a steep, wet deer-trail rising upwardthrough a gully. She knew that runway. It led up Star Peak. 

Behind her as she climbed she heard the slopping, panting tread of men;her wind was better than theirs; she climbed lithely upward, setting apace which finally resulted in a violent jerk backward, -- a savage, wordless admonition to go more slowly. 

As she climbed she wondered whether she should have fired an alarm shoton the chance of the State Trooper, Stormont, hearing it. 

But she had thought only of the packet at the moment of surprise. Andnow she wondered whether, when freed, she could ever again find thatrotting log. 

Up, up, always up along the wet gully, deep with silt andfrost-splintered rock, she toiled, the heavy grasping of men behind her. Twice she was jerked to a halt while her escort rested. 

Once, without turning, she said unsteadily: "Who are you? What have Idone to you?"

There was no reply. 

"What are you going to do to me----" she began again, and was shaken bythe shoulder until silent. 

At last the vast arch of the eastern sky sprang out ahead, where stuntedspruces stood out against the sunshine and the intense heat of middayfell upon bare table-land of rock and moss and fern. 

As she came out upon the level, the man behind her took both her armsand pulled them back and somebody bandaged her eyes. Then a hand closedon her left arm and, so guided, she stumbled and crept forward acrossthe rocks for a few moments until her guide halted her and forced herinto a sitting position on a smooth, flat boulder. 

She heard the crunching of heavy feet all around her, whispering madehoarse by breath exhausted, movement across rock and scrub, retreatingsteps. 

For an interminable time she sat there alone in the hot sun, drenched tothe skin in sweat, listening, thinking, striving to find a reason forthis lawless outrage. 

After a long while she heard somebody coming across the rocks, stiffenedas she listened with some vague presentiment of evil. 

Somebody had halted beside her. After a pause she was aware of nimblefingers busy with the bandage over her eyes. 

At first, when freed, the light blinded her. By degrees she was able todistinguish the rocky crest of Star Peak, with the tops of tall treesappearing level with the rocks from depths below. 

Then she turned, slowly, and looked at the man who had seated himselfbeside her. 

He wore a white mask over a delicate, smoothly shaven face. 

His soft hat and sporting clothes were dark grey, evidently new. Andshe noticed his hands -- long, elegantly made, smooth, restless, platingwith a pencil and some sheets of paper on his knees. 

As she met his brilliant eyes behind the mask, his delicate, thin lipsgrew tense in what seemed to be a smile -- or a soundless sort of laugh. 

"Veree happee, " he said, "to make the acquaintance. Pardon myunceremony, miss, but onlee necissitee compels. Are you, perhaps, alittle rested?"

"Yes. "

"Ah! Then, if you permit, we proceed with affairs of moment. You willbe sufficiently kind to write down what I say. Yes?"

He placed paper and pencil in Eve's hand. Without demurring orhesitation she made ready to write, her mind groping wildly for thereason of it all. 

"Write, " he said, with his silent laugh which was more like thesoundless snarl of a lynx unafraid:

"To Mike Clinch, my fathaire, from his child Eve. . .. I am hostage, heldby Jose Quintana. Pay what you owe him and I go free. 

"For each day delay he sends you one finger which will be severed frommy right hand----"

Eve's slender fingers trembled; she looked up at the masked man, staredsteadily into his brilliant eyes. 

"Proceed miss, if you are so amiable, " he said softly. 

She wrote on: "-- One finger for every day's delay. The whole hand atthe week's end. The other hand then, finger by finger. Then, alas! theright foot----"

Eve trembled. 

"Proceed, " he said softly. 

She wrote: "If you agree you shall pay what you owe to Jose Quintana inthis manner: you shall place a stick at the edge of the Star Pond wherethe Star rivulet flows out. Upon this stick you shall tie a white rag. At the foot of the stick you shall lay the parcel which contains yourindebt to Jose Quintana. 

"Failing this, by to-night _one finger_ at sunset. "

The man pause: Eve waited, dumb under the surging confusion in herbrain. A sort of incredulous horror benumbed her, through which shestill heard and perceived. 

"Be kind enough to sign it with your name, " said the man pleasantly. 

Eve signed. 

Then the masked man took the letter, got up, removed his hat. 

"I am Quintana, " he said. "I keep my word. A thousand thanks andapologies, miss. I trust that your detention may be brief and not toodisagreeable. I place at your feet my humble respects. "

He bowed, put on his hat, and walked quickly away. And she saw himdescend the rocks to the eastward, where the peak slopes. 

When Quintana had disappeared behind the summit scrub and rocks, Eveslowly stood up and looked about her at the rocky pulpit so familiar. 

There was only one way out. Quintana had gone that way. His men nodoubt guarded it. Otherwise, sheet precipices confronted her. 

She walked to the western edge where a sheet of slippery reindeer mossclothed the rock. Below the mountain fell away to the valley where shehad been made prisoner. 

She looked out over the vast panorama of wilderness and mountain, rangeon range stretching blue to the horizon. She looked down into thedepths of the valley where deep under the flaming foliage of October, somewhere, a State Trooper was sitting, cheek on hand, beside awaterfall -- or, perhaps riding slowly through a forest which she mightnever gaze upon again. 

There was a noise on the rocks behind her. A masked man came out of thespruce scrub, laid a blanket on the rocks, placed a loaf of bread, somecheese, and a tin pail full of water upon it, motioned to her, and wentaway through the dwarf spruces. 

Eve walked slowly to the blanket. She drank out of the tin pail. Thenshe set aside the food, lay down, and buried her quivering face in herarms. 

* * * * *

The sun was half way between zenith and horizon when she heard somebodycoming, and rose to a sitting posture. Her visitor was Quintana. 

He came up to her quite close, stood with glittering eyes intent uponher. 

After a moment he handed her a letter. 

She could scarcely unfold it, she trembled so:

"Girlie, for God's sake give that packet to Quintana and come home. I'mnear crazy with it all. What the hell's anything worth beside yougirlie. I don't give a damn for nothing only you, so come on quick. Dad. "

* * * * *

After a little while she lifted her eyes to Quintana. 

"So, " he said quietly, "you are the little she-fox that has learnedtricks already. "

"What do you mean?"

"Where is that packet?"

"I haven't it. "

"Where is it?"

She shook her head slightly. 

"You had a packet, " he insisted fiercely. "Look here! Regard!" and hespread out a penciled sheet in Clinch's hand:

* * * * *

"Jose Quintana:

 "You win. She's got that stuff with her. Take your damn junk and letmy girl go. 

 "Mike Clinch. "

* * * * *

"Well, " said Quintana, a thin, strident edge to his tone. 

"My father is mistaken. I haven't any packet. "

The man's visage behind his mask flushed darkly. Without warning orceremony he caught Eve by the throat and tore open her shirt. Then, hissing and cursing and panting with his own violence, he searched herbrutally and without mercy -- flung her down and tore off her spiralputtees and even her shoes and stockings, now apparently beside himselfwith fury, puffing, gasping, always with a fierce, nasal sort of whiningundertone like an animal worrying about its kill. 

"Cowardly beast!" she panted, fighting him with all her strength --"filthy, cowardly beast! ----" striking at him, wrenching his graspaway, snatching at the disordered clothing half stripped from her. 

His hunting knife fell clattering and she fought to get it, but hestruck her with his open hand, knocking her down at his feet, and stoodglaring at her with every tooth bared. 

"So" he cried. "I give you ten minutes, make up your mind, tell me whatyou do with that packet. "

He wiped the blood from his face where she had struck him. 

"You don't know Jose Quintana. No! You shall make his acquaintance. Yes!"

Eve got up on naked feed, quivering from head to foot, striving tobutton the grey shirt at her throat. 

"Where?" he demanded, beside himself. 

Her mute lips only tightened. 

"Ver' well, by God!" he cried. "I go make some fire. You like it, eh?We shall put one toe in the fire until it burn off. Yes? Eh? How youlike it? Eh?"

The girl's trembling hands continued busy with her clothing. 

"So!" he said, hoarsely, "you remain dumb! Well, then, in ten minutesyou shall talk!"

He walked toward her, pushed her savagely aside, and strode on into thespruce thicket. 

The instant he disappeared Eve caught up the knife he had dropped, kneltdown on the blanket and fell to cutting it into strips. 

The hunting knife was like a razor; the feverish business wasaccomplished in a few moments, the pieces knotted, the cord strained ina desperate test over her knee. 

And now she ran to the precipice where, ten feet below, the top of agreat pine protruded from the gulf. 

On the edge of the abyss was a spruce root. It looked dead, wedged deepbetween two rocks; but with all her strength she could not pull it out. 

Sobbing, breathless, she tied her blanket rope to this, threw the otherend over the cliff's edge, and, not giving herself time to think, layflat, grasped the knotted line, swung off. 

Knot by knot she went down. Half-way her naked feet brushed theneedles. She looked over her shoulder, behind and down. Then, teethclenched, she lowered herself steadily as she had learned to do in theschool gymnasium, down, down, until her legs came astride of a pinelimb. 

It bent, swayed, gave with her, letting her sag to a larger limb below. This she clasped, letting go of her rope. 

Already, from the mountain's rocky crest above, she heard excited cries. Once, on her breakneck descent, she looked up through the foliage of thepine; and she saw, far up against the sky, a white-masked face lookingover the edge of the precipice. 

But if it were Quintana or another of his people she could not tell. And, again looking down, she began again the terrible descent. 

* * * * *

An hour later, Trooper Stormont of the State Constabulary, sat his horsein amazement to see a ragged, breathless, boyish figure speeding towardhim among the tamaracks, her naked feet splashing through pool and mireand sphagnum. 

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed as she flung herself against his stirrup, sobbing, hysterical, and clinging to his knee. 

"Take me back, " she stammered, "-- take me back to daddy! I can't -- goon -- another step----"

He leaned down, swung her up to his saddle in front, holding her cradledin his arms. 

"Lie still, " he said coolly; "you're all right now. "

For another second he sat looking down at her, at the dishevelled hair, the gasping mouth, -- at the rags clothing her, and at the flat packetclasped to her breast. 

Then he spoke in a low voice to his horse, guiding left with one knee. 

* * * * *

Episode Four

A Private War

* * * * *

I

When State Trooper Stormont rode up to Clinch's with Eve Strayer lyingin his arms, Mike Clinch strode out of the motley crowd around thetavern, laid his rifle against a tree, and stretched forth his powerfulhands to receive his stepchild. 

He held her, cradle, looking down at her in silence as the men clusteredaround. 

"Eve, " he said hoarsely, "be you hurted?"

The girl opened her sky-blue eyes. 

"I'm all right, dad, . .. Just tired. . .. I've got your parcel . .. Safe. .. "

"To hell with the gol-dinged parcel, " he almost sobbed; "--did Quintanaharm you?"

"No, dad. "

As he carried her to the veranda the packet fell from her crampedfingers. Clinch kicked it under a chair and continued on into the houseand up the stairs to Eve's bedroom. 

Flat on the bed, the girl opened her drowsy eyes again, unsmiling. 

"Did that dirty louse misuse you?" demanded Clinch unsteadily. "G'wantell me, girlie. "

"He knocked me down. . .. He went away to get fire to make me talk. Icut up the blanket they gave me and made a rope. Then I went over thecliff into the big pine below. That was all, dad. "

Clinch filled a tin basin and washed the girl's torn feet. When he haddried them he kissed them. She felt his unshaven lips trembling, heardhim whimper for the first time in his life. 

"Why the hell didn't you give Quintana the packet?" he demanded. "Whatdoes that count for -- what does any damn thing count for against you, girlie?"

She looked up at him out of heavy-lidded eyes: "You told me to take goodcare of it. "

"It's only a little truck I'd laid by for you, " he retorted unsteadily, "-- a few trifles for to make a grand lady of you when the time's ripe. 'Tain't worth a thorn in your little foot to me. . .. The hull gol-dingedworld full o' money ain't worth that there stone-bruise onto them littlewhite feet o' yourn, Eve. 

"Look at you now -- my God, look at you there, all peaked an' scairt an'bleedin' -- plum tuckered out, 'n' all ragged 'n' dirty----"

A blaze of fury flared in his small pale eyes: "-- And he hit you, too, did he? -- that skunk! Quintana done that to my little girlie, did he?"

"I don't know if it was Quintana. I don't know who he was, dad, " shemurmured drowsily. 

"Masked, wa'n't he?"

"Yes. "

Clinch's iron visage twitched and quivered. He gnawed his thin lipsinto control. 

"Girlie, I gotta go out a spell. But I ain't a-leavin' you alone here. I'll git somebody to set up with you. You jest lie snug and don't thinkabout nothin' till I come back. "

"Yes, dad, " she sighed, closing her eyes. 

Clinch stood looking at her for a moment, then he went downstairsheavily, and out to the veranda where State Trooper Stormont still sathis saddle, talking to Hal Smith. On the porch a sullen crowd of thebackwoods riff-raff lounged in the silence, awaiting events. 

Clinch called across to Smith: "Hey, Hal, g'wan up and set with Eve aspell while she's nappin'. Take a gun. "

Smith said to Stormont in a low voice: "Do me a favour, Jack?"

"You bet. "

"That girl of Clinch's is in real danger if left here alone. But I'vegot another job on my hands. Can you keep a watch on her till Ireturn?"

"Can't you tell me a little more, Jim?"

"I will, later. Do you mind helping me out now?"

"All right. "

Trooper Stormont swung out of his saddle and led his horse away towardthe stable. 

Hal Smith went into the bar where Clinch stood, oiling a rifle. 

"G'wan upstairs, " he muttered. "I got a private way on. It's me orQuintana, now. "

"You're going after Quintana?" inquired Smith, carelessly. 

"I be. And I want you should git your gun and set up by Evie. And Iwant you to kill any living human son of a slut that comes botherin'around this here hotel. "

"I'm going after Quintana with you, Mike. "

"B'gosh you ain't. You're a-goin' to keep watch here. "

"No. Trooper Stormont has promised to stay with Eve. You'll need everyman to-day, Mike. This isn't a deer drive. "

Clinch let his rifle sag across the hollow of his left arm. 

"Did you beef to that trooper?" he demanded in his pleasant, misleadingway. 

"Do you think I'm crazy?" retorted Smith. 

"Well, what the hell----"

"They all know that some man used your girl roughly. That's all I saidto him -- 'keep an eye on Eve until we can get back. ' And I tell you, Mike, if we drive Star Peak we won't be back till long after sundown. "

Clinch growled: "I ain't never asked no favours of no State Trooper----"

"He did you a favour, didn't he? He brought your daughter in. "

"Yes, 'n' he'd jail us all if he got anything on us. "

"Yes; and he'll shoot to kill if any of Quintana's people come here andtry to break in. "

Clinch grunted, peeled off his coat and got into a leather vestbristling with cartridge loops. 

Trooper Stormont came into the back door, carrying his rifle. 

"Some rough fellow been bothering your little daughter, Clinch?" heinquired. "The child was nearly all in when she met me out by Owl Marsh-- clothes half torn off her back, bare-foot and bleeding. She's aplucky youngster. I'll say so, Clinch. If you think the fellow maycome here to annoy her I'll keep an eye on her till you return. "

Clinch went up to Stormont, put his powerful hands on the young fellow'sshoulders. 

After a moment's glaring silence: "You _look_ clean. I guess you be, too. I wanta tell you I'll cut the guts outa any guy that lays the heftof a single finger onto Eve. "

"I'd do so, too, if I were you, " said Stormont. 

"Would ye? Well, I guess you're a real man, too, even if you're a StateTrooper, " growled Clinch. "G'wan up. She's a-nappin'. If she wakes upyou kinda talk pleasant to her. You act pleasant and cozy. She ain'thad no ma. You tell her to set snug and ca'm. Then you cook her an eggif she wants it. There's pie, too. I cal'late to be back by sundown. "

"Nearer morning, " remarked Smith. 

Stormont shrugged. "I'll stay until you show up, Clinch. "

The latter took another rifle from the corner and handed it to Smithwith a loop of ammunition. 

"Come on, " he grunted. 

On the veranda he strode up to the group of sullen, armed men whoregarded his advent in expressionless silence. 

Sid Hone was there, and Harvey Chase, and the Hastings boys, andCornelius Blommers. 

"You fellas comin'?" inquired Clinch. 

"Where?" drawled Sid Hone. 

"Me an' Hal Smith is cal'kalatin' to drive Star Peak. It ain't a deer, neither. "

There ensued a grim interval. Clinch's wintry smile began to glimmer. 

"Booze agents or game protectors? Which?" asked Byron Hastings. "Theyboth look like deer -- if a man gits mad enough. "

Clinch's smile became terrifying. "I shell out five hundred dollars forevery _deer_ that's dropped on Star Peak to-day, " he said. "And I hopethere won't be no accidents and no mistakin' no _stranger_ for a deer, "he added, wagging his great, square head. 

"Them accidents is liable to happen, " remarked hone, reflectively. 

After another pause: "Where's Jake Kloon?" inquired Smith. 

Nobody seemed to know. 

"He was here when Mike called me into the bar, " insisted Smith. Where'dhe go?"

Then, of a sudden, Clinch recollected the packet which he had kickedunder a veranda chair. It was no longer there. 

"Any o' you fellas seen a package here on the pyazza?" demanded Clinchharshly. 

"Jake Kloon, he had somethin', " drawled Chase. "I supposed it was hislunch. Mebbe 'twas, too. "

In the intense stillness Clinch glared into one face after another. 

"Boys, " he said in his softly modulated voice, "I kinda guess there's arat amongst us. I wouldn't like for to be that there rat -- no, not fora billion hundred dollars. No, I wouldn't. Becuz that there rat hasbit my little girlie, Eve, -- like that there deer bit her up on StarPeak. . .. No, I wouldn't like for to be that there rat. Fer he'sa-going' to die like a rat, same's that there deer is a-goin' to dielike a deer. . .. Anyone seen which way Jake Kloon went?"

"Now you speak of it, " said Byron Hastings, "seems like I noticed Jakeand Earl Leverett down by the woods near the pond. I kindadisremembered when you asked, but I guess I seen them. "

"Sure, " said Sid Hone. "Now you mention it, I seen 'em, too. Thinks Ito m'self, they is pickin' them blackberries down to the crick. Yes, Iseen 'em. "

Clinch tossed his rifle across his left shoulder. 

"Rats an' deer, " he said pleasantly. "Them's the articles we're lookin'for. Only for God's sake be careful you don't mistake a _man_ for 'emin the woods. "

One or two men laughed. 

* * * * *

On the edge of Owl Marsh Clinch halted in the trail, and, as his mencame up, he counted them with a cold eye. 

"Here's the runway and this here hazel bush is my station, " he said. "You fellas do the barkin'. You, Sid Hone, and you, Corny, startdrivin' from the west. Harvey, you yelp 'em from the north by LynxBrook. Jim and Byron, you get twenty minutes to go 'round to theeastward and drive by the Slide. And you, Hal Smith, " -- he lookedaround -- "where 'n hell be you, Hal?----"

Smith came up from the bog's edge. 

"Send 'em out, " he said in a low voice. "I've got Jake's tracks in thebog. "

Clinch motioned his beaters to their duty. "Twenty minutes, " hereminded Hone, Chase, and Blommers, "before you start drivin'. " And, othe Hastings boys: "If you shoot, aim low for their bellies. Don'tleave on blood around. Scrape it up. We bury what we get. "

He and Smith stood looking after the five slouching figures moving awaytoward their blind trails. When all had disappeared:

"Show me Jake's mark, " he said calmly. 

Smith led him to the edge of the bog, knelt down, drew aside a branch ofwitch-hopple. A man's footprint was plainly visible in the mud. 

"That's Jake, " said Clinch slowly. "I know them half-soled boots o'hisn. " He lifted another branch. "There's another man's track!"

"The other is probably Leverett's. "

"Likely. He's got thin feet. "

"I think I'd better go after them, " said Smith, reflectively. 

"They'll plug you, you poor jackass -- two o' them like that, and onea-settin' up to watch out. Hell! Be you tired o' bed an' board?"

Smith smiled: "Don't you worry, Mike. "

"Why? You think you're that smart? Jest becuz you stuck up a touristyou think you're cock o' the North Woods -- with them two foxes lyin'out for to snap you up? Hey? Why, you poor dumb thing, Jake runsCanadian hootch for a livin'; and Leverett's a trap thief! What could_you_ do with a pair o' foxes like that?"

"Catch 'em, " said Smith, coolly. "You mind your business, Mike. "

As he shouldered his rifle and started into the marsh, Clinch dropped aheavy hand on his shoulder; but the young man shook it off. 

"Shut up, " he said sharply. "You've a private war on your hands. Sohave I. I'll take care of my own. "

"What's _your_ grievance?" demanded Clinch, surprised. 

"Jake Kloon played a dirty trick on me. "

"When was that?"

"Not very long ago. "

"I hadn't heard, " said Clinch. 

"Well, you hear it now, don't you? All right. All right; I'm goingafter him. "

As he started again across the marsh, Clinch called out in a guardedvoice: "Take good care of that packet if you catch them rats. Itbelongs to Eve. "

"I'll take such good care of it, " replied Smith, "that its proper ownerneed not worry. "

* * * * *

II

The "proper owner" of the packet was, at that moment, on the AtlanticOcean, travelling toward the United States. 

Four other pretended owners of the Grand Duchess Theodorica's jewels, totally unconscious of anything impending which might impair theirseveral titles to the gems, were now gathered together in a wildernesswithin a few miles of one another. 

Jose Quintana lay somewhere in the forests with his gang, fiercelyplanning the recovery of the treasure of which Clinch had once robbedhim. Clinch squatted on his runway, watching the mountain flank withmurderous eyes. It was no longer the Flaming Jewel which mattered. Hismaster passion ruled him now. Those who had offered violence to Evemust be reckoned with first of all. The hand that struck Eve Strayerhad offered mortal insult to Mike Clinch. 

As for the third pretender to the Flaming Jewel, Jake Kloon, he was nowtravelling in a fox's circle toward Drowned Valley -- that shaggywilderness of slime and tamarack and depthless bog which touches thenorthwest base of Star Peak. He was not hurrying, having no thought ofpursuit. Behind him plodded Leverett, the trap thief, very, very busywith his own ideas. 

To Leverett's repeated requests that Kloon halt and open the packet tosee what it contained, Kloon gruffly refused. 

"What do we care what's in it?" he said. "We get ten thousand apieceover our rifles for it from them guys. Ain't it a good enough job foryou?"

"Maybe we make more if we take what's inside it for ourselves, " arguedLeverett. "Let's take a peek, anyway. "

"Naw. I don't want no peek nor nothin'. The ten thousand comes tooeasy. More might scare us. Let that guy, Quintana, have what's his'n. All I ask is my rake-off. You allus was a dirty, thieving mink, Earl. Let's give him his and take ours and git. I'm going to Albany to live. You bet I don't stay in no woods where Mike Clinch dens. "

They plodded on, arguing, toward their rendezvous with Quintana'soutpost on the edge of drowned valley. 

* * * * *

The fourth pretender to the pearls, rubies, and great gem called theFlaming Jewel, stolen from the young Grand Duchess Theodorica ofEsthonia by Jose Quintana, was an unconscious pretender, entirelyinnocent of the role assigned her by Clinch. 

For Eve Strayer had never heard where the packet came from or what itcontained. All she knew was that her stepfather had told her that itbelonged to her. And the knowledge left her incurious. 

* * * * *

III

Eve slept the sleep of mental and physical exhaustion. Reaction fromfear brings a fatigue more profound than that which follows physicaloverstrain. But the healthy mind, like the healthy body, disposes verythoroughly of toxics which arise from terror and exhaustion. 

The girl slept profoundly, calmly. Her bruised young mind and body lefther undisturbed. There was neither restlessness nor fever. Sleep swepther with its clean, sweet tide, cleansing the superb youth and health ofher with the most wonderful balm in the Divine pharmacy. 

She awoke late in the afternoon, opened her flower-blue eyes, and sawState Trooper Stormont sitting by the window, and gazing out. 

Perhaps Eve's confused senses mistook the young man for a vision; forshe lay very still, nor stirred even her little finger. 

After a while Stormont glanced around at her. A warm, delicate colourstained her skin slowly, evenly, from the throat to hair. 

He got up and came over to the bed. 

"How do you feel?" he asked, awkwardly. 

"Where is dad?" she managed to inquire in a steady voice. 

"He won't be back till late. He asked me to stick around -- in case youneeded anything----"

The girl's clear eyes searched his. 

"Trooper Stormont?"

"Yes, Eve. "

"Dad's gone after Quintana. "

"Is he the fellow who misused you?"

"I think so. "

"Who is he?"

"I don't know. "

"Is he your enemy or your stepfather's?"

But the girl shook her head: "I can't discuss dad's affairs with --with----"

"With a State Trooper, " smiled Stormont. "That's all right, Eve. Youdon't have to. "

There was a pause; Stormont stood beside the bed, looking down at herwith his diffident, boyish smile. And the girl gazed back straight intohis eyes -- eyes she had so often looked into in her dreams. 

"I'm going to cook you an egg and bring you some pie, " he remarked, still smiling. 

"Did dad say I am to stay in bed?"

"That was my inference. Do you feel very lame and sore?"

"My feet burn. "

"You poor kid! . .. Would you let me look at them? I have a first-aidpacket with me. "

After a moment she nodded and turned her face on the pillow. He drewaside the cover a little, knelt down beside the bed. 

Then he rose and went downstairs to the kitchen. There was hot water inthe kettle. He fetched it back, bathed her feet, drew out from the cutand scratch the flakes of granite-grit and brier-points that stillremained there. 

From his first-aid packet he took a capsule, dissolved it, sterilizedthe torn skin, then bandaged both feet with a deliciously cool salve, and drew the sheets into place. 

Eve had not stirred nor spoken. He washed and dried his hands and cameback, drawing his chair nearer to the bedside. 

"Sleep, if you feel like it, " he said pleasantly. 

As she made no sound or movement he bent over to see if she had alreadyfallen asleep. And noticed that her flushed cheeks were wet with tears. 

"Are you suffering?" he asked gently. 

"No. . .. You are so wonderfully kind. . .. "

"Why shouldn't I be kind?" he said, amused and touched by the girl'semotion. 

"I tried to shoot you once. That is why you ought to hate me. "

He began to laugh: "Is _that_ what you're thinking about?"

"I -- never can -- forget----"

"Nonsense. We're quits anyway. Do you remember what I did to _you?_"

He was thinking of the handcuffs. Then, in her vivid blush he read whatshe was thinking. And he remembered his lips on her palms. 

He, too, now was blushing brilliantly at the memory of that swift, sudden rush of romantic tenderness which this girl had witnessed thatmemorable day on Owl Marsh. 

In the hot, uncomfortable silence, neither spoke. He seated himselfafter a while. And, after a while, she turned on her pillow part waytoward him. 

Somehow they both understood that it was friendship which had subtlyfilled the interval that separated them since that amazing day. 

"I've often thought of you, " he said, -- as though they had beendiscussing his absence. 

No hour of the waking day that she had not thought of him. But she didnot say so now. After a little while:

"Is yours a lonely life?" she asked in a low voice. 

"Sometimes. But I love the forest. "

"Sometimes, " she said, "the forest seems like a trap that I can'tescape. Sometimes I hate it. "

"Are you lonely, Eve?"

"As you are. You see I know what the outside world is. I miss it. "

"You were in boarding school and college. "

"Yes. "

"It must be hard for you here at Star Pond. "

The girl sighed, unconsciously:

"There are days when I -- can scarcely -- stand it. . .. The wildernesswould be more endurable if dad and I were all alone. . .. Bu eventhen----"

"You need young people of your own age, -- educated companions----"

"I need the city, Mr. Stormont. I need all it can give: I'm starvingfor it. That's all. "

She turned on her pillow, and he saw that she was smiling faintly. Herface bore no trace of the tragic truth she had uttered. But the tragedywas plain enough to him, even without her passionless words of revolt. The situation of this young, educated girl, aglow with youth, bettered, body and mind, to the squalor of Clinch's dump, was perfectly plain toanybody. 

She said, seeing his troubled expression: "I'm sorry I spoke that way. "

"I knew how you must feel, anyway. "

"It seems ungrateful, " she murmured. "I love my step-father. "

"You've proven that, " he remarked with a dry humour that brought the hotflush to her face again. 

"I must have been crazy that day, " she said. "It scares me to rememberwhat I tried to do. . .. What a frightful thing -- if I had killed you --How _can_ you forgive me?"

"How can you forgive _me, _ Eve?"

She turned her head: "I do. "

"Entirely?"

"Yes. "

He said, -- a slight emotion noticeable in his voice: "Well, I forgaveyou before the darned gun exploded in our hands. "

"How _could_ you?" she protested. 

"I was thinking all the while that you were acting as I'd have acted ifanything threatened _my_ father. "

"Were you thinking of _that?_"

"Yes, -- and also how to get hold of you before you shot me. " He beganto laugh. 

After a moment she turned her head to look at him, and her smileglimmered, responsive to his amusement. But she shivered slightly, too. 

"How about that egg?" he inquired. 

"I can get up----"

"Better keep off your feet. What is there in the pantry? You must bestarved. "

"I could eat a little before supper time, " she admitted. "I forgot totake my lunch with me this morning. It is still there in the pantry onthe bread box, wrapped up in brown paper, just as I left it----"

She half rose in bed, supported on one arm, her curly brown-gold hairframing her face:

"-- Two cakes of sugar-milk chocolate in a flat brown packet tied with astring, " she explained, smiling at his amusement. 

So he went down to the pantry and discovered the parcel on the bread boxwhere she had left it that morning before starting for the cache on OwlMarsh. 

He brought it to her, placed both pillows upright behind her, steppedback gaily to admire the effect. Eve, with her parcel in her hands, laughed shyly at his comedy. 

"Begin on your chocolate, " he said. "I'm going back to fix you somebread and butter and a cup of tea. "

When again he had disappeared, the girl, still smiling, began to untieher packet, unhurriedly, slowly loosening string and wrapping. 

Her attention was not fixed on what her slender fingers were about. 

She drew from the parcel a flat morocco case with a coat of arms andcrest stamped on it in gold, black, and scarlet. 

For a few moments she stared at the object stupidly. The next momentshe heard Stormont's spurred tread on the stairs; and she thrust themorocco case and the wrapping under the pillows behind her. 

She looked up at him in a dazed way when he came in with the tea andbread. He set the tin tray on her bureau an came over to the bedside. 

"Eve, " he said, "you look very white and ill. Have you been hurtsomewhere, and haven't you admitted it?"

She seemed unable to speak, and he took both her hands and lookedanxiously into her lovely, pallid features. 

After a moment she turned her head and buried her face in the pillow, trembling now in overwhelming realization of what she had endured forthe sake of two cakes of sugar-milk chocolate hidden under a bush in theforest. 

* * * * *

For a long while the girl lay there, the feverish flush of tears on herpartly hidden face, her nervous hands tremulous, restless, now seekinghis, convulsively, now striving to escape his clasp -- eloquent, uncertain little hands that seemed to tell so much and yet were tellinghim nothing he could understand. 

"Eve, dear, " he said, "are you in pain? What is it that has happened toyou? I thought you were all right. You seemed all right----"

"I am, " she said in a smothered voice. "You'll stay here with me, won'tyou?"

"Of course I will. It's just the reaction. It's all over. You'rerelaxing. That's all, dear. You're safe. Nothing can harm younow----"

"Please don' leave me. "

After a moment: "I won't leave you. . .. I wish I might never leave you. "

In the tense silence that followed her trembling ceased. Then hisheart, heavy, irregular, began beating so that the startled pulses inher body awoke, wildly responsive. 

Deep emotions, new, unfamiliar, were stirring, awaking, confusing themboth. In a sudden instinct to escape, she turned and partly rose on oneelbow, gazing blindly about her out of tear-marred eyes. 

"I want my room to myself, " she murmured in a breathless sort of way, "-- I want you to go out, please----"

A boyish flush burnt his face. He got up slowly, took his rifle fromthe corner, went out, closing the door, and seated himself on thestairs. 

And there, on guard, sat Trooper Stormont, rigid, unstirring, hour afterhour, facing the first great passion of his life, and stunned by theimpact of its swift and unexpected blow. 

* * * * *

In her chamber, on the bed's edge, sat Eve Strayer, her deep eyes fixedon space. Vague emotions, exquisitely recurrent, new born, possessedher. The whole world, too, all around her seemed to have become mistyand golden and all pulsating with a faint, still rhythm that indefinablythrilled her pulses to response. 

Passion, full-armed, springs flaming from the heart of man. Woman isslow to burn. And it was the delicate phantom of passion that Eve gazedupon, there in her unpainted chamber, her sun-tanned fingers linkinglistlessly in her lap, her little feet like bruised white flowersdrooping above the floor. 

Hour after hour she sat there dreaming, staring at the tinted ghost ofEros, rose-hued, near-smiling, unreal, impalpable as the dusty sunbeamthat slanted from her window, gilding the boarded floor. 

* * * * *

Three spectres, gilding near, paused to gaze at State Trooper Stormont, on guard by the stairs. Then they looked at the closed door of Eve'schamber. 

Then the three spectres, Fate, Chance, and Destiny, whispering together, passed on toward the depths of the sunset forest. 

* * * * *

Episode Five

Drowned Valley

* * * * *

I

The soft, bluish forest shadows had lengthened, and the barred sun-rays, filtering through, were tinged with a rosy hue before Jake Kloon, thehootch runner, and Earl Leverett, trap thief, came to Drowned Valley. 

They were still a mile distant from the most southern edge of that vastdesolation, but already tamaracks appeared in the beauty of their burntgold; the little pools glimmered here and there; patches of ambersphagnum and crimson pitcher-plants became frequent; and once or twiceKloon's big boots broke through the crust of fallen leaves, soaking himto the ankles with black silt. 

Leverett, always a coward, had pursued his devious and larcenous waythrough the world, always in deadly fear of sink holes. 

His movements and paths were those of a weasel, preferring always solidground; but he lacked the courage of that sinuous little beast, thoughhe possessed all of its ferocity and far more cunning. 

Now trotting lightly and tirelessly in the broad and careless spoor ofJake Kloon, his narrow, pointed head alert, and every fear-sharpenedinstinct tensely observant, the trap-thief continued to meditate murder. 

Like all cowards, he had always been inclined to bold and ruthlessaction; but inclination was all that ever had happened. 

Yet, even in his pitiable misdemeanours he slunk through life in terrorof that strength which never hesitates at violence. In his pettypilfering he died a hundred deaths for every trapped mink or otter hefilched; he heard the game protector's tread as he slunk from the baggedtrout brook or crawled away, belly dragging, and pockets full of snaredgrouse. 

Always he had dreamed of the day when, through some sudden bold andsavage stroke, he could deliver himself from a life of fear and live ina city, grossly, replete with the pleasures of satiation, never again tosee a tree or a lonely lake or the blue peaks which, always, he hadhated because they seemed to spy on him from their sky-blue heights. 

They were spying on him now as he moved lightly, furtively at JakeKloon's heels, meditating once more that swift, bold stroke whichforever would free him from all care and fear. 

He looked at the back of Kloon's massive head. One shot would blow thatskull into fragments, he thought, shivering. 

One shot from behind, -- and twenty thousand dollars, -- or, if itproved a better deal, the contents of the packet. For, if Quintana'sbribery had dazzled them, what effect might the contents of that secretpacket have if revealed?

Always in his mean and busy brain he was trying to figure to himselfwhat that packet must contain. And, to make the bribe worth while, Leverett had concluded that only a solid packet of thousand-dollar billscould account for the twenty thousand offered. 

There might easily be half a million in bills pressed together in thatheavy, flat packet. Bills were absolutely safe plunder. But Kloon hadturned a deaf ear to his suggestions, -- Kloon, who never entertainedambitions beyond his hootch rake-off, -- whose miserable imaginationstopped at a wretched percentage, satisfied. 

One shot! There was the back of Kloon's bushy head. One shot! -- andfear, which had shadowed him from birth, was at an end forever. Ended, too, privation, -- the bitter rigour of black winters; scorching days;bodily squalor; ills that such as he endured in a wilderness where, likeother creatures of the wild, men stricken died or recovered by chancealone. 

A single shot would settle all problems for him. . .. But if he missed?At the mere idea he trembled as he trotted on, trying to tell himselfthat he couldn't miss. No use; always the coward's "if" blocked him;and the coward's rage, -- fiercest of all fury, -- ravaged him, almostcrazing him with his own impotence. 

* * * * *

Tamaracks, sphagnum, crimson pitcher-plants grew thicker; wet woods setwith little black pools stretched away on every side. 

It was still nearly a mile from Drowned Valley when Jake Kloon halted inhis tracks and seated himself on a narrow ridge of hard ground. AndLeverett came lightly up and, after nosing the whole vicinity, sat downcautiously where Kloon would have to turn partly around to look at him. 

"Where the hell do we meet up with Quintana?" growled Kloon, tearing amouthful from a gnawed tobacco plug and shoving the remainder deep intohis trousers pocket. 

"We gotta travel a piece, yet. . .. Say, Jake, be you a man or be you apoor dumb critter what ain't got no spunk?"

Kloon, chewing on his cud, turned and glanced at him. Then he spat, asanswer. 

"If you got the spunk of a chipmunk you and me'll take a peek at thatthere packet. I bet you it's thousand-dollar bills -- more'n a billionmillion dollars, likely. "

Kloon's dogged silence continued. Leverett licked his dry lips. Hisrifle lay on his knees. Almost imperceptibly he moved it, moved itagain, froze stiff as Kloon spat, then, by infinitesimal degrees, continued to edge the muzzle toward Kloon. 

"Jake?"

"Aw, shut your head, " grumbled Kloon disdainfully. "You allus was adirty rat -- you sneakin' trap robber. Enough's enough. I ain't no usefor no billion million dollar bills. Ten thousand'll buy me all Ical'late to need till I'm planted. But you're like a hawg; you ain'tnever had enough o' nothin' and you won't never git enough, neither, --not if you wuz God a'mighty you wouldn't. "

"Ten thousand dollars hain't nothin' to a billion million, Jake. "

Kloon squirted a stream of tobacco at a pitcher plant and filled thecup. Diverted and gratified by the accuracy of his aim, he took othershots at intervals. 

Leverett moved the muzzle of his rifle a hair's width to the left, shivered, moved it again. Under his soggy, sun-tanned skin a pallourmade his visage sickly grey. 

"Jake?"

No answer. 

"Say, Jake?"

No notice. 

"Jake, I wanta take a peek at them bills. "

Merely another stream of tobacco soiling the crimson pitcher. 

"I'm -- I'm desprit. I gotta take a peek. I gotta -- gotta----"

Something in Leverett's unsteady voice made Kloon turn his head. 

"You gol rammed fool, " he said, "what you doin' with your----"

The loud detonation of the rifle punctuated Kloon's inquiry with a finalperiod. The big, soft-nosed bullet struck him full in the face, spilling his brains and part of his skull down his back, and knockinghim flat as though he had been clubbed. 

Leverett, stunned, sat staring, motionless, clutching the rifle from themuzzle of which a delicate stain of vapour floated and disappearedthrough a rosy bar of sunshine. 

In the intense stillness of the place, suddenly the dead man made asound; and the trap-robber nearly fainted. 

But it was only air escaping from the slowly collapsing lungs; andLeverett, ashy pale, shaking, got to his feet and leaned heavily againstan oak tree, his eyes never stirring from the sprawling thing on theground. 

* * * * *

If it were a minute or a year he stood there he could never havereckoned the space of time. The sun's level rays glimmered ruddythrough the woods. A green fly appeared, buzzing about the dead man. Another zig-zagged through the sunshine, lacing it with streaks ofgreenish fire. Others appeared, whirling, gyrating, filling the silencewith their humming. And still Leverett dared not budge, dared notsearch the dead and take from it that for which the dead had died. 

A little breeze came by and stirred the bushy hair on Kloon's head andfluttered the ferns around him where he lay. 

Two delicate, pure-white butterflies -- rare survivors of a nativespecies driven from civilization into the wilderness by the advent ofthe foreign white -- fluttered in airy play over the dead man, driftingaway into the woodland at times, yet always returning to wage a fairycombat above the heap of soiled clothing which once had been a man. 

Then, near in the ferns, the withering fronds twitched, and a redsquirrel sprung his startling alarm, squeaking, squealing, chatteringhis opinion of murder; and Leverett, shaking with shock, wiped icy sweatfrom his face, laid aside his rifle, and took his first stiff steptoward the dead man. 

But as he bent over he changed his mind, turned, reeling a little, thencrept slowly out among the pitcher-plants, searching about him as thoughsniffing. 

In a few minutes he discovered what he was looking for; took hisbearings; carefully picked his way back over a leafy crust that trembledunder his cautious tread. 

He bent over Kloon and, from the left inside coat pocket, he drew thepacket and placed it inside his own flannel shirt. 

Then, turning his back to the dead, he squatted down and clutchedKloon's burly ankles, as a man grasps the handles of a wheelbarrow todraw it after him. 

Dragging, rolling, bumping over roots, Jake Kloon took his last trailthrough the wilderness, leaving a redder path than was left by thesetting sun through fern and moss and wastes of pitcher-plants. 

Always, as Leverett crept on, pulling the dead behind him, the floor ofthe woods trembled slightly, and a black ooze wet the crust of witheredleaves. 

At the quaking edge of a little pool of water, Leverett halted. Thewater was dark but scarcely an inch deep over its black bed of silt. 

Beside this sink hole the trap-thief dropped Kloon. Then he drew hishunting knife and cut a tall, slim swamp maple. The sapling was abouttwenty feet in height. Leverett thrust the butt of it into the pool. Without any effort he pushed the entire sapling out of sight in thedepthless silt. He had to manoeuvre very gingerly to dump Kloon intothe pool and keep out of it himself. Finally he managed it. 

To his alarm, Kloon did not sink far. He cut another sapling and pushedthe body until only the shoes were visible above the silt. 

These, however, were very slowly sinking, now. Bubbles rose, dullyiridescent, floated, broke. Strings of blood hung suspended in theclouding water. 

Leverett went back to the little ridge and covered with dead leaves thespot where Kloon had lain. There were broken ferns, but he could notstraighten them. And there lay Kloon's rifle. 

For a while he hesitated, his habits of economy being ingrained; but heremembered the packet in his shirt, and he carried the rifle to thelittle pool and shoved it, muzzle first, driving it downward, out ofsight. 

As he rose from the pool's edge, somebody laid a hand on his shoulder. 

That was the most real death that Leverett had ever died. 

* * * * *

II

A coward died many times before Old Man Death really gets him. 

The swimming minutes passed; his mind ceased to live for a space. Then, as through the swirling waters of the last dark whirlpool, a dulled roarof returning consciousness filled his being. 

Somebody was shaking him, shouting at him. Suddenly instinct resumedits function, and he struggled madly to get away from the edge of thesink-hole -- fought his way, blindly, through the tangled undergrowthtoward the hard ridge. No human power could have blocked the franticcreature thrashing toward solid ground. 

But there Quintana held him in his wiry grip. 

"Fool! Mule! Crazee fellow! What did you do, eh? For why you makejumps like rabbits! Eh? You expec' Quintana? Yes? Alors!"

Leverett, in a state of collapse, sagged back against an oak tree. Quintana's nervous grasp fell from his arms and they swung, dangling. 

"What you do by that pond-hole? Eh? I come and touch you, and, my God!-- one would think I have stab you. Such an ass!"

The sickly greenish hue changed in Leverett's face as the warmer tidestirred from its stagnation. He lifted his head and tried to look atQuintana. 

"Where Jake Kloon?" demanded the latter. 

At that the weasel wits of the trap-robber awoke to the instant crisis. Blood and pulse began to jump. He passed one dirty hand over his mouthto mask any twitching. 

"Where's my packet, eh?" inquired Quintana. 

"Jake's got it. " Leverett's voice was growing stronger. His small eyesswitched for an instant toward his rifle, where it stood against a treebehind Quintana. 

"Where is he, then, this Jake?" repeated Quintana impatiently. 

"He got bogged. "

"Bogged? What is that, then?"

"He got into a sink-hole. "

"What!"

"That's all I know, " said Leverett, sullenly. "Him and me wastravellin' hell-bent to meet up with you, -- Jake, he was for a shortcut to Drowned Valley, -- but 'no, ' sez I, sink-holes into thewoods----'"

"What is it the talk you talk to me?" asked Quintana, whose perplexedfeatures began to darken. "Where is it, my packet?"

"I'm tellin' you, ain't I?" retorted the other, raising a voice nowshrill with the strain of this new crisis rushing so unexpectedly uponhim: "I heard Jake give a holler. `What the hell's the trouble?' Iyells. Then he lets out a beller, `Save me!' he screeches, `I'm into asink-hole! The quicksand's got me, ' sez he. So I drop my rifle, I did, -- there she stands against that birch sapling! -- and I run down intothem there pitcher-plants. 

"`Whar be ye!' I yells. Then I listens, and don't hear nothin' only akina wallerin' noise an' a slobber like he was gulpin' mud. 

"Then I foller them there sounds and I come out by that sink-hole. Thewater was a-shakin' all over but Jake he had went down plum out o'sight. T'want no use. I cut a sapling an' I poked down. I was sickand scared like, so when you come up over the moss, not makin' no noise, an' grabbed me -- God! -- I guess you'd jump, too. "

Quintana's dark, tense face was expressionless when Leverett ventured tolook at him. Like most liars he realised the advisability of lookinghis victim straight in the eyes. This he managed to accomplish, sustaining the cold intensity of Quintana's gaze as long as he deemed itnecessary. Then he started toward his rifle. Quintana blocked his way. 

"Where my packet?"

"Gol ram it! Ain't I told you? Jake had it in his pocket. "

"My packet?"

"Yaas, yourn. "

"My packet, it is down in thee sink 'ole?"

"You think I'm lyin'?" blustered Leverett, trying to move aroundQuintana's extended arm. The arm swerved and clutched him by the collarof his flannel shirt. 

"Wait, my frien', " said Quintana in a soft voice. "You shall explain tome some things before you go. "

"Explain what! -- you gol dinged----"

Quintana shook him into speechlessness. 

"Listen, my frien', " he continued with a terrifying smile, "I mus' askyou what it was, that gun-shot, which I hear while I await at Drown'Vallee. Eh? Who fire a gun?"

"I ain't heard no gun, " replied Leverett in a strangled voice. 

"You did not shoot? No?"

"No! -- damn it all----"

"And Jake? He did not fire?"

"No, I tell yeh----"

"Ah! Someone lies. It is not me, my frien'. No. Let us examine yourrifle----"

Leverett made a rush for the gun; Quintana slung him back against theoak tree and thrust an automatic pistol against his chin. 

"Han's up, my frien', " he said gently, "-- up! high up! -- or someonewill fire another shot you shall never hear. . .. So! . .. Now I searchthe other pocket. . .. So! . .. Still no packet. Bah! Not in the pants, either? Ah, bah! But wait! Tiens! What is this you hide inside yourshirt----?"

"I was jokin', " gasped Leverett; "-- I was jest a-goin' to give it toyou----"

"Is that my packet?"

"Yes. It was all in fun; I wan't a-going to steal it----"

Quintana unbuttoned the grey wool shirt, thrust in his hand and drewforth the packet for which Jake Kloon had died within the hour. 

Suddenly Leverett's knees gave way and he dropped to the ground, grovelling at Quintana's feet in an agony of fright:

"Don't hurt me, " he screamed, "-- I didn't mean no harm! Jake, hewanted me to steal it. I told him I was honest. I fired a shot toscare him, an' he tuk an' run off! I wan't a-goin' to steal it off you, so help me God! I was lookin' for you -- as God is my witness----"

He got Quintana by one foot. Quintana kicked him aside and backed away. 

"Swine, " he sad, calmly inspecting the whimpering creature who hadstarted to crawl toward him. 

He hesitate, lifted his automatic, then, as though annoyed by Leverett'sdeafening shriek, shrugged, hesitated, pocket both pistol and packet, and turned on his heel. 

By the birch sapling he paused and picked up Leverett's rifle. Something left a red smear on his palm as he worked the ejector. It wasblood. 

Quintana gazed curiously at his soiled hand. Then he stopped and pickedup the empty cartridge case which had been ejected. And, as he stooped, he noticed more blood on a fallen leaf. 

With one foot, daintily as a game-cock scratches, he brushed away thefallen leaves, revealing the mess underneath. 

After he had contemplated the crimson traces of murder for a fewmoments, he turned and looked at Leverett with faint curiosity. 

"So, " he said in his leisurely, emotionless way, "you have fight with myfrien' Jake for thee packet. Yes? Ver' amusing. " he shrugged hisindifference, tossed the rifle to his shoulder and, without anotherglance at the cringing creature on the ground, walked away towardDrowned Valley, unhurriedly. 

* * * * *

III

When Quintana disappeared among the tamarracks, Leverett ventured torise to his knees. As he crouched there, peering after Quintana, a mancame swiftly out of the forest behind him and nearly stumbled over him. 

Recognition was instant and mutual as the man jerked the trap-robber tohis feet, stifling the muffled yell in his throat. 

"I want that packet you picked up on Clinch's veranda, " said Hal Smith. 

"M-my God, " stammered Leverett, "Quintana just took it off me. He ain'tbeen gone a minute----"

"You lie!"

"I ain't lyin'. Look at his foot-marks there in the mud!"

"Quintana?"

"Yaas, Quintana! He tuk my gun, too----"

"Which way!" whispered Hal Smith fiercely, shaking Leverett till hishaws wagged. 

"Drowned Valley. . .. Lemme loose! -- I'm chokin'-----"

Smith pushed him aside. 

"You rat, " he said, "if you're lying to me I'll come back and settleyour affair. And Kloon's, too!"

"Quintana shot Jake and stuck him into a sink-hole!" snivelled Leverett, breaking down and sobbing: "-- oh, Gawd -- Gawd -- he's down under allthat black mud with his brains spillin' out----"

Bu Smith was already gone, running lightly along the string offootprints which led straight away across slime and sphagnum toward thehead of Drowned Valley. 

In the first clump of hard-wood trees Smith saw Quintana. He had haltedan he was fumbling at the twine which bound a flat, paper-wrappedpacket. 

He did not start when Smith's sharp warning struck his ear: "Don't move!I've got you over my rifle, Quintana!"

Quintana's fingers instantly ceased operations. Then, warily, he liftedhis head and looked into the muzzle of Smith's rifle. 

"Ah, bah!" he said tranquilly. "There were three of you, then. "

"Lay that packet on the ground. "

"My frien'----"

"Drop it or I'll drop _you!_"

Quintana carefully placed the packet on a bed of vivid moss. 

"Now your gun!" continued Smith. 

Quintana shrugged and laid Leverett's rifle beside the packet. 

"Kneel down with your hands up and your back toward me!" said Smith. 

"My frien'----"

"Down with you!"

Quintana dropped gracefully into the humiliating attitude popularlyindicative of prayerful supplication. Smith walked slowly up behindhim, relieved him of two automatics and a dirk. 

"Stay put, " he said sharply, as Quintana started to turn his head. Thenhe picked up the packet with its loosened string, slipped it into hisside pocket, gathered together the arsenal which had decorated Quintana, and so, loaded with weapons, walked away a few paces and seated himselfon a fallen log. 

Here he pocketed both automatics, shoved the sheathed dirk into hisbelt, placed the captured rifle handy, after examining the magazine, andlaid his own weapon across his knees. 

"You may turn around now, Quintana, " he said amiably. 

Quintana lowered his arms and started to rise. 

"Sit down!" said Smith. 

Quintana seated himself on the moss, facing Smith. 

"Now, my gay and nimble thimble-rigger, " sad Smith genially, "while Itake ten minutes' rest we'll have a little polite conversation. Or, rather, a monologue. Because I don't want to hear anything from you. "

He settled himself comfortably on the log:

"Let me assemble for you, Senor Quintana, the interesting history of thejewels which so sparklingly repose in the packet in my pocket. 

"In the first place, as you know, Monsieur Quintana, the famous FlamingJewel and the other gems contained in this packet of mine, belonged toHer Highness the Grand Duchess Theodorica of Esthonia. 

"Very interesting. More interesting still -- along comes Don JoseQuintana and his celebrated gang of international thieves, and stealsfrom the Grand Duchess of Esthonia the Flaming Jewel and all her rubies, emeralds and diamonds. Yes?"

"Certainly, " said Quintana, with a polite inclination of acknowledgment. 

"Bon! Well, then, still more interesting to relate, a gentleman namedClinch helps himself to these famous jewels. How very careless of you, Mr. Quintana. "

"Careless, certainly, " assented Quintana politely. 

"Well, " said Smith, laughing, "Clinch was more careless still. Therobber baron, Sir Jacobus Kloon, swiped, -- as Froissart has it, -- theEsthonian gems, and under agreement to deliver them to you, I suppose, thought better of it and attempted to abscond. Do you get me, HerrQuintana?"

"Gewiss. "

"Yes, and you got Jake Kloon, I hear, " laughed Smith. 

"No. "

"Didn't you kill Kloon?"

"No. "

"Oh, pardon. The mistake was natural. You merely robbed Kloon andLeverett. You should have killed them. "

"Yes, " said Quintana slowly, "I should have. It was my mistake. "

"Signor Quintana, it is human for the human crook to err. Sooner orlater he always does it. And then the Piper comes around holding outtwo itching palms. "

"Mr. Smith, " said Quintana pleasantly, "you are an unusually agreeablegentleman for a thief. I regret that you do not see your way to anamalgamation of interests with myself. "

"As you say, Quintana mea, I am somewhat unusual. For example, what doyou suppose I am going to do with this packet in my pocket?"

"Live, " replied Quintana tersely. 

"Live, certainly, " laughed Smith, "but not on the proceeds of thiscoup-de-main. Non pas! I am going to return this packet to itsrightful owner, the Grand Duchess Theodorica of Esthonia. And what doyou think of that, Quintana?"

Quintana smiled. 

"You do not believe me?" inquired Smith. 

Quintana smiled again. 

"Allons, bon!" exclaimed Smith, rising. "It's the unusual that happensin life, my dear Quintana. And now we'll take a little inventory ofthese marvellous gems before we part. . .. Sit very, very still, Quintana, -- unless you want to lie stiller still. . .. I'll let you takea modest peep at the Flaming Jewel----" busily unwrapping the packet --"just one little peep, Quintana----"

He unwrapped the paper. Two cakes of sugar-milk chocolate lay within. 

Quintana turned white, then deeply, heavily red. Then he smiled inghastly fashion:

"Yes, " he said hoarsely, "as you have just said, sit, it is usually theunusual which happens in the world. "

* * * * *

Episode Six

The Jewel Aflame

* * * * *

I

Mike Clinch and his men "drove" Star Peak, and drew a blanket covert. 

* * * * *

There was a new shanty atop, camp debris, plenty of signs of recentoccupation everywhere, -- hot embers in which offal still smouldered, bottles odorous of claret dregs, and an aluminum culinary outfit, unwashed, as though Quintana and his men had departed in haste. 

For in the still valley below, Mike Clinch squatted beside the runway hehad chosen, a cocked rifle across his knees. 

The glare in his small, pale eyes waned and flared as distant soundsbroke the forest silence, grew vague, died out, -- the fairy clatter ofa falling leaf, the sudden scurry of a squirrel, a feathery rustle ofswift wings in play or combat, the soft crash of a rotten bough saggingearthward to enrich the soil that grew it. 

And, as Clinch squatted there, murderously intent, ever the fixedobsession burned in his fever brain, stirring his thin lips incessantmuttering, -- a sort of soundless invocation, part chronicle, partprayer:

"O God A'mighty, in your big, swell mansion up there, all has wentcontrary with me sence you let that there damn millionaire, Harrod, comeinto this here forest. . .. He went and built unto himself an habitation, and he put up a wall of law all around me where I was earnin' a lawfullivin' in Thy nice, clean wilderness. . .. And now comes this hereQuintana and robs my girlie. . .. I promised her mother I'd make a ladyof her little Eve. . .. I loved my wife, O Lord. . .. Once she showed me apiece in the Bible, -- I ain't never found it sence, -- but it said:`And the woman, she fled into the wilderness where there was a placeprepared for her of God. ' . .. That's what _you_ wrote into your ownBible, O God! You can't go back on it. I seen it. 

"And now I wanta to ask, What place did you prepare for my Eve? Whatspot have you reference to? You didn't mean my `Dump, ' did you? Why, Lord, that ain't no place for no lady. . .. And now Quintana has went androbbed me of what I'd saved up for Eve. . .. Does that go with Thee, OLord? No, it don't. And it don't go with me, neither. I'm a-goin' togit Quintana. Then I'm a-goin' to git them two minks that robbed mygirlie, -- I am! . .. Jake Kloon, he done it in cahoots with EarlLeverett; and Quintana set 'em on. And they gotta die, O Lord ofIsrael, them there Egyptians is about to hop the twig. . .. I ain'taimin' to be mean to nobody. I buy hootch of them that runs it. I eatmountain mutton in season and out. I trade with law-breakers, I do. But, Lord, I gotta get my girlie outa here; and Harrod he walled me inwith the chariots and spears of Egypt, till I nigh went wild. . .. Andnow comes Quintana, and here I be a-lyin' out to get him so's my girliecan become a lady, same's them fine folks with all their butlers andautomobiles and what-not----"

A far crash in the forest stilled his twitching lips and stiffened everyiron muscle. As he lifted his rifle, Sid Hone came into the glade. 

"Yahoo! Yahoo!" he called. "Where be you, Mike?"

Clinch slowly rose, grasping his rifle, his small, grey eyes ablaze. 

"Where's Quintana?" he demanded. 

"H'ain't you seen nobody?"

"No. "

In the intense silence other sounds broke sharply in the sunset forest;Harvey Chase's halloo rang out from the rocks above; Blommers and theHastings boys came slouching through the ferns. 

Byron Hastings greeted Clinch with upflung gun: "Me and Jim heard a shotaway out on Drowned Valley, " he announced. "Was you out that way, Mike. "

"No. "

One by one the men who had driven Star Peak lounged up in the red sunsetlight, gathering around Clinch and wiping the sweat from sun-reddenedfaces. 

"Someone's in Drowned Valley, " repeated Byron. "Them minks slid off'nStar in a hurry, I reckon, judgin' how they left their shanty. Phew!It stunk! They had French hootch, too. "

"Mebby Leverett and Kloon told 'em we was fixin' to visit them, "suggested Blommers. 

"They didn't know, " said Clinch. 

"Where's Hal Smith?" inquired Hone. 

Clinch made no reply. Blommers silently gnawed a new quid from theremains of a sticky plug. 

"Well, " inquired Jim Hastings finally, "do we quit, Mike, or do westill-hunt in Drowned Valley?"

"Not me, at night, " remarked Blommers drily. 

"Not amongst them sink-holes, " added Hone. 

Suddenly Clinch turned and stared at him. Then the deadly light fromhis little eyes shone on the others one by one. 

"Boys, " he said, "I gotta get Quintana. I can't never sleep anotherwink till I get that man. Come on. Act up like gents all. Let's go. "

Nobody stirred. 

"Come on, " repeated Clinch softly. But his lips shrank back, twitching. 

As they looked at him they saw his teeth. 

"All right, all right, " growled Hone, shouldering his rifle with a jerk. 

The Hastings boys, young and rash, shuffled into the trail. Blommershesitated, glanced askance at Clinch, and instantly made up his mind totake a chance with the sink-holes rather than with Clinch. 

"God A'mighty, Mike, what be you aimin;' to do?" faltered Harvey. 

"I'm aimin' to stop the inlet and outlet to Drowned Valley, Harvey, "replied Clinch in his pleasant voice. "God is a-goin' to deliverQuintana into my hands. "

"All right. What next?"

"Then, " continued Clinch, "I cal'late to set down and wait. "

"How long?"

"Ask God, boys. I don't know. All I know is that whatever is livin' inDrowned Valley at this hour has gotta live and die there. For it can'tnever live to come outen that there morass walkin' on two legs like areal man. "

He moved slowly along the file of sullen men, his rifle a-trail in onehuge fist. 

"Boys, " he said, "I got first. There ain't no sink-hole deep enough odrowned me while Eve needs me. . .. And my little girlie needs me bad. . .. After she gits what's her'n, then I don't care no more. . .. " Helooked up into the sky, where the last ashes of sunset faded from thezenith. . .. "Then I don't care, " he murmured. "Like's not I'll creepaway like some shot-up critter, n'kinda find some lone, safe spot, n'kinda fix me f'r a long nap. . .. I guess that'll be the way . .. WhenEve's a lady down to Noo York 'r'som'ers----" he added vaguely. 

Then, still looking up at the fading heavens, he moved forward, headlifted, silent, unhurried, with the soundless, stealthy, and certaintread of those who walk unseeing and asleep. 

* * * * *

II

Clinch had not taken a dozen strides before Hal Smith loomed up ahead inthe rosy dusk, driving in Leverett before him. 

An exclamation of fierce exultation burst from Clinch's thin lips as heflung out one arm, indicating Smith and his clinking prisoner:

"Who was that gol-dinged catamount that suspicioned Hal? I wa'ntworried none, neither. Has a gent. Mebbe he sticks up folks, too, buthe's a gent. And gents is honest or they ain't gents. "

Smith came up at his easy, tireless gait, hustling Leverett along withprods from gun-butt or muzzle, as came handiest. 

The prisoner turned a ghastly visage on Clinch, who ignored him. 

"Got my packet, Hal?" he demanded. 

Smith poked Leverett with his rifle: "Tune up, " he said; "tell Clinchyour story. "

As a caged rat looks death in the face, his ratty wits working likelightning and every atom of cunning and ferocity alert for attack orescape, so the little, mean eyes of Earl Leverett became fixed on Clinchlike two immobile and glassy beats of jet. 

"G'wan, " said Clinch softly, "spit it out. "

"Jake done it, " muttered Leverett, thickly. 

"Done what?"

"Stole that there packet o' yourn -- whatever there was into it. "

"Who put him up to it?"

"A fella called Quintana. "

"What was there in it for Jake?" inquired Clinch pleasantly. 

"Ten thousand. "

"How about you?"

"I told 'em I wouldn't touch it. Then they pulled their guns on me, andI was scared to squeal. "

"So that was the way?" asked Clinch in his even, reassuring voice. 

Leverett's eyes travelled stealthily around the circle of men, thenreverted to Clinch. 

"I dassn't touch it, " he said, "but I dassn't squeal. . .. I as huntin'onto Drowned Valley when Jake meets up with me. "

"`I got the packet, ' he sez, `and I'm a-going to double criss-crossQuintana, I am, and beat it. Don't you wish you was whacks with me?'

"`No, ' sez I, `honesty is my policy, no matter what they tell about me. S'help me God, I ain't never robbed no trap and I ain't no skin thief, whatever lies folks tell. All I ever done was run a little hootch, same's everybody. '"

He licked his lips furtively, his cold, bright eyes fastened on Clinch. 

"G'wan Earl, " nodded the latter, "heave her up. "

"That's all. I sez, `Good-bye, Jake. An' if you heed me warning', ill-gotten gains ain't a-going to prosper nobody. ' That's what I saidto Jake Kloon, the last solemn words I spoke to that there man now inhis bloody grave----"

"Hey?" demanded Clinch. 

"That's where Jake is, " repeated Leverett. "Why, so help me, I wa'ntgone ten yards when, bang! goes a gun, and I see this here Quintana comeouten the busy, I do, and walk up to Jake and frisk him and Jake stilla-kickin' the moss to slivers. Yessir, that's what I seen. "

"G'wan. "

"Yessir. . .. 'N'then Quintana he shoved Jake into a sink-hole. ThaswotI seen with my own two eyes. Yessir. 'N'then Quintana he run off, 'n'Ijest set down in the trail, I did; 'n'then Hal come up and acted like Ihad stole your packet, he did; 'n'then I told him what Quintana done. 'N'Hal, he takes after Quintana, but I don't guess he meets up with him, for he come back and ketched holt o' me, 'n'he druv me in like I was acaaf, he did. 'N'here I be. "

The dusk in the forest had deepened so that the men's faces had becomemere blotches of grey. 

Smith said to Clinch: "That's his story, Mike. But I preferred heshould tell it to you himself, so I brought him along. . .. Did you driveStar Peak?"

"There wa'nt nothin' onto it, " said Clinch very softly. Then, of asudden, his shadowy visage became contorted and he jerked up his rifleand threw a cartridge into the magazine. 

"You dirty louse!" he roared at Leverett, "you was into this, too, a-robbin' my little Eve----"

"Run!" yelled somebody, giving Leverett a violent shove into the woods. 

In the darkness and confusion, Clinch shouldered his way out of thecircle and fired at the crackling noise that marked Leverett's course, -- fired again, lower, and again as a distant crash revealed thefrenzied flight of the trap-robber. After he had fired a fourth shot, somebody struck up his rifle. 

"Aw, " said Jim Hastings, "that ain't no good. You act up like a kid, Mike. 'Tain't so far to Ghost Lake, n'them Troopers might hear you. "

After a silence, Clinch spoke, his voice heavy with reaction:

"Into that there packet is my little girl's dower. It's all I got togive her. It's all she's got to make her a lady. I'll kill any manthat robs her or that helps rob her. 'N'that's that. "

"Are you going on after Quintana?" asked Smith. 

"I am. 'N'these fellas are a-goin with me. N' I want you should goback to my Dump and look after my girlie while I'm gone. "

"How long are you going to be away?"

"I dunno. "

There was a silence. Then, "All right, " said Smith, briefly. He added: "Look out for sink-holes, Mike. "

Clinch tossed his heavy rifle to his shoulder: "Let's go, " he said inhis pleasant, misleading way, "-- and I'll shoot the guts outa any fellathat don't show up at roll call. "

* * * * *

III

For its size there is no fiercer animal than a rat. 

Rat-like rage possessed Leverett. In his headlong flight through thedusk, fear, instead of quenching, added to his rage; and he ran on andon, crashing through the undergrowth, made wilder by the pain of viciousblows from branches which flew back and struck him in the dark. 

Thorns bled him; unseen logs tripped him; he heard Clinch's bulletswhining around him; and he ran on, beginning to sob and curse in afrenzy of fury, fear, and shame. 

Shots from Clinch's rifle ceased; the fugitive dropped into a heavy, shuffling walk, slavering, gasping, gesticulating with his weaponlessfists in the darkness. 

"Gol ram ye, I'll fix ye!" he kept stammering in his snarlin, janglingvoice, broken by sobs. "I'll learn ye, yeh poor danged thing, gol ramye----"

An unseen limb struck him cruelly across the face, and a moose-bushtripped him flat. Almost crazed, he got up, yelling in his pain, onehand wet and sticky from blood welling up from his cheek-bone. 

He stood listening, infuriated, vindictive, but heard nothing save thepanting, animal sounds in his own throat. 

He strove to see in the ghostly obscurity around him, but could make outlittle except the trees close by. 

But wood-rats are never completely lost in their native darkness; andLeverett presently discovered the far stars shining faintly throughrifts in the phantom foliage above. 

These heavenly signals were sufficient to give him his directions. Thenthe question suddenly came, _which_ direction?

To his own shack on Stinking Lake he dared not go. He tried to believethat it was fear of Clinch that made him shy of the home shanty; but, inhis cowering soul, he knew it was fear of another kind -- the deep, superstitious horror of Jake Kloon's empty bunk -- the repugnant sightof Kloon's spare clothing hanging from its peg -- the dead man'sshoes----

No, he could not go to Stinking Lake and sleep. . .. And wake with thefaint stench of sulphur in his throat. . .. And see the worm-like leechesunfolding in the shallows, and the big, reddish water-lizards, livid asskinned eels, wriggling convulsively toward their sunless lairs. . .. 

At the mere thought of his dead bunk-mate he sought relief in vindictiverage -- stirred up the smouldering embers again, cursed Clinch and HalSmith, violently searching in his inflamed brain some instant vengeanceupon these men who had driven him out from the only place on earth wherehe knew how to exist -- the wilderness. 

All at once he thought of Clinch's step-daughter. The thought instantlyscared him. Yet -- what a revenge! -- to strike Clinch through the onlycreature he cared for in all the world! . .. What a revenge! . .. Clinchwas headed for Drowned Valley. Eve Strayer was alone at the Dump. . .. Another thought flashed like lightning across his turbid mind; -- _thepacket!_

Bribed by Quintana, Jake Kloon, lurking at Clinch's door, had heard himdirect Eve to take a packet to Owl Marsh, and had notified Quintana. 

Wittingly or unwittingly, the girl had taken a packet of sugar-milkchocolate instead of the priceless parcel expected. 

Again, carried in, exhausted, by a State Trooper, Jake Kloon had beenfooled; and it was the packet of sugar-milk chocolate that Jake hadpurloined from the veranda where Clinch kicked it. For two cakes ofchocolate Kloon had died. For two cakes of chocolate he, Earl Leverett, had become a man-slayer, a homeless fugitive in peril of his life. 

He stood licking his blood-dried lips there in the darkness, striving tohatch courage out of the dull fury eating at a coward's heart. 

Somewhere in Clinch's Dump was the packet that would make him rich. . .. Here was his opportunity. He had only to dare; and pain and poverty andfear -- above all else _fear_ -- would end forever! . .. 

* * * * *

When, at last, he came out to the edge of Clinch's clearing, the darkOctober heavens were but a vast wilderness of stars. 

Star Pond, set to its limpid depths with the heavenly gems, glitteredand darkled with its million diamond incrustations. The humped-up lumpof Clinch's Dump crouched like some huge and feeding night-beast on thebank, ringed by the solemn forest. 

There was a kerosene lamp burning in Eve Strayer's rooms. Another light-- a candle -- flickered in the kitchen. 

Leverett, crouching, ran rat-like down to the barn, slid in between theice house and the corn-crib, crawled out among the wilderness of weedsand lay flat. 

The light burned steadily from Eve's window. 

* * * * *

IV

From his form among the frost-blackened rag-weeds, the trap-robber couldsee only the plastered ceiling of the bed chamber. 

But the kerosene lamp cast two shadows on that -- tall shadows of humanshapes that stirred at times. 

The trap-robber, scared, stiffened to immobility, but his little eyesremained fastened on the camera obscura above. All the cunning, patience, and murderous immobility of the rat were his. 

Not a weed stirred under the stars where he lay with tiny, unwinkingeyes intent upon the shadows on the ceiling. 

* * * * *

The shadows on the ceiling were cast by Eve Strayer and her StateTrooper. 

Eve sat on her bed's edge, swathed in a lilac silk kimona -- delicaterelic of school days. Her bandaged feet, crossed, dangled above therag-rug on the floor; her slim, tanned fingers were interlaced over thebook on her lap. 

Near the door stood State Trooper Stormont, spurred, booted, trig andtrim, an undecided and flushed young man, fumbling irresolutely with thepurple cord on his campaign-hat. 

The book on Eve's knees -- another relic of the past -- was _Sigurd theVolsung. _ Stormont had been reading to her -- they having found, afterthe half shy tentatives of new friends, a point d'appui in literature. And the girl, admitting a passion for the poets, invited him to inspectthe bookcase of unpainted pine which Clinch had built into her bedroomwall. 

Here it was he discovered mutual friends among the nobler Victorians --surprised to discover _Sigurd_ there -- and, carrying it to her bedside, looked leisurely through the half forgotten pages. 

"Would you read a little?" she ventured. 

He blushed but did his best. His was an agreeable, boyish voice, betraying taste and understanding. Time passed quickly -- not so muchin the reading but in the conversations intervening. 

And now, made uneasy by chance consultation with his wrist-watch, andbeing rather a conscientious young man, he had risen and had informedEve that she ought to go to sleep. 

And she had denounced the idea, almost fretfully. 

"Even if you go I shan't sleep till daddy comes, " she said. "Ofcourse, " she added, smiling at him out of gentian-blue eyes, "if _you_are sleepy I shouldn't dream of asking you to stay. "

"I'm not intending to sleep. "

"What are you going to do?"

"Take a chair on the landing outside your door. "

"What!"

"Certainly. What did you expect me to do, Eve?"

"Go to bed, of course. The beds in the guest rooms are all made up. "

"Your father didn't expect me to do that, " he said, smiling. 

"I'm not afraid, as long as you're in the house, " she said. 

She looked up at him again, wistfully. Perhaps he was restless, bored, sitting there beside her half the day, and, already, half the night. Men of that kind -- active, nervous young men accustomed to the open, can't stand caging. 

"I want you to go out and get some fresh air, " she said. "It's awonderful night. Go and walk a while. And -- if you feel like --coming back to me----"

"Will you sleep?"

"No, I'll wait for you. "

Her words were natural and direct, but in their simplicity there seemeda delicate sweetness that stirred him. 

"I'll come back to you, " he said. 

Then, in his response, the girl in her turn became aware of somethingbeside the simpler words -- a vague charm about them that faintlyhaunted her after he had gone away down the stairs. 

_That_ was the man she had once tried to kill! At the sudden andterrible recollection she shivered from curly head to bandaged feet. Then she trembled a little with the memory of his lips against herbruised hands -- bruised by handcuffs which he had fastened upon her. 

She sat very, very still now, huddled on the bed's edge, scarcelybreathing. 

For the girl was beginning to dare formulate the deepest of any thoughtsthat had ever stirred her virgin mind and body. 

If it was love, then it had come suddenly, and strangely. It had comeon that day -- at the very moment when he flung her against the tree andhandcuffed her -- that terrible instant -- if it were love. 

Or -- what was it that so delicately overwhelmed her with pleasure inhis presence, in his voice, in the light, firm sound of his spurredtread on the veranda below?

Friendship? A lonely passion for young and decent companionship? Theclean youth of him in contrast to the mangy, surly louts who hauntedClinch's Dump, -- was that the appeal?

Listening there where she sat clasping the book, she heard his steadytread patrolling the veranda; caught the faint fragrance of his brierpipe in the still night air. 

"I think -- I think it's -- love, " she said under her breath. . .. "Buthe couldn't ever think of me----" always listening to his spurred treadbelow. 

After a while she placed both bandaged feet on the rug. It hurt her, but she stood up, walked to the open window. She wanted to look at him-- just a moment----

By chance he looked up at that instant, and saw her pale face, like aflower in the starlight. 

"Why, Eve, " he said, "you ought no be on your feet. "

"Once, " she said, "you weren't so particular about my bruises. "

Her breathless little voice coming down through the starlight thrilledhim. 

"Do you remember what I did?" he asked. 

"Yes. You bruised my hands and made my mouth bleed. "

"I did penance -- for your hands. "

"Yes, you kissed _them!_"

What possessed her -- what irresponsible exhilaration was inciting herto a daring utterly foreign to her nature? She heard herself laugh, knew that she was young, pretty, capable of provocation. And in asudden, breathless sort of way an overwhelming desire seized her toplease, to charm, to be noticed by such a man -- whatever, onafterthought, he might think of the step-child of Mike Clinch. 

Stormont had come directly under her window and stood looking up. 

"I dared not offer further penance, " he said. 

The emotion in his voice stirred her -- but she was still laughing downat him. 

She said: "You _did_ offer further penance -- you offered yourhandkerchief. So -- as that was _all_ you offered as reparation for --my lips----"

"Eve! I could have taken you into my arms---"

"You _did!_ And threw me down among the spruces. You really dideverything that a contrite heart could suggest----"

"Good heavens!" said that rather matter-of-fact young man, "I don'tbelieve you have forgiven me after all. "

"I have -- everything except the handkerchief----"

"Then I'm coming up to complete my penance----"

"I'll lock my door!"

"Would you?"

"I ought to. . .. But if you are in great spiritual distress, and if youreally and truly repent, and if you humble desire to expiate your sin bydoing -- penance----" And hesitated: "Do you so desire?"

"Yes, I do. "

"Humbly? Contritely?"

"Yes. "

"Very well. Say `Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. '"

"Mea maxima culpa, " he said so earnestly, looking up into her face thatshe bent lower over the sill to see him. 

"Let me come up, Eve, " he said. 

She strove to laugh, gazing down into his shadowy face -- but suddenlythe desire had left her, -- and all her gaiety left her, too, suddenly, leaving only a still excitement in her breast. 

"You - you knew I was just laughing, " she said unsteadily. "Youunderstood, didn't you?"

"I don't know. "

After a silence: "I didn't mean you to take me seriously, " she said. She tried to laugh. It was no use. And, as she leaned there on thesill, her heart frightened her with its loud beating. 

"Will you let me come up, Eve?"

No answer. 

"Would you lock your door?"

"What do you think I'd do?" she asked tremulously. 

"You know; I don't. "

"Are you so sure I know what I'd do? I don't think either of us knowour own minds. . .. I seem to have lost some of my wits. . .. Somehow. . .. "

"If you are not going to sleep, let me come up. "

"I want you to take a walk down by the pond. And while you're walkingthere all by yourself, I want you to think very clearly, very calmly, and make up your mind whether I should remain awake to-night, orwhether, when you return, I ought to be asleep and -- and my doorbolted. "

After a long pause: "All right, " he said in a low voice. 

* * * * *

V

She saw him walk away -- saw his shadowy, well-built form fade into thestarlit mist. 

An almost uncontrollable impulse set her throat and lips quivering withdesire to call to him through the night, "I do love you! I do love you!Come back quickly, quickly!----"

Fog hung over Star Pond, edging the veranda, rising in frail shreds toher window. The lapping of the water sounded very near. An owl wasvery mournful in the hemlocks. 

The girl turned from the window, looked at the door for a moment, thenher face flushed and she walked toward a chair and seated herself, leaving the door unbolted. 

For a little while she sat upright, alert, as though a littlefrightened. After a few moments she folded her hands and satunstirring, with lowered head, awaiting Destiny. 

* * * * *

It came, noiselessly. And so swiftly that the rush of air from herviolently opened door was what first startled her. 

For in the same second Earl Leverett was upon her in his stockingedfeet, one bony hand gripping her mouth, the other flung around her, pinning both arms to her sides. 

"The packet!" he panted, "-- quick, yeh dirty little cat, 'r'I'll breakyeh head off'n yeh damn neck!"

She bit at the hand that he held crushed against her mouth. He liftedher bodily, flung her onto the bed, and, twisting sheet and quilt aroundher, swathed her to the throat. 

Still controlling her violently distorted lips with his left hand andholding her so, one knee upon her, he reached back, unsheathed hishunting knife, and pricked her throat till the blood spurted. 

"Now, gol ram yet!" he whispered fiercely, "where's Mike's packet?Yell, and I'll hog-stick yeh fur fair! Where is it, you dum thing!"

He took his left hand from her mouth. The distorted, scarlet lipswrithed back, displaying her white teeth clenched. 

"Where's Mike's bundle!" he repeated, hoarse with rage and fear. 

"You rat!" she gasped. 

At that he closed her mouth again, and again he pricket her with hisknife, cruelly. The blood welled up onto the sheets. 

"Now, by God!" he said in a ghastly voice, "answer or I'll hog-stick yehnext time! Where is it? Where! where!"

She only showed her teeth in answer. Her eyes flamed. 

"Where! Quick! Gol ding yeh, I'll shove this knife in behind your earif you don't tell! Go on. Where is it? It's in this Dump som'ers. Iknow it is -- don't lie! You want that I should stick you good? Thatwhat you want -- you dirty little dump-slut? Well, then, gol ram yeh --I'll fix yeh like Quintana was aimin' at----"

He slit the sheet downward from her imprisoned knees, seized one woundedfoot and tried to slash the bandages. 

"I'll cut a coupla toes off'n yeh, " he snarled, "-- I'll hamstring yehfur keeps!" -- struggling to mutilate her while she flung her helplessand entangled body from side to side and bit at the hand that was almostsuffocating her. 

Unable to hold her any longer, he seized a pillow, to bury the venomouslittle head that writhed, biting, under his clutch. 

As he lifted it he saw a packet lying under it. 

"By God!" he panted. 

As he seized it she screamed for the first time: "Jack! Jack Stormont!"-- and fairly hurled her helpless little body at Leverett, striking himfull in the face with her head. 

Half stunned, still clutching the packet, he tried to stab her in thestomach; but the armour of bed-clothes turned the knife, although hisviolence dashed all breath out of her. 

Sick with the agony of it, speechless, she still made the effort; and, as he stumbled to his feet and turned to escape, she struggled upright, choking, blood running down from the knife pricks in her neck. 

With the remnant of her strength, and still writhing and gasping forbreath, she tore herself from the sheets and blankets, reeled across theroom to where Stormont's rifle stood, threw in a cartridge, draggedherself to the window. 

Dimly she saw a running figure in the night mist, flung the rifle acrossthe window sill and fired. Then she fired again -- or thought she did. There were two shots. 

"Eve!" came Stormont's sharp cry, "what the devil are you trying to doto me?"

His cry terrified her; the rifle clattered to the floor. 

The next instant he came running up the stars, bare headed, heavy pistolswinging, and halted, horrified at sight of her. 

"Eve! My God!" he whispered, taking her blood-wet body into his arms. 

"Go after Leverett, " she gasped. "He's robbed daddy. He's running away-- out there -- somewhere---"

"Where did he hurt you, Eve -- my little Eve----"

"Oh, go! go!" she wailed, -- "I'm not hurt. He only pricked me with hisknife. I'm not hurt, I tell you. Go after him! Take your pistol andfollow him and kill him!"

"Oh, " she cried hysterically, twisting and sobbing in his arms, "don'tlose time here with me! Don't stand here while he's running away withdad's money!" And, "Oh -- oh -- _oh!!_" she sobbed, collapsing in hisarms and clinging to him convulsively as he carried her to her tumbledbed and laid her there. 

He said: "I couldn't risk following anybody now, after what has happenedto you. I can't leave you alone here! Don't cry, Eve. I'll get yourman for you, I promise! Don't cry, dear. I was all my fault forleaving this room even for a minute----"

"No, no, no! It's all my fault. I sent you away. Oh, I wish I hadn't. I wish I had let you come back when you wanted to. . .. I was waiting foryou. . .. I left the door unbolted for you. When it opened I thought itwas you. And it was Leverett! -- it was Leverett!----"

Stormont's face grew very white: "What did he do to you, Eve? Tell me, darling. What did he do to you?"

"Dad's money was under my pillow, " she wailed. "Leverett tried to makeme tell where it was. I wouldn't, and he hurt me----"

"How?"

"He pricked me with his knife. When I screamed for you he tried tochoke me with the pillow. Didn't you hear me scream?"

"Yes. I came on the jump. "

"It was too late, " she sobbed; "-- too late! He saw the money packetunder my pillow and he snatched it and ran. Somehow I found your rifleand fired. I fired twice. "

Her only bullet had torn his campaign hat from his head. But he did nottell her. 

"Let me see your neck, " he said, bending closer. 

She bared her throat, making a soft, vague complaint like a hurt bird, -- lay there whimpering under her breath while he bathed the blood awaywith lint, sterilised the two cuts from his emergency packet, and boundthem. 

He was still bending low over her when her blue eyes unclosed on his. 

"That is the second time I've tried to kill you, " she whispered. "Ithought it was Leverett. . .. I'd have died if I had killed you. "

There was a silence. 

"Lie very still, " he said huskily. "I'll be back in a moment torebandage your feet and make you comfortable for the night. "

"I can't sleep, " she repeated desolately. "Dad trusted his money to meand I've let Leverett rob me. How can I sleep?"

"I'll bring you something to make you sleep. "

"I can't!"

"I promise you you will sleep. Lie still. "

He rose, went away downstairs and out to the barn, where his campaignhat lay in the weed, drilled through by a bullet. 

There was something else lying there in the weeds, -- a flat, muddy, shoeless shape sprawling grotesquely in the foggy starlight. 

One hand clutched a hunting knife; the other a packet. 

Stormont drew the packet from the stiff fingers, then turned the bodyover, and, flashing his electric torch, examined the ratty visage --what remained of it -- for his pistol bullet had crashed through fromear to cheek-bone, almost obliterating the trap-robber's features. 

* * * * *

Stormont came slowly into Eve's room and laid the packet on the sheetbeside her. 

"Now, " he said, "there is no reason for you to lie awake any longer. I'll fix you up for the night. "

Deftly he unbandaged, bathed, dressed, and rebandaged her slim whitefeet -- little wounded feet so lovely, so exquisite that his handtrembled as he touched them. 

"They're doing fine, " he said cheerily. "You've half a degree of feverand I'm going to give you something to drink before you go to sleep----"

He poured out a glass of water, dissolved two tablets, supported hershoulders while she drank in a dazed way, looking always at him over theglass. 

"Now, " he said, "go to sleep. I'll b on the job outside your door untilyour daddy arrives. "

"How did you get back dad's money?" she asked in an odd, emotionless wayas though too weary for further surprises. 

"I'll tell you in the morning. "

"Did you kill him? I didn't hear your pistol. "

"I'll tell you all about it in the morning. Good night, Eve. "

As he bent over her, she looked up into his eyes and put both armsaround his neck. 

It was her first kiss given to any man, except Mike Clinch. 

After Stormont had gone out and closed the door, she lay very still fora long while. 

Then, instinctively, she touched her lips with her fingers; and, at thatcontact, a blush clothed her from brow to ankle. 

The Flaming Jewel in its morocco casket under her pillow burned with nopurer fire than the enchanted flame glowing in the virgin heart of EveStrayer of Clinch's Dump. 

Thus they lay together, two lovely flaming jewels burning softly, steadily through the misty splendour of the night. 

Under a million stars, Death sprawled in squalor among the trampledweeds. Under the same high stars dark mountains waited; and there was asilvery sound of waters stirring somewhere in the mist. 

* * * * *

Episode Seven

Clinch's Dump

* * * * *

I

When Mike Clinch bade Hal Smith return to the Dump and take care of Eve, Smith already had decided to go there. 

Somewhere in Clinch's Dump was hidden the Flaming Jewel. Now was histime to search for it. 

There were two other reasons why he should go back. One of them wasthat Leverett was loose. If anything had called Trooper Stormont away, Eve would be alone in the house. And nobody on earth could forecastwhat a coward like Leverett might attempt. 

But there was another and more serious reason for returning to Clinch's. Clinch, blood-mad, was headed for Drowned Valley with his men, to stopboth ends of that vast morass before Quintana and his gang could getout. 

It was evident that neither Clinch nor any of his men -- although theirvery lives depended upon familiarity with the wilderness -- knew that athird exit from Drowned Valley existed. 

But the nephew of the late Henry Harrod knew. 

When Jake Kloon was a young man and Darragh was a boy, Kloon had shownhim the rocky, submerged game trail into Drowned Valley. DoubtlessKloon had used it in hootch running since. If ever he had told anybodyelse about it, probably he had revealed the trail to Quintana. 

And that was why Darragh, or Hal Smith, finally decided to return toStar Pond; -- because if Quintana had been told or had discovered thatcircuitous way out of Drowned Valley, he might go straight to Clinch'sDump. . .. And, supposing Stormont was still there, how long could oneState Trooper stand off Quintana's gang?

* * * * *

No sooner had Clinch and his motley followers disappeared in the duskthan Smith unslung his basket-pack, fished out a big electric torch, flashed it tentatively, and then, reslinging the pack and taking hisrifle in his left hand, he set off at an easy swinging stride. 

His course was not toward Star Pond; it was at right angles with thattrail. For he was taking no chances. Quintana might already have leftDrowned Valley by that third exit unknown to Clinch. 

Smith's course would now cut this unmarked trail, trodden, only by gamethat left no sign in the shallow mountain rivulet which was the path. 

The trail lay a long way off through the night. But if Quintana haddiscovered and taken that trail, it would be longer still for him --twice as long as the regular trail out. 

For a mile or two the forest was first growth pine, and sufficientlyopen so that Smith might economise on his torch. 

He knew every foot of it. As a boy he had carried a jacob-staff in theGeological Survey. Who better than the forest-roaming nephew of HenryHarrod should know this blind wilderness?

The great pines towered on every side, lofty and smooth to the featherycanopy that crowned them under the high stars. 

There was no game here, no water, nothing to attract anybody except thedevastating lumberman. But this was a five thousand acre patch of Stateland. The ugly whine of the stream-saw would never be heard here. 

On he walked at an easy, swinging stride, flashing his torch rarely, feeling no concern about discovery by Quintana's people. 

It was only when he came into the hardwoods that the combined necessityfor caution and torch perplexed and worried him. 

Somewhere in here began an outcrop of rock running east for miles. Onlystunted cedar and berry bushes found shallow nourishment on this ridge. 

When at last he found it he travelled upon it, more slowly, constantlyobliged to employ the torch. 

After an hour, perhaps, his feet splashed in shallow water. _That_ waswhat he was expecting. The water was only an inch or two deep; it wasice cold and running north. 

Now, he must advance with every caution. For here trickled the thinflow of that rocky rivulet which was the other entrance and exitpenetrating that immense horror of marsh and bog and depthless sink-holeknown as Drowned Valley. 

* * * * *

For a long while he did not dare to use his torch; but now he wasobliged to. 

He shined the ground at his feet, elevated the torch with infiniteprecaution, throwing a fan-shaped light over the stretch of sink he hadsuspected and feared. It flanked the flat, wet path of rock on eitherside. Here Death spread its slimy trap at his very feet. 

Then, as he stood taking his bearings with burning torch, far ahead inthe darkness a light flashed, went out, flashed twice more, and wasextinguished. 

Quintana!

Smith's wits were working like lightning, but instinct guided him beforehis brain took command. He levelled his torch and repeated the threesignal flashes. Then, in darkness, he came to swift conclusion. 

There were no other signals from the unknown. The stony bottom of therivulet was his only aid. 

In his right hand the torch hung almost touching the water. At times heventured sufficient pressure for a feeble glimmer, then again trusted tohis sense of contact. 

For three hundred yards, counting his strides, he continued on. Then, in total darkness, he pocketed the torch, slid a cartridge into thebreech of is rifle, slung the weapon, pulled out a handkerchief, andtied it across his face under the eyes. 

Now, he drew the torch from his pocket, levelled it, sent three quickflashes, out into the darkness. 

Instantly, close ahead, three blinding flashes broke out. 

For Hal Smith it had all become a question of seconds. 

Death lay depthless on either hand; ahead death blocked the trail insilence. 

Out of the dark some unseen rifle might vomit death in his very face atany moment. 

He continued to move forward. After a little while his ear caught aslight splash ahead. Suddenly a glare of light enveloped him. 

"Is that you, Harry Beck?"

Instinct leg again while wits worked madly: "Harry Beck is two milesback on guard. Where is Sard?"

The silence became terrible. Once the glaring light in front moved, then become fixed. There was a light splashing. Instantly Smithrealised that the man in front had set his torch in a tree-crotch andwas now cowering somewhere behind a levelled weapon. His voice camepresently:

"He! Drap-a that-a gun damn quick!"

Smith bent, leisurely, and laid his rifle on a mossy rock. 

"Now! You there! Why you want Sard! Eh?"

"I'll tell Sard, not you, " retorted Smith coolly. "You listen to me, whoever you are. I'm from Sard's office in New York. I'm Abrams. Thepolice are on their way here to find Quintana. "

"How do I know? Eh? Why shall I believe that? You tell-a me queeck orI blow-a your damn head off!"

"Quintana will blow-a _your_ head off unless you take me to Sard, "drawled Smith. 

A moment might have meant death, but he calmly rummaged for a cigarette, lighted it, blew a cloud insolently toward the white glare ahead. Thenhe took another chance:

"I guess you're Nick Salzar, aren't you?"

"Si! I am Salzar. Who the dev' are you?"

"I'm Eddie Abrams, Sard's lawyer. My business is to find my client. Ifyou stop me you'll go to prison -- the whole gang of you -- Sard, Quintana, Picquet, Sanchez, Georgiades and Harry Beck, -- and _you!_"

After a dead silence: "Maybe _you'll_ go to the chair, too!"

It was the third chance he took. 

There was a dreadful stillness in the woods. Finally came a slightseries of splashes; the crunch of heavy boots on rock. 

"For why you com-a here, eh?" demanded Salzar, in a less aggressivemanner. "What'a da matt', eh?"

"Well, " said Smith, "if you've got to know, there are people fromEsthonia in New York. . .. If you understand that. "

"Christi! When do their arrive?"

"A week ago. Sard's place is in the hands of the police. I couldn'tstop them. They've got his safe and all his papers. City, State, andfederal officers are looking for him. The Constabulary rode into GhostLake yesterday. Now, don't you think you'd better lead me to Sard?"

"Christi!" exclaimed Salzar. "Sard he is a mile ahead with the others. Damn! Damn! Me, how should I know what is to be done? Me, I have myorders from Quintana. What do I do, eh? Christi! What to do? What doyou say I should do, eh, Abrams?"

A new fear had succeeded the old one -- that was evident -- and Salzarcame forward into the light of his own fixed torch -- a well-knit figurein slouch hat, grey shirt, and grey breeches, and wearing a red bandannaover the lower part of his face. He carried a heavy rifle. 

He came on, sturdily, splashing through the water, and walked up toSmith, his rifle resting on his right shoulder. 

"For me, " he said excitedly, "long time I have worry in this-a damnwood! Si! Where did you say those carbiniery? Eh?"

"At Ghost lake. _Your_ signature is in the hotel ledger. "

"Christi! You know where Clinch is?"

"You know too. He is on the way to Drowned Valley. "

"Damn! I knew it. Quintana also. You know where is Quintana? AndSard? I tell-a you. They march ver' fast to the Dump of Clinch. Si!And there they would discover these-a beeg-a dimon' -- these-aFlame-Jewel. Si! _Now, _ you tell-a me what I do?"

Smith said slowly: "If Quintana is marching on Clinch's he's marchinginto a trap!"

Salzar blanched above his bandana. 

"The State Troopers are there, " said Smith. "They'll get him sure. "

"Cristi, " faltered Salzar, "-- then they are gobble -- Quintana, Sard, everybody! Si!"

Smith considered the man: "You can save _your_ skin anyway. You can goback and tell Harry Beck. Then both you can beat it for DrownedValley. "

He picked up his rifle, stood a moment in troubled reflection:

"If I could overtake Quintana I'd do it, " he said. "I think I'll try. If I can't, he's done for. You tell Harry Beck that Eddie Abramsadvises him to beat it for Drowned Valley. "

Suddenly Salzar tore the bandana from his face, flung it down andstamped on it. 

"What I tell Quintana!" he yelled, his features distorted with rage. "Idon't-a like! -- no, not me! -- no, I tell-a heem, stay at those Ghost-aLake and watch thees-a fellow Clinch. Si! Not for me thees-a wood. No! I spit upon it! I curse like hell! I tell Quintana I don't-alike. Now, eet is trouble that comes and we lose-a out! Damn! _Damn!_Me, I find me Beck. You shall say to Jose Quintana how he is a damfool. Me, I am finish -- me, Nick Salzar! You hear me, Abrams! I am through!I go!"

He glared at Smith, started to move, came back and took his torch, madea violent gesture with it which drenched the weeds with goblin light. 

"You stop-a Quintana, maybe. You tell-a heem he is the bigg-a fool!You tell-a heem Nick Salzar is no damn fool. No! Adios, my frien'Abrams. I beat it. I save my skin!"

Once more Salzar turned and headed for Drowned Valley. . .. Where Clinchwould not fail to kill him. . .. The man was going to his death. . .. Andit as Smith who sent him. 

Suddenly it came to Smith that he could not do this thing; that this manhad no chance; that he was slaying a human being with perfect safety tohimself and without giving him a chance. 

"Salzar!" he called sharply. 

The man halted and looked around. 

"Come back!"

Salzar hesitated, turned finally, slouched toward him. 

Smith laid aside his pack and rifle, and, as Salzar came up, he quietlytook his weapon from him and laid it beside his own. 

"What-a da matt'?" demanded Salzar, astonished. "Why you take my gun?"

Smith measured him. They were well matched. 

"Set your torch in that crotch, " he said. 

Salzar, puzzled and impatient, demanded to know why. Smith took bothtorches, set them opposite each other and drew Salzar into the whiteglare. 

"Now, " he said, "you dirty desperado, I am going to try to kill youclean. Look out for yourself!"

For a second Salzar stood rooted in blank astonishment. 

"I'm one of Clinch's men, " said Smith, "but I can't stick a knife inyour back, at that! Now, take care of yourself if you can----"

His voice died in his throat; Salzar was on him, clawing, biting, kicking, striving to strangle him, to wrestle him off his feet. Smithreeled, staggering under the sheer rush of the man, almost blinded byblows, clutched, bewildered in Salzar's panther grip. 

For a moment he writhed there, searching blindly for his enemy's wrist, striving to avoid the teeth that snapped at his throat, stifled by thehot stench of the man's breath in his face. 

"I keel you! I keel you! Damn! Damn!" panted Salzar, in convulsivefury as Smith freed his left arm and struck him in the face. 

Now, on the narrow, wet and slippery strip of rock they swayed to andfro, murderously interlocked, their heavy boots splashing, battling withlimb and body. 

Twice Salzar forced Smith outward over the sink, trying to end it, butcould not free himself. 

Once, too, he managed to get a hidden knife, drag it out and stab athead and throat; but Smith caught the fist that wielded it, forced backthe arm, held it while Salzar screamed at him, lunging at his face withbared teeth. 

Suddenly the end came: Salzar's body heaved upward, sprawled for aninstant in the dazzling glare, hurtled over Smith's head and fell intothe sink with a crashing splash. 

Frantically he thrashed there, spattering and floundering in darkness. He made no outcry. Probably he had landed head first. 

In a moment only a vague heaving came from the unseen ooze. 

Smith, exhausted, drenched with sweat, leaned against a tamarack, sickened. 

After all sound had ceased he straightened up with an effort. Presentlyhe bent and recovered Salzar's red bandana and his hat, lifted his ownrifle and pack and struggled into the harness. Then, kicking Salzar'srifle overboard, he unfastened both torches, pocketed one, and startedon in a flood of ghostly light. 

He was shaking all over and the torch quivered in his hand. He had seenmen die in the Great War. He had been near death himself. But neverbefore had he been near death in so horrible a form. The sodden noisesin the mud, the deadened flopping of the sinking body -- mud-plasteredhands beating frantically on mud, splattering, agonising in darkness --"My God, " he breathed, "anything but that -- anything but that! ----"

* * * * *

II

Before midnight he struck the hard forest. Here there was no trail atall, only spreading outcrop of crock under dying leaves. 

He could see a few stars. Cautiously he ventured to shine his compassclose to the ground. He was still headed right. The ghastly sinkcountry lay behind him. 

About of him, somewhere in the darkness -- but how far he did not know-- Quintana and his people were moving swiftly at Clinch's Dump. 

It may have been an hour later -- two hours, perhaps -- when from farahead in the forest came a sound -- the faint clink of a shod heel onrock. 

Now, Smith unslung his pack, placed it between two rocks where laurelgrew. 

Salzar's red bandanna was still wet, but he tied it across his face, leaving his eyes exposed. The dead man's hat fitted him. His own hatand the extra torch he dropped into his basket-pack. 

Ready, now, he moved swiftly forward, trailing his rifle. And very soonit became plain to him that the people ahead were moving without muchcaution, evidently fearing no unfriendly ear or eye in that section ofthe wilderness. 

Smith could hear their tread on rock and root and rotten branch, orswishing through frosted fern and brake, or louder on newly fallenleaves. 

At times he could even see the round white glare of a torch on theground -- see it shift ahead, lighting up tree trunks, spread out, fanlike, into a wide, misty glory, then vanish as darkness rushed infrom the vast ocean of the night. 

Once they halted at a brook. Their torches flashed it; he heard themsounding its depths with their gun-butts. 

Smith knew that brook. It was the east branch of Star Brook, the inletto Star Pond. 

Far ahead above the trees the sky seemed luminous. It was star lustreover the pond, turning the mist to a silvery splendour. 

Now the people ahead of him moved with more caution, crossing the brookwithout splashing, and their boots made less noise in the woods. 

To keep in touch with them Smith hastened his pace until he drew nearenough to hear the low murmur of their voices. 

They were travelling in single file; he had a glimpse of them againstthe ghostly radiance ahead. Indeed, so near had he approached that hecould hear the heavy, laboured breathing of the last man in the file --some laggard who dragged his feet, plodding on doggedly, panting, muttering. Probably the man was Sard. 

Already the forest in front was invaded by the misty radiance from theclearing. Through the trees starlight glimmered on water. The perfumeof the open land grew in the night air, -- the scent of dew-wet grass, the smell of still water and of sedgy shores. 

Lying flat behind a rotting log, Smith could see them all now, --spectral shapes against the light. There were five of them at theforest's edge. 

They seemed to know what was to be done and how to do it. Two went downamong the ferns and stunted willows toward the west shore of the pond;two sheered off to the southwest, shoulder deep in blackberry and sumac. The fifth man waited for a while, then ran down across the open pasture. 

Scarcely had he started when Smith glided to the wood's edge, crouched, and looked down. 

Below stood Clinch's Dump, plain in the starlight, every window dark. To the west the barn loomed, huge with its ramshackle outbuildingsstraggling toward the lake. 

Straight down the slope toward the barn ran the fifth man of Quintana'sgang, and disappeared among the out-buildings. 

Smith crept after him through the sumacs; and, at the foot of the slope, squatted low in a clump of rag-weed. 

So close to the house was he now that he could hear the dew rattling onthe veranda roof. He saw shadowy figures appear, one after another, andtake stations at the four corners of the house. The fifth man wassomewhere near the out-buildings, very silent about whatever he had onhand. 

The stillness was absolute save for the drumming dew and a faint ripplefrom the water's edge. 

Smith crouched, listened, searched the starlight with intent eyes, andwaited. 

Until something happened he could not solve the problem before him. Hecould be of no use to Eve Strayer and to Stormont until he found outwhat Quintana was going to do. 

He could be of little use anyway unless he got into the house, where tworifles might hold out against five. 

There was no use in trying to get to Ghost Lake for assistance. He feltthat whatever was about to happen would come with a rush. It would beall over before he had gone five minutes. No; the only thing to do wasto stay where he was. 

As for his pledge to the little Grand Duchess, that was always in hismind. Sooner or later, he was going to make good his pledge. 

He knew Quintana and his gang were here to find the Flaming Jewel. 

Had he not encountered Quintana, his own errand had been the same. ForSmith had started for Clinch's prepared to reveal himself to Stormont, and then, masked to the eyes -- and to save Eve from a broken heart, andClinch from States Prison -- he had meant to rob the girl atpistol-point. 

It was the only way to save Clinch, the only way to save the pride ofhis blindly loyal girl. For the arrest of Clinch meant ruin to both, and Smith realised it thoughtfully. 

* * * * *

A slight sound form one of the out-houses -- a sort of wagon-shed --attracted his attention. Through the frost-highlighted rag-weeds afaint glow appeared in the shed. There was a crackling noise. The glowgrew pinker. 

* * * * *

III

Inside Clinch's home Eve awoke with a start. Her ears were filled witha strange, rushing, cracking noise. A rosy glare danced and shookoutside her windows. 

As she sprang to the floor on bandaged feet, a shrill scream burst outof the ruddy darkness -- unearthly, horrible; and there came athunderous battering from the burn. 

The girl tore open her bedroom door. "Jack!" she cried in a terrifiedvoice. "The barn's on fire!"

"Good Good!" he said, "-- my horse!"

He had already sprung from his chair outside her door. Now he randownstairs, and she heard bolt and chain clash at the kitchen door andhis spurred boots land on the porch. 

"Oh, " she whimpered, snatching a blanket wrapper from a peg andstruggling into it. "Oh, the poor house! Jack! Jack! I'm coming tohelp! Don't risk your life! I'm coming -- I'm coming----"

Terror clutched her as she stumbled downstairs on bandaged feet. 

As she reached the door a great flare of light almost blinded her. 

"Jack!"

And at the same instant she saw him struggling with three masked men inthe glare of the wagon-shed afire. 

His rifle stood in the corridor outside her door. With one bound shewas on the stairs again. There came the crash and splinter of wood andglass from the kitchen, and a man with a handkerchief over his facecaught her on the landing. 

Twice she wrenched herself loose and her fingers almost touchedStormont's rifle; she fought like a cornered lynx, tore the handkerchieffrom her assailant's face, recognised Quintana, hurled her very body athim, eyes flaming, small teeth bared. 

Two other men laid hold. In another moment she had tripped Quintana, and all four fell, rolling over and over down the short flight ofstairs, landing in the kitchen, still fighting. 

Here, in darkness, she wriggled out, somehow, leaving her blanketwrapped in their clutches. In another instant she was up the stairsagain, only to discover that the rifle was gone. 

The red glare from the wagon-house lighted her bedroom; she spranginside and bolted the door. 

Her chamois jacket with its loops full of cartridges hung on a peg. Shegot into it, seized her rifle and ran to the window just as two maskedmen, pushing Stormont before them, entered the house by the kitchen way. 

Her own door was resounding with kicks and blows, shaking, shiveringunder the furious impact of boot and rifle-butt. 

She ran to the bed, thrust her hand under the pillow, pulled out thecase containing the Flaming Jewel, and placed it in the breast pocket ofher shooting jacket. 

Again she crept to the window. Only the wagon-house was burning. Somebody, however, had led Stormont's horse from the barn, and had tiedit to a tree at a safe distance. It stood there, trembling, itsbeautiful, nervous head turned toward the burning building. 

The blows upon her bedroom door had ceased; there came a loud trampling, the sound of excited voices; Quintana's sarcastic tones, clear, dominant:

"Dios! The police! Why you bring me this gendarme? What am I to dowith a gentleman of the Constabulary, eh? Do you think I am fool enoughto cut his throat? Well, Senor Gendarme, what are you doing here in theDump of Clinch?"

Then Stormont's voice, clear and quiet: "What are _you_ doing here? Ifyou've a quarrel with Clinch, he's not here. There's only a young girlin this house. "

"So?" said Quintana. "Well, that is what I expec', my frien'. It isthees lady upon whom I do myse'f the honour to call!"

Eve, listening, heard Stormont's rejoinder, still, calm, and very grave:

"The man who lays a finger on that young girl had better be dead. He'sas good as dead the moment he touches her. There won't be a chance forhim. . .. Nor for any of you, if you harm her. "

"Calm youse'f, my frien', " said Quintana. "I demand of thees young ladyonly that she return to me the property of which I have been rob byMonsieur Clinch. "

"I knew nothing of any theft. Nor does she----"

"Pardon: Senor Clinch knows, and I know. " His tone changed, offensively: "Senor Gendarme, am I permit to understan' that you are afrien' of thees young lady? -- a heart-frien', per'aps----"

"I am her friend, " said Stormont bluntly. 

"Ah, " said Quintana, "then you shall persuade her to return to me theespacket of which Monsieur Clinch has rob me. "

There was a short silence, then Quintana's voice again:

"I know thees packet is conceel in thees house. Peaceably, if possible, I would recover my property. . .. If she refuse----"

Another pause. 

"Well?" inquired Stormont, coolly. 

"Ah! It is ver' painful to say. Alas, Senor Gendarme, I mus' have myproperty. . .. If she refuse, then I mus' sever one of her prettyfingers. . .. An' if she still refuse -- I sever her pretty fingers oneby one, until----"

"You know what would happen to _you?_" interrupted Stormont, in a voicethat quivered in spite of himself. 

"I take my chance. Senor Gendarme, she is within that room. If you areher frien', you shall advise her to return to me my property. "

After another silence. 

"Eve!" he called sharply. 

She placed her lips to the door: "Yes, Jack. "

He said: "There are five masked men out here who say that Clinch robbedthem and they are here to recover their property. . .. Do you knowanything about this?"

"I know they lie. My father is not a thief. . .. I have my rifle andplenty of ammunition. I shall kill every man who enters this room. "

For a moment nobody stirred or spoke. Then Quintana strode to thebolted door and struck it with the butt of his rifle. 

"You, in there, " he said in a menacing voice, "-- you listen once to_me!_ You open your door and come out. I give you one minute!" Hestruck the door again: "_One_ minute, senorita! -- or I cut from yourfrien', here, the hand from his right arm!"

There was a deathly silence. Then the sound of bolts. The door opened. Slowly the girl limped forward, still wearing the hunting jacket overher night-dress. 

Quintana made her an elaborate and ironical bow, slouch hat in hand;another masked man took her rifle. 

"Senorita, " said Quintana with another sweep of his hat, "I ask pardonthat I trouble you for my packet of which your father has rob me forver' long time. "

Slowly the girl lifted her blue eyes to Stormont. He was standingbetween two masked men. Their pistols were pressed slightly against hisstomach. 

Stormont reddened painfully:

"It was not for myself that I let you open your door, " he said. "Theywould not have ventured to lay hands on _me. _"

"Ah, " said Quintana with a terrifying smile, "you would not have beenthe first gendarme who had -- _accorded me his hand!_"

Two of the masked men laughed loudly. 

* * * * *

Outside in the rag-weed patch, Smith rose, stole across the grass to thekitchen door and slipped inside. 

"Now, senorita, " said Quintana gaily, "my packet, if you please, -- andwe leave you to the caresses of your faithful gendarme, -- who shouldthank God that he still possesses the good two hands to fondle you!Allons! Come then! My packet!"

One of the masked men said: "Take her downstairs and lock her upsomewhere or she'll shoot us from her window. "

"Lead out that gendarme, too!" added Quintana, grasping Eve by the arm. 

Down the stairs tramped the men, forcing their prisoners with them. 

In the big kitchen the glare from the burning out-house fell dimly; theplace was full of shadows. 

"Now, " said Quintana, "I take my property and my leave. Where is thepacket hidden?"

She stood for a moment with drooping head, amid the sombre shadows, then, slowly, she drew the emblazoned morocco case form her breastpocket. 

What followed occurred in the twinkling of an eye: for, as Quintanaextended his arm to grasp the case, a hand snatched it, a masked figuresprang through the doorway, and ran toward the barn. 

Somebody recognized the hat and red bandanna:

"Salzar!" he yelled. "Nick Salzar!"

"A traitor, by God!" shouted Quintana. Even before he had reached thedoor, his pistol flashed twice, deafening all the semi-darkness, chokingthem with stifling fumes. 

A masked man turned on Stormont, forcing him back into the pantry atpistol-point. Another man pushed Eve after him, slammed the pantry doorand bolted it. 

Through the iron bars of the pantry window, Stormont saw a man, wearinga red bandanna tied under his eyes, run up and untie his horse and flinghimself astride under a shower of bullets. 

As he wheeled the horse and swung him into the clearing toward the footof Star Pond, his seat and horsemanship were not to be mistaken. 

He was gone, now, the gallop stretching into a dead run; and Quintana'smen still following, shooting, hallooing in the starlight like a pack ofleaping shapes from hell. 

But Quintana had not followed far. When he had emptied his automatic hehalted. 

Something about the transaction suddenly checked his fury, stilled it, summoned his brain into action. 

For a full minute he stood unstirring, every atom of intelligence interrible concentration. 

Presently he put his left hand into his pocket, fitted another clip tohis pistol, turned on his heel and walked straight back to the house. 

Between the two locked in the pantry not a word had passed. Stormontstill peered out between the iron bars, striving to catch a glimpse ofwhat was going on. Eve crouched at the pantry doors, her face in herhands, listening. 

Suddenly she heard Quintana's step in the kitchen. Cautiously sheturned the pantry key from inside. 

Stormont heard her, and instantly came to her. At the same momentQuintana unbolted the door from the outside and tried to open it. 

"Come out, " he said coldly, "or it will not go well with you when my menreturn. "

"You've got what you say is your property, " replied Stormont. "What doyou want now?"

"I tell you what I want ver' damn quick. Who was he, thees man whorides with my property on your horse away? Eh? Because it was not NickSalzar! No! Salzar cannot ride thees way. No! Alors?"

"I can't tell you who he was, " replied Stormont. "That's your affair, not ours. "

"No? Ah! Ver' well, then. I shall tell you Senor Flic! He was one of_yours. _ I understan'. It is a trap, a cheat -- what you call a_plant!_ Thees man who rode your horse he is disguise! Yes! He alsois a gendarme! Yes! You think I let a gendarme rob me? I got youwhere I want you now. You shall write your gendarme frien' that hereturn to me my property, _one day's time, _ or I send him by parcel posttwo nice, fresh-out right-hands -- your sweetheart's and your own!"

Stormont drew Eve's head close to his:

"This man is blood mad or out of his mind! I'd better go out and take achance at him before the others come back. "

But the girl shook her head violently, caught him by the arm and drewhim toward the mouth of the tile down which Clinch always emptied hishootch when the Dump was raided. 

But now, it appeared that the tile which protruded from the cement floorwas removable. 

In silence she began to unscrew it, and he, seeing what she was tryingto do, helped her. 

Together they lifted the heavy tile and laid it on the floor. 

"You open thees door!" shouted Quintana in a paroxysm of fury. "I giveyou one minute! Then, by God, I kill you both!"

Eve lifted a screen of wood through which the tile had been set. Underit a black hole yawned. It was a tunnel made of three-foot aqueducttiles; and it led straight into star Pond, two hundred feet away. 

Now, as she straightened up and looked silently at Stormont, they heardthe trample of boots in the kitchen, voices, the bang of gun-stocks. 

"Does that drain lead into the lake?" whispered Stormont. 

She nodded. 

"Will you follow me, Eve?"

She pushed him aside, indicating that he was to follow her. 

As she stripped the hunting jacket from her, a hot colour swept herface. But she dropped on both knees, crept straight into the tile andslipped out of sight. 

As she disappeared, Quintana shouted something in Portuguese, and firedat the lock. 

With the smash of splintering wood in his ears, Stormont slid into thesmooth tunnel. 

In an instant he was shooting down a polished toboggan slide, and inanother moment was under the icy water of Star Pond. 

Shocked, blinded, fighting his way to the surface, he felt his spurredboots dragging at him like a ton of iron. Then to him came her helpinghand. 

"I can make it, " he gasped. 

But his clothing and his boots and the icy water began to tell on him inmid-lake. 

Swimming without effort beside him, watching his every stroke, presentlyshe sank a little and glided under him and a little ahead, so that hishands fell upon her shoulders. 

He let them rest, so, aware now that it was no burden to such a swimmer. Supple and silent as a swimming otter, the girl slipped lithely throughthe chilled water, which washed his body to the nostrils and numbed hislegs till he could scarcely move them. 

And now, of a sudden, his feet touched gravel. He stumbled forward inthe shadow of overhanging trees and saw her wading shoreward, adripping, silvery shape on the shoal. 

Then, as he staggered up to her, breathless, where she was standing onthe pebbled shore, he saw her join both hands, cup-shape, and lift themto her lips. 

And out of her mouth poured diamond, sapphire, and emerald in a dazzlingstream, -- and among them, one great, flashing gem blazing in thestarlight, -- the Flaming Jewel!

Like a naiad of the lake she stood, white, slim, silent, the heaped gemsglittering in her snowy hands, her face framed by the curling masses ofher wet hair. 

Then, slowly she turned her head to Stormont. 

"These are what Quintana came for, " she said. "Could you put them intoyour pocket?"

* * * * *

Episode Eight

Cup and Lip

* * * * *

I

Two miles beyond Clinch's Dump, Hal Smith pulled Stormont's horse to awalk. He was tremendously excited. 

With naive sincerity he believed that what he had done on the spur ofthe moment had been the only thing to do. 

By snatching the Flaming Jewel from Quintana's very fingers he haddiverted that vindictive bandit's fury from Eve, from Clinch, fromStormont, and had centred it upon himself. 

More than that, he had sown the seeds of suspicion among Quintana's ownpeople. They never could discover Salzar's body. Always they mustbelieve that it was Nicolas Salzar and no other who so treacherouslyrobbed them, and who rode away in a rain of bullets, shaking theemblazoned morocco case above his masked head in triumph, derision anddefiance. 

At the recollection of what had happened, Hal Smith drew bridle, and, sitting his saddle there in the false dawn, threw back his handsome headand laughed until the fading stars overhead swam in his eyes throughtears of sheerest mirth. 

For he was still young enough to have had the time of his life. Nothingin the Great War had so thrilled him. For, in what had just happened, there was humour. There had been none in the Great Grim Drama. 

Still, Smith began to realise that he had taken the long, long chance ofthe opportunist who rolls the bones with Death. He had kept his pledgeto the little Grand Duchess. It was a clean job. It was even gooddrama----

The picturesque angle of the affair shook Hal Smith with renewedlaughter. As a moving picture hero he thought himself the funniestthing on earth. 

From the time he ha poked a pistol against Sard's fat paunch, to thisbullet-pelted ride for life, life had become one ridiculously excitingepisode after another. 

He had come through like the hero in a best-seller. . .. Lacking only aheroine. . .. If there had been any heroine it was Eve Strayer. Dramahad gone wrong in that detail. . .. So perhaps, after all, it was reallife he had been living and not drama. Drama, for the masses, must havea definite beginning and ending. Real life lacks the latter. In lifenothing is finished. It is always a premature curtain which is yankedby that doddering old stage-hand, Johnny Death. 

* * * * *

Smith sat in his saddle, thinking, beginning to be sobered now by theinevitable reaction which follows excitement and mirth as relentlesslyas care dogs the horseman. 

He had a fine time, -- save for the horror of the Rock-trail. . .. Heshuddered. . .. Anyway, at worst he had not shirked a clean deal in thatghastly game. . .. It was God's mercy that he was not lying where Salzarlay, ten feet -- twenty -- a hundred deep, perhaps -- in immemorialslime----

He shook himself in his saddle as though to be rid of the creepinghorror, and wiped his clammy face. 

Now, in the false dawn, a blue-jay awoke somewhere among the oaks andfilled the misty silence with harsh grace-notes. 

Then reaction, setting in like a tide, stirred more sombre depths in theheart of this young man. 

He thought of Riga; and of the Red Terror; of murder at noon-day, andoutrage by night. He remembered his only encounter with a lovely child-- once Grand Duchess of Esthonia -- then a destitute refugee in silkenrags. 

What a day that had been. . .. Only one day and one evening. . .. Andnever had he been so near in love in all his life. . .. 

That one day and evening had been enough for her to confide in anAmerican officer her entire life's history. . .. Enough for him to pledgehimself to her service while life endured. . .. And if emotion had sweptevery atom of reason out of his youthful head, there in the turmoil andalarm -- there in the terrified, riotous city jammed with refugees, reeking with disease, halt frantic from famine and the filthy, risingflood of war -- if really it all had been merely romantic impulse, ardour born of overwrought sentimentalism, nevertheless, what he hadpledged that day to a little Grand Duchess in rags, he had fulfilled tothe letter within the hour. 

As the false dawn began to fade, he loosened hunting coat and cartridgesling, drew from his shirt-bosom the morocco case. It bore the arms andcrest of the Grand Duchess Theodorica of Esthonia. 

His fingers trembled slightly as he pressed the jewelled spring. Itopened on an empty casket. 

In the sudden shock of horror and astonishment, his convulsive clutch onthe spring started a tiny bell ringing. Then, under his very nose, theempty tray slid aside revealing another tray underneath, set solidlywith brilliants. A rainbow glitter streamed from the unset gems in thesilken tray. Like an incredulous child he touched them. They weremagnificently real. 

In the centre lay blazing the great Erosite gem, -- the Flaming Jewelitself. Priceless diamonds, sapphires, emeralds ringed it. In hishands he held nearly four millions of dollars. 

Gingerly he balanced the emblazoned case, fascinated. Then he replacedthe empty tray, closed the box, thrust it into the bosom of his flannelshirt and buttoned it in. 

Now there was little more for this excited young man to do. He wasthrough with Clinch. Hal Smith, hold-up man and dish-washer at Clinch'sDump, had ended his career. The time had now arrived for him to vanishand make room for James Darragh. 

Because there still remained a very agreeable role for Darragh to play. And he meant to eat it up -- as Broadway has it. 

For by this time the Grand Duchess of Esthonia -- Ricca, as she wascalled by her companion, Valentine, the pretty Countess Orloff-Strelwitz-- must have arrived in New York. 

At the big hunting lodge of the late Henry Harrod -- now inherited byDarragh -- there might be a letter -- perhaps a telegram -- the cue forHal Smith to vanish and for James Darragh to enter, play his brief butglittering part, and----

Darragh's sequence of pleasing meditations halted abruptly. . .. To walkout of the life of the little Grand Duchess did not seem to suit hisideas -- indefinite and hazy as they were, so far. 

He lifted the bridle from the horse's neck, divided curb and snafflethoughtfully, touched the splendid animal with heel and knee. 

As he cantered on into the wide forest road that led to his late uncle'sabode, curiosity led him to wheel into a narrower trail running eastalong Star Pond, and from whence he could make a farewell view ofClinch's Dump. 

He smiled to think of Eve and Stormont there together, and now in safetybehind bolted doors and shutters. 

He grinned to think of Quintana and his precious crew, blood-crazy, baffled, probably already distrusting one another, yet running wildthrough the night like starving wolves galloping at hazard across afamine-stricken waste. 

"Only wait till Stormont makes his report, " he thought, grinning morebroadly still. "Every State Trooper north of Albany will be after SenorQuintana. Some hunting! And, if he could understand, Mike Clinch mightthank his stars that what I've done this night has saved him his skinand Eve a broken heart!"

He drew his horse to a walk, now, for the path began to run closer toStar Pond, skirting the pebbled shallows in the open just ahead. 

Alders still concealed the house across the lake, but the trail wasalready coming out into the starlight. 

Suddenly his horse stopped short, trembling, its ears pricked forward. 

Darragh sat listening intently for a moment. Then with infinitecaution, he leaned over the cantle and gently parted the alders. 

On the pebbled beach, full in the starlight, stood two figures, on whiteand slim, the other dark. 

The arm of the dark figure clasped the waist of the white and slenderone. 

Evidently they had heard his horse, for they stood motionless, lookingdirectly at the alders behind which his horse had halted. 

To turn might mean a shot in the back as far as Darragh knew. He wasstill masked with Salzar's red bandanna. He raised his rifle, slid acartridge into the breech, pressed his horse forward with a slight touchof heel and knee, and rode slowly out into the star-dusk. 

What Stormont saw was a masked man, riding his own horse, with menacingrifle half lifted for a shot! What Eve Strayer thought she saw was tooterrible for words. And before Stormont could prevent her she sprang infront of him, covering his body with her gown. 

At that the horseman tore off his red mask:

"Eve! Jack Stormont! What the devil are you doing over _here!_"

Stormont walked slowly up to his own horse, laid one unsteady hand onits silky nose, kept it there while dusty, velvet lips mumbled andcaressed his fingers. 

"I knew it was a calvaryman, " he said quietly. "I suspected you, Jim. It was the sort of crazy thing you were likely to do. . .. I don't askyou what you're up to, where you've been, what your plans may be. Ifyou needed me you'd have told me. 

"But I've got to have my horse for Eve. Her feet are wounded. She's inher night-dress and wringing wet. I've got to set her on my horse andtry to take her through to Ghost Lake. "

Darragh stared at Stormont, at the ghostly figure of the girl who hadsunk down on the sand at the lake's edge. Then he scrambled out of thesaddle and handed over the bridle. 

"Quintana came back, " said Stormont. "I hope to reckon with him someday. . .. I believe he came back to harm Eve. . .. We got out of thehouse. . .. We swam the lake. . .. I'd have gone under except for her----"

In his distress and overwhelming mortification, Darragh stood miserable, mute, irresolute. 

Stormont seemed to understand: "What you did, Jim, was well meant, " hesaid. "I understand. Eve will understand when I tell her. But thatfellow Quintana is a devil. You can't draw a herring across any trailhe follows. I tell you, Jim, this fellow Quintana is either blood-mador just plain crazy. Somebody will have to put him out of the way. I'll do it if I ever find him. "

"Yes. . .. You people ought to do that. . .. Or, if you like, I'llvolunteer. . .. I've a little business to transact in New York, first. . .. Jack, your tunic an breeches are soaked; I'll be glad to chip insomething for Eve. . .. Wait a moment----"

He stepped into cover, drew the morocco box from his grey shirt, shovedit into his hip pocket. 

Then he threw off his cartridge belt and hunting coat, pulled the greyshirt over his head and came out in his undershirt and breeches, withthe other garments hanging over his arm. 

"Give her these, " he said. "She can button the coat around her waistfor a skirt. She'd better go somewhere and get out of that soaking wetnight-dress----"

Eve, crouched on the sand, trying to wring out and twist up her drenchedhair, looked up at Stormont as he came toward her holding our Darragh'sdry clothing. 

"You'd better do what you can with these, " he said, trying to speakcarelessly. . .. "_He_ says you'd better chuck -- what you'rewearing----"

She nodded in flushed comprehension. Stormont walked back to his horse, his boots slopping water at every stride. 

"I don't know any place nearer than Ghost Lake Inn, " he said . .. "exceptHarrod's. "

"That's where we're going, Jack, " said Darragh cheerfully. 

"That's _your_ place, isn't it?"

"It is. But I don't want Eve to know it. . .. I think it better sheshould not know me except as Hal Smith -- for the present, anyway. You'll see to that, won't you?"

"As you wish, Jim. . .. Only, if we go to your own house-----"

"We're not going to the main house. She wouldn't, anyway. Clinch astaught that girl to hate the very name of Harrod -- hate every foot offorest that the Harrod game keepers patrol. She wouldn't cross mythreshold to save her life. "

"I don't understand, but -- it's all right -- whatever _you_ say, Jim. "

"I'll tell you the whole business some day. But where I'm going to takeyou now is into a brand new camp which I ordered built last spring. It's within a mile of the State Forest border. Eve won't know tat it'sHarrod property. I've a hatchery there and the State lets me have a manin exchange for free fry. When I get there I'll post my man. 

It will be a roof for to-night, anyway, and breakfast in the morning, whenever you're ready. "

"How far is it?"

"Only about three miles east of here. "

"That's the thing to do, then, " said Stormont bluntly. 

He dropped one sopping-wet sleeve over his horse's neck, asking care notto touch the handle. He was thinking of the handful of gems in hispocket; and he wondered why Darragh had said nothing about the emptycase for which he had so recklessly risked his life. 

What this whole business was about Stormont had no notion. But he knewDarragh. There was sufficient to leave him tranquil, and perfectlycertain that whatever Darragh was doing must be the right thing to do. 

Yet -- Eve had swum Star Pond with her mouth filled with jewels. 

When she had handed the morocco box to Quintana, Stormont now realisedthat she must have played her last card on the utterly desperate chancethat Quintana might go away without examining the case. 

Evidently she had emptied the case before she left her room. Herecollected that, during all that followed, Eve had not uttered a singleword. He knew why, now. How could she speak with her mouth full of(diamonds)?

A slight sound from the shore caused him to turn. Eve was coming towardhim in the dusk, moving painfully on her wounded feet. Darragh'sflannel shirt and his hunting coat buttoned around her slender waistclothed her. 

The next instant he was beside her, lifting her in both arms. 

As he placed her in the saddle and adjusted one stirrup to her bandagedfoot, she turned and quietly thanked Darragh for the clothing. 

"And that was a brave thing you did, " she added, "-- to risk your lifefor my father's property. Because the morocco case which you savedproved to be empty does not make what you did any less loyal andgallant. "

Darragh gazed at her, astounded; took the hand she stretched out to him;held it with a silly expression on his features. 

"Hal Smith, " she said with perceptible emotion, "I take back what I oncesaid to you on Owl Marsh. No man is a real crook by nature who did whatyou have done. That is `faithfulness unto death' -- the supreme offer-- loyalty----"

Her voice broke; she pressed Darragh's hand convulsively and her lipquivered. 

Darragh, with the morocco case full of jewels buttoned into his hippocket, stood motionless, mutely swallowing his amazement. 

What in the world did this girl mean, talking about an _empty_ case?

But this was no time to unravel that sort of puzzle. He turned toStormont who, as perplexed as he, had been listening in silence. 

"Lead your horse forward, " he said. "I know the trail. All you need dois to follow me. " And, shouldering his rifle, he walked leisurely intothe woods, the cartridge belt sagging _en bandouliere_ across hiswoollen undershirt. 

* * * * *

II

When Stormont gently halted his horse it was dawn, and Eve saggingagainst him with one arm around his neck, sat huddled up on her saddlefast asleep. 

In a birch woods, on the eastern slope of the divide, stood the logcamp, dimly visible in the silvery light of early morning. 

Darragh, cautioning Stormont with a slight gesture, went forward, mounted the rustic veranda, and knocked at a lighted window. 

A man, already dressed, came and peered out at him, then hurried to openthe door. 

"I didn't know you, Captain Darragh----" he began, but fell silent underthe warning gesture that checked him. 

"I've a guest outside. She's Clinch's step-daughter, Eve Strayer. Sheknows me by the name of Hal Smith. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir----"

"Cut _that_ out, too. I'm Hal Smith to you, also. State TrooperStormont is out here with Eve Strayer. He was a comrade of mine inRussia. I'm Hal Smith to him, by mutual agreement. _Now_ do you getme, Ralph?"

"Sure, Hal. Go on; spit it out!"

They both grinned. 

"You're a hootch runner, " said Darragh. "This is your shack. Thehatchery is only a blind. That's all you have to know, Ralph. So putthat girl into my room and let her sleep till she wakes of her ownaccord. 

"Stormont and I will take two of the guest-bunks in the L. And forheaven's sake make us some coffee when you make your own. But firstcome out and take the horse. "

They went out together. Stormont lifted Eve out of the saddle. She didnot wake. Darragh led the way into the log house and along a corridorto his own room. 

"Turn down the sheets, " whispered Stormont. And, when the bed wasready: "Can you get a bath towel, Jim?"

Darragh fetched one from the connecting bath-room. 

"Wrap it around her wet hair, " whispered Stormont. "Good heavens, Iwish there were a woman here. "

"I wish so too, " said Darragh; "she's chilled to the bone. You'll haveto wake her. She can't sleep in what she's wearing; it's almost as dampas her hair----"

He went to the closet and returned with a man's morning robe, as soft asfleece. 

"Somehow or other she's got to get into that, " he said. 

There was a silence. 

"Very well, " said Stormont, reddening. . .. "If you'll step out I'll --manage. . .. " He looked Darragh straight in the eyes: "I have asked herto marry me, " he said. 

* * * * *

When Stormont came out a great fire of birch-logs was blazing in theliving-room, and Darragh stood there, his elbow on the rough stonemantel-shelf. 

Stormont came straight to the fire and set one spurred boot on thefender. 

"She's warm and dry and sound asleep, " he said. "I'll wake her again ifyou think she ought to swallow something hot. "

At that moment the fish-culturist came in with a pot of steaming coffee. 

"This is my friend, Ralph Wier, " said Darragh. "I think you'd bettergive Eve a cup of coffee. " And, to Wier, "Fill a couple of hot waterbags, old chap. We don't want any pneumonia in this house. "

When breakfast was ready Eve once more lay asleep with a slight dew ofperspiration on her brow. 

Darragh was half starved: Stormont ate little. Neither spoke at alluntil, satisfied, they rose, ready for sleep. 

At the door of his room Stormont took Darragh's offered hand, understanding what it implied:

"Thanks, Jim. . .. Hers is the loveliest character I have ever known. . .. If I weren't as poor as a homeless dog I'd marry her to-morrow. . .. I'lldo it anyway, I think. . .. I _can't_ let her go back to Clinch's Dump!"

"After all, " said Darragh, smiling, "if it's only money that worriesyou, why not talk about a job to _me!_"

Stormont flushed heavily: "That's rather wonderful of you, Jim----"

"Why? You're the best officer I had. Why the devil did you go into theConstabulary without talking to me?"

Stormont's upper lip seemed inclined to twitch but he controlled it andscowled at space. 

"Go to bed, you darned fool, " said Darragh, carelessly. "You'll finddry things ready. Ralph will take care of your uniform and boots. "

Then he went into his own quarters to read two letters which, conformingto arrangements made with Mrs. Ray the day he had robbed Emanuel Sard, were to be sent to Trout Lodge to await his arrival. 

Both, written from the Ritz, bore the date of the day before: the firsthe opened was from the countess Orloff-Strelwitz:

"Dear Captain Darragh:

 "-- You are so wonderful! Your messenger, with the _ten_ thousanddollars which you say you already have recovered from those miscreantswho robbed Ricca, came aboard our ship before we landed. It was agodsend; we were nearly penniless, -- and oh, _so_ shabby!

 "Instantly, my friend, we shopped, Ricca and I. Fifth Avenueenchanted us. All misery was forgotten in the magic of that paradisefor women. 

 "Yet, spendthrifts that we naturally are, we were not silly enough tobe extravagant. Ricca was wild for American sport-clothes. I, also. Yet -- only _two_ gowns apiece, excepting our sport clothes. And othernecessaries. Don't you think we were economical?"

 "Furthermore, dear Captain Darragh, we are hastening to follow yourinstructions. We are leaving to-day for your chateau in the wonderfulforest, of which you told us of that never-to-be-day in Riga. 

 "Your agent is politeness, consideration and kindness itself. We haveour accommodations. We leave New York at midnight. 

 "Ricca is so excited that it is difficult for her to restrain herhappiness. God knows the child has seen enough unhappiness to quenchthe gaiety of anybody!

 "Well, all things end. Even tears. Even the Red Terror shall passfrom our beloved Russia. For, after all, Monsieur, God still lives. 

 "VALENTINE. "

 "P. S. Ricca has written to you. I have read the letter. I have letit go uncensored. "

* * * * *

Darragh went to the door of his room:

"Ralph! Ralph!" he called. And, when Wier hurriedly appeared:

"What time does the midnight train from New York get into Five Lakes?"

"A little before nine----"

"You can make it in the flivver, can't you?"

"Yes, if I start _now. _"

"All right. Two ladies. You're to bring them to the _house, _ not_here. _ Mrs. Ray knows about them. And -- get back here as soon as youcan. "

He closed his door again, sat down on the bed and opened the otherletter. His hand shook as he unfolded it. He was so scared and excitedthat he could scarcely decipher the angular, girlish penmanship:

* * * * *

"To dear Captain Darragh, our champion and friend--

 "It is difficult for me, Monsieur, to express my happiness and my deepgratitude in the so cold formality of the written page. 

 "Alas, sir, it will be still more difficult to find words for it whenagain I have the happiness of greeting you in proper person. 

 "Valentine has told you everything, she warns me, and I am, therefore, somewhat at a loss to know what I should write to you. 

 "Yes, I know very well what I would write if I dare. It is this: thatI wish you to know -- although it may not pass the censor -- that I ammost impatient to see you, Monsieur. _Not_ because of kindness past, nor with an unworthy expectation of benefits to come. But because offriendship, -- _the deepest, sincerest of my_ WHOLE LIFE. 

 "Is it not modest of a young girl to say this? Yet, surely all theworld which was once _en regle, _ formal, artificial, has been burnt outof our hearts by this so frightful calamity which has overwhelmed theworld with fire and blood. 

 "If ever on earth there was a time when we might venture to expresswith candour what is hidden within our minds and hearts, it would seem, Monsieur, that the time is now. 

 "True, I have known you only for one day and one evening. Yet, whathappened to the world in that brief space of time -- and to us, Monsieur-- brought _us_ together as though our meeting were but a blessedreunion after the happy intimacy of many years. . .. I speak, Monsieur, for myself. May I hope that I speak, also, for you?

 "With a heart too full to thank you, and with expectationsindescribable -- but with courage, always, for any event, -- I take myleave of you at the foot of this page. Like death -- I trust -- myadieu is not the end, but the beginning. It is not farewell; it is agreeting to him whom I most honour in all the world. . .. And wouldwillingly obey if he shall command. And otherwise -- _all_ else that inhis mind -- and heart -- he might desire. 

 "THEODORICA. "

* * * * *

It was the most beautiful love-letter any man ever received in all thehistory of love. 

And it had passed the censor. 

* * * * *

III

It was afternoon when Darragh awoke in his bunk, stiff, sore, confusedin mind and battered in body. 

However, when he recollected where he was he got out of bed in a hurryand jerked aside the window curtains. 

The day was magnificent; a sky of royal azure overhead, and everywherethe silver pillars of the birches supporting their splendid canopy ofochre, orange, and burnt-gold. 

Wier, hearing him astir, came in. 

"How long have you been back! Did you meet the ladies with yourflivver?" demanded Darragh, impatiently. 

"I got to Five Lakes station just as the train came in. The youngladies were the only passengers who got out. I waited to get their twosteamer trunks and then I drove them to Harrod Place----"

"How did they seem, Ralph -- worn-out -- worried -- ill?"

Wier laughed: "No, sir, they looked very pretty and lively to me. Theyseemed delighted to get here. They talked to each other in some foreigntongue -- Russian, I should say -- at least, it sounded like what weheard over in Siberia, Captain---"

"It was Russian. . .. You go on and tell me while I take another hotbath!----"

Wier followed him into the bath-room and vaulted to a seat on the deepset window-sill:

"-- When they weren't talking Russian and laughing they talked to me andadmired the woods and mountains. I had to tell them everything -- theywanted to see buffalo and Indians. And when I told them there weren'tany, enquired for bears and panthers. 

"We saw two deer on the Scaur, and a woodchuck near the house; I thoughtthey'd jump out of the flivver----"

He began to laugh at the recollection: "No, sir, they didn't act tiredand sad; they said they were crazy to get into their knickerbockers andgo to look for you----"

"Where did you say I was?" asked Darragh, drying himself vigorously. 

"Out in the woods, somewhere. The last I saw of them, Mrs. Ray hadtheir hand-bags and Jerry and Tom were shouldering their trunks. "

"I'm going up there right away, " interrupted Darragh excitedly. "--Good heavens, Ralph, I haven't any clothes here, have I?"

"No, sir. Bu those you wore last night are dry----"

"Confound it! I meant to send some decent clothes here---- All right;get me those duds I wore yesterday---- and a bite to eat! I'm in ahurry, Ralph----"

He ate while dressing, disgustedly arraying himself in the grey shirt, breeches, and laced boots which weather, water, rock, and brier had notimproved. 

In a pathetic attempt to spruce up, he knotted the red bandanna aroundhis neck and punched Salzar's slouch hat into a peak. 

"I look like a hootch-running Wop, " he said. "Maybe I can get into thehouse before I meet the ladies----"

"You look like one of Clinch's bums, " remarked Wier with native honesty. 

Darragh, chagrined, went to his bunk, pulled the morocco case from underthe pillow, and shoved it into the bosom of his flannel shirt. 

"That's the main thing anyway, " he thought. Then, turning to Wier, heasked whether Eve and Stormont had awakened. 

It appeared that Trooper Stormont had saddled up and cantered awayshortly after sunrise, leaving word that he must hunt up his comrade, Trooper Lannis, at Ghost Lake. 

"They're coming back this evening, " added Wier. "He asked you to lookout for Clinch's step-daughter. "

"She's all right here. Can't you keep an eye on her, Ralph?"

"I'm stripping trout, sir. I'll be around here to cook dinner for herwhen she wakes up. "

Darragh glanced across the brook at the hatchery. It was only a fewyards away. He nodded and started for the veranda:

"That'll be all right, " he said. "Nobody is coming here to bother her. . .. And don't let her leave, Ralph, till I get back----"

"Very well, sir. But suppose she takes it into her head to leave----"

Darragh called back, gaily: "She can't: she hasn't any clothes!" Andaway he strode in the gorgeous sunshine of a magnificent autumn day, allthe clean and vigorous youth of him afire in anticipation of a reunionwhich the letter from his lady-love had transfigured into a tryst. 

For, in that amazing courtship of a single day, he never dreamed that hehad won the heart of that sad, white-faced, hungry child in rags --silken tatters still stained with the blood of massacre, -- the verysoles of her shoes still charred by the embers of her own home. 

Yes, that is what must have happened in a single day and evening. Lifepasses swiftly during such periods. Minutes lengthen into days; hoursinto years. The soul finds itself. 

Then mind and heart become twin prophets, -- clairvoyant concerning whathides behind the veil; comprehending the divine clair-audience what theThree Sisters whisper there -- hearing even the whirr of the spindle --the very snipping of the Eternal Shears!

* * * * *

The soul finds itself; the mind knows itself; the heart perfectlyunderstands. 

He had not spoken to this young girl of love. The blood of friends andservants was still rusty on her skirt's ragged hem. 

Yet, that night, when at last in safety she had said good-bye to the manwho had secured it for her, he knew that he was in love with her. And, at such crises, the veil that hides hearts becomes transparent. 

At that instant he had seen and known. Afterward he had dared notbelieve that he had know. 

But hers had been a purer courage. 

* * * * *

As he strode on, the comprehension of her candour, her honesty, thesweet bravery that had conceived, created, and sent that letter, thrilled this young man until his heavy boots sprouted wings, and thetrail he followed was but a path of rosy clouds over which he floatedheavenward. 

* * * * *

And half an hour later he came to his senses with a distinct shock. 

Straight ahead of him on the trail, and coming directly toward him, moved a figure in knickers and belted tweed. 

Flecked sunlight slanted on the stranger's cheek and burnished hair, dappling face and figure with moving, golden spots. 

Instantly Darragh knew and trembled. 

But Theodorica of Esthonia had known him only in his uniform. 

As she came toward him, lovely in her lithe and rounded grace, onlyfriendly curiosity gazed at him from her blue eyes. 

Suddenly she knew him, went scarlet to her yellow hair, then white: andtried to speak -- but had no control of the short, rosy upper lip whichonly quivered as he took her hands. 

The forest was dead still around them save for the whisper of paintedleaves sifting down from a sunlit vault above. 

Finally she sad in a ghost of a voice: "My -- friend. . .. "

"If you accept his friendship. . .. "

"Friendship is to be shared. . .. Ours mingled -- on that day. . .. Yourshare is -- as much as pleases you. "

"All you have to give me, then. "

"Take it . .. All I have. . .. " Her blue eyes met his with a littleeffort. All courage is an effort. 

Then that young man dropped on both knees at her feet and laid his lipsto her soft hands. 

In trembling silence she stood for a moment, then slowly sank on bothknees to face him across their clasped hands. 

So, in the gilded cathedral of the woods, pillared with silver, andazure-domed, the betrothal of these two was sealed with clasp and lip. 

Awed, a little fearful, she looked into her lover's eyes with a gaze sochaste, so oblivious to all things earthly, that the still purity of herface seemed a sacrament, and he scarcely dared touch the childish lipsshe offered. 

But when the sacrament of the kiss had been accomplished, she rested onehand on his shoulder and rose, and drew him with her. 

Then _his_ moment came: he drew the emblazoned case from his breast, opened it, and, in silence, laid it in her hands. The blaze of thejewels in the sunshine almost blinded them. 

That was _his_ moment. 

The next moment was Quintana's. 

* * * * *

Darragh hadn't a chance. Out of the bushes two pistols were thrust hardagainst his stomach. Quintana's face was behind them. He wore no mask, but the three men with him watched him over the edges of handkerchiefs, -- over the sights of levelled rifles, too. 

The youthful Grand Duchess had turned deadly white. One of Quintana'smen took the morocco case from her hands and shoved her aside withoutceremony. 

Quintana leered at Darragh over his levelled weapons:

"My frien' Smith!" he exclaimed softly. "So it is you, then, who havetwice try to rob me of my property!

"Ah! You recollec'? Yes? How you have rob me of a pacquet whichcontain only some chocolate?"

Darragh's face was burning with helpless rage. 

"My frien', Smith, " repeated Quintana, "do you recollec' what it was yousay to me? Yes? . .. How often it is the onexpected which so usuallyhappen? You are quite correc', l'ami Smith. It has happen. "

He glanced at the open jewel box which one of the masked men held, then, like lightning, his sinister eyes focussed on Darragh. 

"So, " he said, "it was also you who rob me las' night of my property. . .. What you do to Nick Salzar, eh?"

"Killed him, " said Darragh, dry lipped, nerved for death. "I ought tohave killed you, too, when I had the chance. But -- _I'm_ white, yousee. "

At the insult flung into his face over the muzzles of his own pistols, Quintana burst into laughter. 

"Ah! You _should_ have shot me! You are quite right, my frien'. Imus; say you have behave ver' foolish. "

He laughed again so hard that Darragh felt his pistols shaking againsthis body. 

"So you have kill Nick Salzar, eh?" continued Quintana with perfect goodhumour. "My frien', I am oblige to you for what you do. You aresurprise? Eh? I is ver' simple, my frien' Smith. What I want of a manwho can be kill? Eh? Of what use is he to me? Voila!"

He laughed, patted Darragh on the shoulder with one of his pistols. 

"You, now -- _you_ could be of use. Why? Because you are a better manthan was Nick Salzar. He who kills is better than the dead. "

Then, swiftly his dark features altered:

"My frien' Smith, " he said, "I have come here for my property, not tokill. I have recover my property. Why shall I kill you? To say that Iam a better man? Yes, perhaps. Bu also I should be oblige to say thatalso I am a fool. Yaas! A poor damfool. "

Without shifting his eyes he made a motion with one pistol to his men. As they turned and entered the thicket, Quintana's intent gaze becamemurderous. 

"If I mus' kill you I shall do so. Otherwise I have sufficient troubleto keep me from ennui. My frien', I am going home to enjoy my property. If you live or die it signifies nothing to me. No! Why, for thepleasure of killing you, should I bring your dirty gendarmes on myheels?"

He backed away to the edge of the thicket, venturing one swift and evilglance at the girl who stood as though dazed. 

"Listen attentively, " he said to Darragh. "One of my men remains hiddenvery near. He is a dead shot. His aim is at your -- sweetheart's --body. You understan'?"

"Yes. "

"Ver' well. You shall not go away for one hour time. After that----"he took off his slouch hat with a sweeping bow -- "you may go to hell!"

Behind him the bushes parted, closed. 

Jose Quintana had made his adieux. 

* * * * *

Episode Nine

The Forest and Mr. Sard

* * * * *

I

When at last Jose Quintana has secured what he had been after for years, his troubles really began. In his pocket he had two million dollarsworth of gems, including the Flaming Jewel. 

But he was in the middle of a wilderness ringed in by hostile men, andobliged to rely for aid on a handful of the most desperate criminals inEurope. 

Those openly hostile to him had a wide net spread around him -- wide ofmesh too, perhaps; and it was through a mesh he meant to wriggle, butthe net was intact from Canada to New York. 

Canadian police and secret agents held it on the north: this he hadlearned from Jake Kloon long since. 

East, west and south he knew he had the troopers of the New York StateConstabulary to deal with, and in addition every game warden and firewarden in the State Forests, a swarm of lain clothes men from theMetropolis, and the rural constabulary of every town along the edges ofthe vast reservation. 

Just who was responsible for this enormous conspiracy to rob him of whathe considered his own legitimate loot Quintana did not know. 

Sard's attorney, Eddie Abrams, believed that the French policeinstigated it through agents of the United States Secret Service. 

Of one thing Quintana was satisfied, Mike Clinch had nothing to do withstirring up the authorities. Law-breakers of his sort don't shout forthe police or invoke State or Government aid. 

As for the status of Darragh -- or Hal Smith, as he supposed him to be, a well-born young man gone wrong. Europe was full of that kind. ToQuintana there was nothing suspicious about Hal Smith. On the contrary, his clever recklessness confirmed that polished bandit's opinion thatSmith was a gentleman degenerated into a crook. It takes an educatedimagination for a man to do what Smith had done to him. If the commoncrook has any imagination at all it never is educated. 

Another matter worried Jose Quintana: he was not only short onprovisions, but what remained was cached in Drowned Valley; and MikeClinch and his men were guarding every outlet to that sinister region, excepting only the rocky and submerged trail by which he had made hisexit. 

That was annoying; it cut off provisions and liquor from Canada, forwhich he had arranged with Jake Kloon. For Kloon's hootch-runners nowwould be stopped by Clinch; ad not one among them knew about the rockytrail in. 

All these matters were disquieting enough: but what really and mostdeeply troubled Quintana was his knowledge of his own men. 

He did not trust one among them. Of international crookdom they werethe cream. Not one of them but would have murdered his fellow if theloot were worth it and the chances of escape sufficient. 

There was no loyalty to him, none to one another, no "honour amongthieves" -- and it was Jose Quintana who knew that only in romance sucha thing existed. 

N, he could not trust a single man. Only hope of plunder attached thesemarauders to him, and merely because he had education and imaginationenough to provide what they wanted. 

Anyone among them would murder and rob him if opportunity presented. 

Now, how to keep his loot; how to get back to Europe with it, was theproblem that confronted Quintana after robbing Darragh. And hedetermined to settle part of that question at once. 

About five miles from Harrod Place, within a hundred rods of which hehad held up Hal Smith, Quintana halted, seated himself on a rotting log, and waited until his men came up and gathered around him. 

For a little while, in utter silence, his keen eyes travelled from onevisage to the next, from Henri Picquet to Victor Georgiades, to Sanchez, to Sard. His intent scrutiny focussed on Sard; lingered. 

If there was anybody he might trust, a little way, it would be Sard. 

Then a polite, untroubled smile smoothed the pale, dark features of JoseQuintana:

"Bien, messieurs, the coup has been success. Yes? Ver' well; in turn, then, en accord with our custom, I shall dispose myse'f to listen toyour good advice. "

He looked at Henri Picquet, smiled and nodded invitation to speak. 

Picquet shrugged: "For me, mon capitaine, eet ees ver' simple. We arefive. Therefore, divide into five ze gems. After zat, each one forhimself to make his way out----"

"Nick Salzar and Harry Beck are in Drowned Valley, " interruptedQuintana. 

Picquet shrugged again; Sanchez laughed, saying: "If they are there itis their misfortune. Also, we others are in a hurry. "

Picquet added: "Also five shares are sufficient division. "

"It is propose, then, that we abandon our comrades Beck and Salzar tothe rifle of Mike Clinch?"

"Why not?" demanded Georgiades sullenly; -- "we shall have worse to facebefore we see the Place de l'Opera. "

"There remains, also, Eddie Abrams, " remarked Quintana. 

Crooks never betray their attourney. Everybody expressed a willingnessto have the five shares of plunder properly assessed to satisfy the feedue to Mr. Abrams. 

"Ver' well, " nodded Quintana, "are you satisfy, messieurs, to divide an'disperse?"

Sard said, heavily, that they ought to stick together until they arrivedin New York. 

Sanchez sneered, accusing Sard of wanting a bodyguard to escort him tohis own home. "In this accursed forest, " he insisted, "five of us wouldattract attention where one alone, with sufficient stealth, can slipthrough into the open country. "

"Two by two is better, " said Picquet. "You, Sanchez, shall travel aloneif you desire----"

"Divide the gems first, " growled Georgiades, "and then let each do whatpleases him. "

"That, " nodded Quintana, "is also my opinion. It is so settle. Attention!" Two pistols were in his hands as by magic. With a slightsmile he laid them on the moss beside him. 

He then spread a large white handkerchief flat on the ground; and, fromhis pockets, he poured out the glittering cascade. Yet, like a feedingpanther, every sense remained alert to the slightest sound or movementelsewhere; and when Georgiades grunted from excess emotion, Quintana'sright hand held a pistol before the grunt had ceased. 

It was a serious business, this division of loot; every reckless visagereflected the strain of the situation. 

Quintana, both pistols in his hands, looked down at the scintillatingheap of jewels. 

"I estimate two and one quartaire million dollaires, " he said simply. "It has been agree that I accep' for me the erosite gem known as TheFlaming Jewel. In addition, messieurs, it has been agree that I accep'for myse'f one part in five of the remainder. "

A fierce silence reigned. Every wolfish eye was on the leader. Hesmiled, rested his pair of pistols on either knee. 

"Is there, " he asked softly, "any gentleman who shall objec'?"

"Who, ' demanded Georgiades hoarsely, "is to divide for us?"

"It is for such purpose, " explained Quintana suavely, "that my frien', Emanuel Sard, has arrive. Monsieur Sard is a brokaire of diamon's, asall know ver' well. Therefore, it shall be our frien' Sard who willdivide for us what we have gain to-day by our -- industry. "

The savage tension broke with a laugh at the word chosen by Quintana toexpress their efforts of the morning. 

Sard had been standing with one fat hand flat against the trunk of atree. Now, at a nod from Quintana, he squatted down, and, with the samehand that had been resting against the tree, he spread out the pile ofjewels into a flat layer. 

As he began to divide this into five parts, still using the flat of hispudgy hand, something poked him lightly in the ribs. It was the muzzleof one of Quintana's pistols. 

Sard, ghastly pale, looked up. His palm, sticky with balsam gum, quivered in Quintana's grasp. 

"I was going to scrape it off, " he gasped. "The tree was sticky----"

Quintana, with the muzzle of his pistol, detached half a dozen diamondsand rubies that clung to the gum on Mr. Sard's palm. 

"Wash!" he said drily. 

Sard, sweating with fear, washed his right hand with whiskey from hispocket-flask, and dried it for general inspection. 

"My God, " he protested tremulously, "it was accidental, gentlemen. Doyou think I'd try to get away with anything like that----"

Quintana coolly shoved him aside and with the barrel of his pistol hepushed the flat pile of gems into five separate heaps. Only he andGeorgiades knew that a magnificent diamond had been lodged in the muzzleof his pistol. The eyes of the Greek flamed with rage at the trick, buthe awaited the division before he should come to any conclusion. 

Quintana coolly picked out The Flaming Jewel and pocketed it. Then, toeach man he indicated the heap which was to be his portion. 

A snarling wrangle instantly began, Sanchez objecting to rubies anddemanding more emeralds, and Picquet complaining violently concerningthe smallness of the diamonds allotted him. 

Sard's trained eyes appraised every allotment. Without weighing, and, lacking time and paraphernalia for expert examination, he was inclinedto think the division fair enough. 

Quintana got to his feet lithely. 

"For me, " he said, "it is finish. With my frien' Sard I shall nowdepart. Messieurs, I embrace and salute you. A bientot in Paris -- ifit be God's will! Done -- au revoir, les amis, et a la bonheur!Allons! Each for himself and gar' aux flics!"

Sard, seized with a sort of still terror, regarded Quintana withenormous eyes. Torn between dismay of being left alone in thewilderness, and a very natural fear of any single companion, he did notknow what to say or do. 

En masse, the gang were too distrustful of one another to unite onrobbing any individual. But any individual might easily rob a companionwhen alone with him. 

"Why -- why can't we all go together, " he stammered. "It is safer, surer----"

"I go with Quintana and you, " interrupted Georgiades, smilingly; hismind on the diamond in the muzzle of Quintana's pistol. 

"I do not invite you, " said Quintana. "But come if it pleases you. "

"I also prefer to come with you others, " growled Sanchez. "To roamalone in this filthy forest does not suit me. "

Picquet shrugged his shoulders, turned on his heel in silence. Theywatched him moving away all alone, eastward. When he had disappearedamong the trees, Quintana looked inquiringly at the others. 

"Eh, bien, non alors!" snarled Georgiades suddenly. "There are too manyin your trupeau, mon capitaine. Bonne chance!"

He turned and started noisily in the direction taken by Picquet. 

They watched him out of sight; listened to his careless trample after hewas lost to view. When at length the last distant sound of his retreathad died away in the stillness, Quintana touched Sard with the point ofhis pistol. 

"Go first, " he said suavely. 

"For God's sake, be a little careful of your gun----"

"I am, my dear frien'. It is of _you_ I may become careless. You willmo' kin'ly face south, and you will be kin' sufficient to startimmediate. Tha's what I mean. . .. I thank you. . .. Now, my frien', Sanchez! Tha's correc'! You shall follow my frien' Sard ver' close. Me, I march in the rear. So we shall pass to the eas' of thees StarPon', then between the cross-road an' Ghos' Lake; an' then we shallrepose; an' one of us, en vidette, shall discover if the Constabularyhave patrol beyon'. . .. Allons! March!"

* * * * *

II

Guided by Quintana's directions, the three had made a wide detour of theeast, steering by compass for the cross-roads beyond Star Pond. 

In a dense growth of cedars, on a little ridge traversing wet land, Quintana halted to listen. 

Sard and Sanchez, supposing him to be at their heels, continued on, pushing their way blindly through the cedars, clinging to the hard ridgein terror of sink-holes. But their progress was very slow; and theywere still in sight, fighting a painful path amid the evergreens, whenQuintana suddenly squatted close to the moist earth behind a juniperbush. 

At first, except for the threshing of Sard and Sanchez through themassed obstructions ahead, there was not a sound in the woods. 

After a little while there _was_ a sound -- very, very slight. No drystick cracked; no dry leaves rustled; no swish of foliage; no whippingsound of branches disturbed the intense silence. 

But, presently, came a soft, swift rhythm like the pace of a forestcreature in haste -- a discreetly hurrying tread which was more a seriesof light earth-shocks than sound. 

Quintana, kneeling on one knee, lifted his pistol. He already felt theslight vibration of the ground on the hard ridge. The cedars weremoving just beyond him now. He waited until, through the partedfoliage, a face appeared. 

The loud report of his pistol struck Sard with the horror of paralysis. Sanchez faced about with one spring, snarling, a weapon in either hand. 

In the terrible silence they could hear something heavy floundering inthe bushes, choking, moaning, thudding on the ground. 

Sanchez began to creep back; Sard, more dead than alive, crawled at hisheels. Presently they saw Quintana, waist deep in juniper, looking downat something. 

And when they drew closer they saw Georgiades lying on his back under acedar, the whole front of his shirt from chest to belly a sopping messof blood. 

There seemed no need of explanation. The dead Greek lay there where hehad not been expected, and his two pistols lay beside him where they hadfallen. 

Sanchez looked stealthily at Quintana, who said softly:

"Bien sure. . .. In his left side pocket, I believe. "

* * * * *

Sanchez laid a cool hand on the dead man's heart; then, satisfied, rummaged until he found Georgiades' share of the loot. 

Sard, hurriedly displaying a pair of clean but shaky hands, made thedivision. 

When the three men had silently pocketed what was allotted to each, Quintana pushed curiously at the dead man with the toe of his shoe. 

"Peste!" he remarked. "I had place, for security, a ver' large diamon'in my pistol barrel. Now it is within the interior of this gentleman. . .. " he turned to Sanchez: "I sell him to you. One sapphire. Yes?"

Sanchez shook his head with a slight sneer: "We wait -- if you want yourdiamond, mon capitaine. "

Quintana hesitated, then made a grimace and shook his head. 

"No, " he said, "he had swallow. Let him digest. Allons! March!"

But after they had gone on -- two hundred yards, perhaps -- Sanchezstopped. 

"Well?" inquired Quintana. Then, with a sneer: "I now recollec' thatonce you have been a butcher in Madrid. . .. Suit your tas'e, l'amiSanchez. "

Sard gazed at Sanchez out of sickened eyes. 

"You keep away from me until you've washed yourself, " he burst out, revolted. "Don't you come near me till you're clean!"

Quintana laughed and seated himself. Sanchez, with a hang-dog glance athim, turned and sneaked back on the trail they had traversed. Before hewas out of sight Sard saw him fish out a Spanish knife from his hippocket and unclasp it. 

Almost nauseated, he turned on Quintana in a sort of frightened fury:

"Come on!" he said hoarsely. "I don't want to travel with that man! Iwon't associate with a ghoul! My God, I'm a respectable businessman----"

"Yaas, " drawled Quintana, "tha's what I saw always myse'f; my frien'Sard he is ver' respec'able, an' I trus' him like I trus' myse'f. "

However, after a moment, Quintana got up from the fallen tree where hehad been seated. 

As he passed Sard he looked curiously into the man's frightened eyes. There was not the slightest doubt that Sard was a coward. 

"You shall walk behin' me, " remarked Quintana carelessly. "If Sanchezfin' us, it is well; if he shall not, that also is ver' well. . .. We go, now. "

* * * * *

Sanchez made no effort to find them. They had been gone half an hourbefore he had finished the business that had turned him back. 

After that he wandered about hunting for water -- a rivulet, a puddle, anything. But the wet ground proved wet only on the surface moss. Sanchez needed more than damp moss for his toilet. Casting about him, hither and thither, for some depression that might indicate a stream, hecame to a heavily wooded slope, and descended it. 

There was a bog at the foot. With his fouled hands he dug out a basinwhich filled up full of reddish water, discoloured by alders. 

But the water was redder still when his toilet ended. 

As he stood there, examining his clothing, and washing what he could ofthe ominous stains from sleeve and shoe, very far away to the north heheard a curious noise -- a far, faint sound such as he never before hadheard. If it were a voice of any sort there was nothing human about it. . .. Probably some sort of unknown bird. . .. Perhaps a bird of prey. . .. That was natural, considering the attraction that Georgiades would havefor such creatures. . .. If it were a bird it must be a large one, hethought. . .. Because there was a certain volume to the cry. . .. Perhapsit was a beast, after all. . .. Some unknown beast of the forest. . .. 

Sanchez was suddenly afraid. Scarcely knowing what he was doing hebegan to run along the edge of the bog. 

First growth timber skirted it; running was unobstructed by underbrush. 

With his startled ears full of the alarming and unknown sound, he ranthrough the woods under gigantic pines which spread a soft greentwilight around him. 

He was tired, or thought he was, but the alarming sounds were fillinghis ears now; the entire forest seemed full of them, echoing in alldirections, coming in upon him from everywhere, so that he knew not inwhich direction to run. 

But he could no stop. Demoralised, he darted this way and that; terrorwinged his feet; the air vibrated above and around him with thedreadful, unearthly sounds. 

The next instant he fell headlong over a ledge, struck water, felthimself whirled around in the icy, rushing current, rolled over, tumbledthrough rapids, blinded, deafened, choked, swept helplessly in a vastgreen wall of water toward something that thundered in his brain aninstant, then dashed it into roaring chaos. 

* * * * *

Half a mile down the turbulent outlet of Star Pond, -- where a greatsheet of green water pours thirty feet into the tossing foam below, --and spinning, dipping, diving, bobbing up like a lost log after thedrive, the body of Senor Sanchez danced all alone in the wilderness, spilling from soggy pockets diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, intocrystal caves where only the shadows of slim trout stirred. 

* * * * *

Very far away to the eastward Quintana stood listening, clutching Sardby one sleeve to silence him. 

Presently he said: "My frien', somebody is hunting with houn's in thisfores'. 

"Maybe they are not hunting _us. _ . .. _Maybe. _ . .. But, for me, I shallseek running water. Go you your own way! Houp! Vamose!"

He turned westward; but he had taken scarcely a dozen strides when Sardcame panting after him:

"Don't leave me!" gasped the terrified diamond broker. "I don't knowwhere to go----"

Quintana faced him abruptly -- with a terrifying smile and glimmer ofwhite teeth -- and shoved a pistol into the fold of fat beneath Sard'sdouble chin. 

"You hear those dogs? Yes? Ver' well; I also. Run, now. I say to yourun ver' damn quick. He! Houp! Allez vous en! Beat eer!"

He struck Sard a stinging blow on his fleshy ear with the pistol barrel, ad Sard gave a muffled shriek which was more like the squeak of afrightened animal. 

"My God, Quintana----" he sobbed. Then Quintana's eyes blazed murder:and Sard turned and ran lumbering through the thicket like a stampededox, crashing on amid withered brake, white birch scrub and brier, notknowing whither he was headed, crazed with terror. 

Quintana watched his flight for a moment, then, pistol swinging, he ranin the opposite direction, eastward, speeding lithely as a cat down along, wooded slope which promised running water at the foot. 

* * * * *

Sard could not run very far. He could scarcely stand when he pulled upand clung to the trunk of a tree. 

More dead than alive, he embraced the tree, gulping horribly for air, every fat-incrusted organ labouring, his senses swimming. 

As he sagged there, gripping his support on shaking knees, by degreeshis senses began to return. 

He could hear the dogs, now, vaguely as in a nightmare. But after alittle while he began to believe that their hysterical yelping wasreally growing more distant. 

Then this man whose every breath was an outrage on God, prayed. 

He prayed that the hounds would follow Quintana, come up with him, draghim down, worry him, tear him to shreds of flesh and clothing. 

He listened and prayed alternately After a while he no longer prayedbut concentrated on his ears. 

Surely, surely, the diabolical sound was growing less distinct. . .. Itwas changing direction too. But whether in Quintana's direction or noSard could not tell. He was no woodsman. He was completely turnedaround. 

He looked upward through a dense yellow foliage, but all was grey in thesky -- very grey and still; -- and there seemed to be no traces of thesun that had been shining. 

He looked fearfully around; trees, trees, and more trees. No break, noglimmer, nothing to guide him, teach him. He could see, perhaps, fiftyfeet; no further. 

In panic he started to move on. That is what fright invariably does tothose ignorant of the forest. Terror starts them moving. 

* * * * *

Sobbing, frightened almost witless, he had been floundering forward forover an hour, and made circle after circle knowing, when, by chance heset foot in a perfectly plain trail. 

Emotion overpowered him. He was too overcome to stir for a while. Atlength, however, he tottered off down the trail, oblivious as to whatdirection he was taking, animated only by a sort of madness -- horror oftrees -- an insane necessity to see open ground, get into it, and liedown on it. 

And now, directly ahead, he saw clear grey sky low through the trees. The wood's edge!

He began to run. 

As he emerged from the edge of the woods, waist-deep in brush and weeds, wide before his blood-shot eyes spread Star Pond. 

Even in his half-stupefied brain there was memory enough left forrecognition. 

He remembered the lake. His gaze travelled to the westward; and he sawClinch's Dump standing below, stark, silent, the doors swinging open inthe wind. 

When terror had subsided in a measure and some of his trembling strengthreturned, he got up out of the clump of rag-weeds where he had laindown, and earnestly nosed the unpainted house, listening with all hisears. 

There was not a sound save the soughing of autumn winds and the delicaterattle of falling leaves in the woods behind him. 

He needed food and rest. He gazed earnestly at the house. Nothingstirred there save the open doors swinging idly in every vagrant wind. 

He ventured down a little way -- near enough to see the black cinders ofthe burned bar, and close enough to hear the lake waters slapping thesandy shore. 

If he dared----

And after a long while he ventured to waddle nearer, slinking throughthe brush and frosted weed, creeping behind boulders, edging alwayscloser and closer to that silent house where nothing moved except thewind-blown door. 

And now, at last, he set a furtive foot upon the threshold, stoodlistening, tip-toed in, peered here and there, sidled to thedining-room, peered in. 

* * * * *

When, at length, Emanuel Sard discovered that Clinch's Dump wastenantless, he made straight for the pantry. Here was cheese, crackers, an apple pie, half a dozen bottles of home-brewed beer. 

He loaded his arms with all they could carry, stole through thedance-hall out to the veranda, which overlooked the lake. 

Here, hidden in the doorway, he could watch the road from Ghost Lake andsurvey the hillside down which an intruder must come from the forest. 

And here Sard slaked his raging thirst and satiated the gnawing appetiteof the obese, than which there is no crueller torment to an inert liverand distended paunch. 

Munching, guzzling, watching, Sard squatted just within the verandadoorway, anxiously considering his chances. 

He knew where he was. At the foot of the lake, and eastward, he hadbeen robbed by a highwayman on the forest road branching from the mainhighway. Southwest lay Ghost Lake and the Inn. 

Somewhere between these two points he must try to cross the State Road. . .. After that, comparative safety. For the miles that still would liebetween him and distant civilisation seemed as nothing to the horror ofthat hell of trees. 

He looked up now at the shaggy fringing woods, shuddered, opened anotherbottle of beer. 

In all that panorama of forest, swale, and water the only thing that hadalarmed him at all by moving was something in the water. When first henoticed it he almost swooned, for he took it to be a swimming dog. 

In his agitation he had risen to his feet; and then the swimmingcreature almost frightened Sard out of his senses, for it tiltedsuddenly and went down with a report like the crack of a pistol. 

However, when Sard regained control of his wits he realised that aswimming dog doesn't dive and doesn't whack the water with its tail. 

He dimly remembered hearing that beavers behaved that way. 

Watching the water he saw the thing out there in the lake again, swimming in erratic circles, its big, dog-like head well out of thewater. 

It certainly was no dog. A beaver, maybe. Whatever it was, Sard didn'tcare any longer. 

Idly he watched it. Sometimes, when it swam very near, he made a suddenmotion with his far arm; and crack! -- with a pistol-shot report down itdived. But always it re-appeared. 

What had a creature like that to do with him? Sard watched it withfailing interest, thinking of other things -- of Quintana and thechances that the dogs had caught him, -- of Sanchez, the Ghoul, hopingthat dire misfortune might overtake him, too; -- of the dead mansprawling under the cedar-tree, all sopping crimson---- Faugh!

Shivering, Sard filled his mouth with apple-pie and cheese and pulledthe cork from another bottle of home-brewed beer. 

* * * * *

III

About that time, a mile and a half to the southward, James Darragh cameout on the rocky and rushing outlet to Star Pond. 

Over his shoulder was a rifle, and all around him ran dogs, -- big, powerful dogs, built like foxhounds but with the rough, wiry coats ofAiredales, even rougher of ear and features. 

The dogs, -- half a dozen or so in number, -- seemed very tired. Allran down eagerly to the water and drank and slobbered and panted, lolling their tongues, and slaking their thirst again and again alongthe swirling edge of a deep trout pool. 

Darragh's rifle lay in the hollow of his left arm; his khaki waistcoatwas set with loops full of cartridges. From his left wrist hung araw-hide whip. 

Now he lad aside his rifle and whip, took from the pocket of hisshooting coat three or four leather dog-leashes, went down among thedogs and coupled them up. 

They followed him back to the bank above. Here he sat down on a rockand inspected his watch. 

He had been seated there for ten minutes, possibly, with his tired dogslying around him, when just above him he saw a State Trooper emerge fromthe woods on foot, carrying a rifle over one shoulder. 

"Jack!" he called in a guarded voice. 

Trooper Stormont turned, caught sight of Darragh, made a signal ofrecognition, and came toward him. 

Darragh said: "Your mate, Trooper Lannis, is down stream. I've two ofmy own game wardens at the cross-roads, two more on the Ghost Lake Road, and two foresters and an inspector out toward Owl Marsh. "

Stormont nodded, looked down at the dogs. 

"This isn't the State Forest, " said Darragh, smiling. Then his facegrew grave: "How is Eve?" he asked. 

"She's feeling better, " replied Stormont. "I telephoned to Ghost LakeInn for the hotel physician. . .. I was afraid of pneumonia, Jim. Evehad chills last night. . .. But Dr. Claybourn thinks she's all right. . .. So I left her in care of your housekeeper. "

"Mrs. Ray will look out for her. . .. You haven't told Eve who I am, haveyou?"

"No. "

"I'll tell her myself to-night. I don't know how she'll take it whenshe learns I'm the heir to the mortal enemy of Mike Clinch. "

"I don't know either, " said Stormont. 

There was a silence; the State Trooper looked down at the dogs:

"What are they, Jim?"

"Otter-hounds, " said Darragh, "-- a breed of my own. . .. But that's_all_ they are capable of hunting, I guess, " he added grimly. 

Stormont's gaze questioned him. 

Darragh said: "After I telephoned you this morning that a guest of mineat Harrod Place, and I, had been stuck up and robbed by Quintana'soutfit, what did you do, Jack?"

"I called up Bill Lannis first, " said Stormont, "-- then the doctor. After he came, Mrs. Ray arrived with a maid. Then I went in a spoke toEve. Then I did what you suggested -- I crossed the forest diagonallytoward The Scaur, zig-zagged north, turned by the rock hog-back south ofDrowned Valley, came southeast, circled west, and came out here as youasked me to. "

"Almost on the minute, " nodded Darragh. . .. "You saw no signs ofQuintana's gang?"

"None. "

"Well, " said Darragh, "I left my two guests at Harrod Place to amuseeach other, got out three couple of my otter-hounds and started them, --as I hoped and supposed, -- on Quintana's trail. "

"What happened?" inquired Stormont curiously. 

"Well -- I don't know. I think they were following some of Quintana'sgang -- for a while, anyway. After that, God knows, -- deer, hare, cotton-tail -- _I_ don't know. They yelled their bally heads off -- Ion the run -- they're slow dogs, you know -- and whatever they wereafter either fooled them or there were too man trails. . .. I made amistake, that's all. These poor beasts don't know anything except anotter. I just _hoped_ they might take Quintana's trail if I put them onit. "

"Well, " said Stormont, "it can't be helped now. . .. I told Bill Lannisthat we'd rendezvous at Clinch's Dump. "

"All right, " nodded Darragh. "Let's keep to the open; my dogs areleashed couples. "

They had been walking for twenty minutes, possibly, exchanging scarcelya word, and they were now nearing the hilly basin where star Pond lay, when Darragh said abruptly:

"I'm going to tell you about things, Jack. You've taken my word so farthat it's all right----"

"Naturally, " said Stormont simply. 

The two men, who had been brother officers in the Great War, glanced ateach other, slightly smiling. 

"Here it is then, " said Darragh. "When I was on duty in Riga for theIntelligence Department, I met two ladies in dire distress, whosemansion had been burned and looted, supposedly by the Bolsheviki. 

"They were actually hungry an penniless; the only clothing theypossessed they were wearing. These ladies were the CountessOrloff-Strelwitz, and a young girl, Theodorica, Grand Duchess ofEsthonia. . .. I did what I could for them. After a while, in the courseof other duty, I found out that the Bolsheviki had had nothing to dowith the arson and robbery, but that the crime had been perpetrated byJose Quintana's gang of international crooks masquerading asBolsheviki. "

Stormont nodded: "I also came across similar cases, " he remarked. 

"Well, this was a flagrant example. Quintana had burnt the chateau andmade off with over two million dollars worth of the little GrandDuchess's jewels -- among them the famous Erosite gem known as TheFlaming Jewel. "

"I've heard of it. "

"There are only two others known. . .. Well, I did what I could with theEsthonian police, who didn't believe me. 

"But after a short time ago the Countess Orloff sent me word thatQuintana really was the guilty one, and that he had started for America. 

"I've been after him ever since. . .. But, Jack, until this morningQuintana did not possess these stolen jewels, _Clinch did!_"

"What!"

"Clinch served over-seas in a Forestry Regiment. In Paris he robbedQuintana of these jewels. That's why I've been hanging around Clinch. "

Stormont's face was flushed and incredulous. Then it lost colour as hethought of the jewels that Eve had concealed -- the gems for which shehad risked her life. 

He said: "But you tell me Quintana robbed you this morning. "

"He did. The little Grand Duchess and the Countess Orloff-Strelwitz aremy guests at Harrod Place. 

"Last night I snatched the case containing these gems from Quintana'sfingers. This morning, as I offered them to the Grand Duchess, Quintanacoolly stepped between us----"

His voice became bitter and his features reddened with rage poorlycontrolled:

"By God, Jack, I should have shot Quintana when the opportunity offered. Twice I've had the chance. The next time I shall kill him any way Ican. . .. Legitimately. "

"Of course, " said Stormont gravely. But his mind was full of the jewelswhich Eve had. What an whose were they, -- if Quintana again had theEsthonian gems in his possession?

"Had you recovered all the jewels for the Grand Duchess?" he askedDarragh. 

"Every one, Jack. . .. Quintana has done me a terrible injury. I shan'tlet it go. I mean to hunt that man to the end. "

Stormont, terribly perplexed, nodded. 

A few minutes later, as they came out among the willows and alders onthe northeast side of Star Pond, Stormont touched his comrade's arm. 

"Look at that enormous dog-otter out there in the lake!"

"Grab those dogs! They'll strangle each other, " cried Darragh quickly. "That's it -- unleash them, Jack, and let them go!" -- he was strugglingwith the other two couples while speaking. 

And now the hounds, unleashed, lifted frantic voices. The very skyseemed full of the discordant tumult; wood and shore reverberated withthe volume of convulsive and dissonant baying. 

"Damn it, " said Darragh, disgusted, "-- that's what they've beentrailing all the while across-woods, -- that devilish dog-otter yonder. . .. And I had hoped they were on Quintana's trail----"

A mass rush and scurry of crazed dogs nearly swept him off his feet, andboth men caught a glimpse of a large bitch-otter taking to the lake froma ledge of rock just beyond. 

Now the sky vibrated with the deafening outcry of the dogs, some takingto water, others racing madly along the shore. 

Crack! The echo of the dog-otter's blow on the water came across tothem as the beat dived. 

"Well, I'm in for it now, " muttered Darragh, starting along the banktoward Clinch's Dump, to keep an eye on his dogs. 

Stormont followed more leisurely. 

* * * * *

IV

A few minutes before Darragh and Stormont had come out on the fatheredge of Star Pond, Sard, who had heard from Quintana about the big drainpipe which led from Clinch's pantry into the lake, decided to go in andtake a look at it. 

He had been told all about its uses, -- how Clinch, -- in the event of araid by State Troopers or Government enforcement agents, -- could emptyhis contraband hootch into the lake if necessary, -- and even couldslide a barrel of ale or a keg of rum, intact, into the great tiletunnel and recover the liquor at his leisure. 

Also, and grimly, Quintana had admitted that through this drain EveStrayer and the State Trooper, Stormont, had escaped from Clinch's Dump. 

So now Sard, full of curiosity, went back into the pantry to look at itfor himself. 

Almost instantly the idea occurred to him to make use of the drain forhis own safety and comfort. 

Why shouldn't he sleep in the pantry, lock the door, and, in case ofintrusion, -- other exits being unavailable, -- why shouldn't he feelentirely safe with such an avenue of escape open?

For swimming was Sard's single accomplishment. He wasn't afraid of thewater; he simply couldn't sink. Swimming was the only sport he ever hadindulged in. He adored it. 

Also, the mere idea of sleeping alone amid that hell of trees terrifiedSard. Never had he known such horror as when Quintana abandoned him inthe woods. Never again would he gaze upon a tree without malignanthatred. Never again did he desire to lay eyes upon even a bush. Thevery sight, now, of the dusky forest filled him with loathing. Whyshould he not risk one night in this deserted house, -- sleep well andwarmly, feed well, drink his bellyfull of Clinch's beer, beforeattempting the dead-line southward, where he was only too sure thatpatrols were riding and hiding on the lookout for the fancy gentlemen ofJose Quintana's selected company of malefactors?

Well, here in the snug pantry were pies, crullers, bread, cheese, various dried meats, tinned vegetables, ham, bacon, fuel and range toprepare what he desired. 

Here was beer, too; and doubtless ardent spirits if he could nose outthe hidden demijohns and bottles. 

He peered out of the pantry window at the forest, shuddered, cursed itand every separate tree in it; cursed Quintana, too, wishing him blackmischance. No; it was settled. He'd take his chance here in thepantry. . .. And there must be a mattress somewhere upstairs. 

He climbed the staircase, cautiously, discovered Clinch's bedroom, tookthe mattress and blankets from the bed, and dragged them to the pantry. 

Could any honest man be more tight and snug in this perilous world ofthe desperate and undeserving? Sard thought not. But one matter stilltroubled him; the lock of the pantry door had been shattered. To remedythis he moused around until he discovered some long nails and aclaw-hammer. When he was ready to go to sleep he'd nail himself in. Sard chuckled again for the first time since he had set eyes upon theaccursed region. 

And now the sun came out from behind a low bank of solid grey cloud, andfell upon the countenance of Emanuel Sard. It warmed his parrot-noseagreeably; it cheered and enlivened him. 

Not for him a night of terrors in that horrible forest which he couldsee through the pantry window. 

A sense of security and of well-being pervaded Sard to his muddy shoes. He even curled his fat toes in them with animal contentment. 

A little snack before cooking a heavily satisfactory dinner? Certainly. 

So he tucked a couple of bottles of beer under one arm, a loaf of breadand a chunk of cheese under the other, and waddled out to the verandadoor. 

At that instant the very heavens echoed with that awful tumult which hadfirst paralysed, then crazed him in the woods. 

Bottles, bread, cheese fell from his grasp and his knees nearlycollapsed under him. In the bushes on the lake shore he saw animalsleaping and racing, but, in his terror, he did not recognise them fordogs. 

Then, suddenly, he saw a man, close to the house, running: and anotherman not far behind. _That_ he understood, and it electrified him intoaction. 

It was too late to escape from the house now. He understood thatinstantly. 

He ran back through the dance-hall and dining-room to the pantry; but hedared not let these intruders hear the noise of hammering. 

In an agony of indecision he stood trembling, listening to the infernalracket of the dogs, and waiting for the first footstep within the house. 

No step came. But, chancing to look over his shoulder, he saw a manpeering through the pantry window at him. 

Ungovernable terror seized Sard. Scarcely aware what he was about, heseized the edges of the big drain-pipe and crowded his obese body intoit head first. He was so far and heavy that he filled the tile. Tostart himself down he pulled with both hands and kicked himself forward, tortoise-like, down the slanting tunnel, sticking now and then, dragginghimself on and downward. 

Now he began to gain momentum; he felt himself sliding, not fast butsteadily. 

There came a hitch somewhere; his heavy body stuck on the steep incline. 

Then, as he lifted his bewildered head and stove to peer into theblackness in front, he saw four balls of green fire close to him in thedarkness. 

He began to slide at the same instant, and flung out both hands to checkhimself. But his palms slid in the slime and his body slid after. 

He shrieked once as his face struck a furry obstruction where four ballsof green fire flamed horribly and a fury of murderous teeth tore hisface and throat to bloody tatters as he slid lower, lower, settlingthrough crimson-dyed waters into the icy depths of Star Pond. 

* * * * *

Stormont, down by the lake, called to Darragh, who appeared on theveranda:

"Oh, Jim! Both otters crawled into the drain! I think your dogs musthave killed one of them under water. There's a big patch of bloodspreading off shore. "

"Yes, " said Darragh, "something has just been killed, somewhere. . .. Jack!"

"Yes?"

"Pull both your guns and come up here, quick!"

* * * * *

Episode Ten

The Twilight of Mike

* * * * *

I

When Quintana turned like an enraged snake on Sard and drove him to hisdestruction, he would have killed and robbed the frightened diamondbroker had he dared risk the shot. He had intended to do this anyway, sooner or later. But with the noise of the hunting dogs filling theforest, Quintana was afraid to fire. Yet, even then he followed Sardstealthily for a few minutes, afraid yet murderously desirous of thegems, confused by the tumult of the hounds, timid and ferocious at thesame time, and loath to leave his fat, perspiring, and demoralisedvictim. 

But the racket of the dogs proved too much for Quintana. He sheeredaway toward the South, leaving Sard floundering on ahead, unconscious ofthe treachery that had followed furtively in his panic-stricken tracks. 

About an hour later Quintana was seen, challenged, chased and shot at byState Trooper Lannis. 

Quintana ran. And what with the dense growth of seedling beech and oakand the heavily falling birch and poplar leaves, Lannis first lostQuintana and then his trail. 

The State Trooper had left his horse at the cross-roads near the sceneof Darragh's masked exploit, where he had stopped and robbed Sard -- andnow Lannis hastened back to find and mount his horse, and gallopstraight into the first growth timber. 

Through dim aisles of giant pine he spurred to a dead run on the chanceof cutting Quintana from the eastward edge of the forest and forcing himback toward the north or west, where patrols were more than likely tohold him. 

The State Trooper rode with all the reckless indifference and grace ofthe Western cavalryman, and he seemed to be part of the superb animal herode -- part of its bone and muscle, its litheness, its supple power --part of its vertebrae and ribs and limbs, so perfect was their bodilyco-ordination. 

Rifle and eyes intently alert, the rider scarce noticed his rushingmount; and if he guided with wrist and knee it was instinctive and asthough the horse were guiding them both. 

And now, far ahead through this primeval stand of pine, sunshineglimmered, warning of a clearing. And here Trooper Lannis pulled in hishorse at the edge of what seemed to be a broad, flat meadow, vividlygreen. 

But it was the intense, arsenical green of hair-fine grass that coverswith its false velvet those quaking bogs where only a thin, crust-likeskin of root-fibre and vegetation cover infinite depths of silt. 

The silt had no more substance than a drop of ink colouring the water ina tumbler. 

Sitting his fast-breathing mount, Lannis searched this wide, flatexpanse of brilliant green. Nothing moved on it save a great heronpicking its deliberate way on stilt-like legs. It was well for Quintanathat he had not attempted it. 

Very cautiously Lannis walked his horse along the hard ground whichedged this marsh on the west. Nowhere was there any sign that Quintanahad come down to the edge among the shrubs and swale grasses. 

Beyond the marsh another trooper patrolled; and when at length he andLannis perceived each other and exchanged signals, the latter wheeledhis horse and retraced his route at an easy canter, satisfied thatQuintana had not yet broken cover. 

Back through the first growth he cantered, his rifle at a ready, carefully scanning the more open woodlands, and so came again to thecross-roads. 

And here stood a State Game Inspector, with a report that some sort ofbeagle-pack was hunting in the forest to the northwest; and very curiousto investigate. 

So it was arranged that the Inspector should turn road-patrol and theTrooper become the rover. 

There was no sound of dogs when Lannis rode in on the narrow, spottedtrail whence he had flushed Quintana into the dense growth of saplingsthat bordered it. 

His horse made little noise on the moist layer of leaves and forestmould; he listened hard for the sound of hounds as he rode; heardnothing save the chirr of red squirrels, the shriek of a watching jay, or the startling noise of falling acorns rapping and knocking on greatlimbs in their descent to the forest floor. 

Once, very, very far away westward in the direction of Star Pond hefancied he heard a faint vibration in the air that might have beenhounds baying. 

He was right. And at that very moment Sard was dying, horribly, amongtwo trapped otters as big and fierce as the dogs that had driven theminto the drain. 

But Lannis knew nothing of that as he moved on, mounted, along thespotted trail, now all a yellow glory of birch and poplar which made thewoodland brilliant as though lighted by yellow lanterns. 

Somewhere among the birches, between him and Star Pond, was HarrodPlace. And the idea occurred to him that Quintana might have venturedto ask food and shelter there. Yet, that was not likely because TrooperStormont had called him that morning on the telephone from the HatcheryLodge. 

No; the only logical retreat for Quintana was northward to themountains, where patrols were plenty and fire-wardens on duty in everywatch-tower. Or, the fugitive could make for Drowned Valley by a blindtrail which, Stormont informed him, existed but which Lannis never hadheard of. 

However, to reassure himself, Lannis rode as far as Harrod Place, andfound game wardens on duty along the line. 

Then he turned west and trotted his mount down to the hatchery, where hesaw Ralph Wier, the Superintendent, standing outside the lodge talkingto his assistant, George Fry. 

When Lannis rode up on the opposite side of the brook, he called acrossto Wier:

"You haven't seen anything of any crooked outfit around here, have you, Ralph? I'm looking for that kind. "

"See here, " said the Superintendent, "I don't know but George Fry mayhave seen one of your guys. Come over and he'll tell you what happenedan hour ago. "

Trooper Lannis pivotted his horse and put him to the brook with scarcelyany take-off; and the splendid animal cleared the water like a deer andcame cantering up to the door of the lodge. 

Fry's boyish face seemed agitated; he looked up at the State Trooperwith the flush of tears in his gaze and pointed at the rifle Lanniscarried:

"If I'd had _that, _" he said excitedly, "I'd have brought in a crook, you bet!"

"Where did you see him?" inquired Lannis. 

"Jest west of the Scaur, about an hour and a half ago. Wier and me wasstockin' the head of Scaur Brook with fingerlings. There's more goodwater -- two miles of it -- to the east, and all it needed was afish-ladder around Scaur Falls. 

"So I toted in cement and sand and grub last week, and I built me ashanty on the Scaur, and I been laying up a fish-way around the falls. So that's how I come there----" He clicked his teeth and darted afurious glance at the woods. "By God, " he said, "I was such a fool Ididn't take no rifle. All I had was an axe and a few traps. . .. Iwasn't going to let the mink get our trout whatever you fellows say, " headded defiantly, "-- and law or no law----"

"Get along with your story, young man, " interrupted Lannis; "-- you canspill the rest out to the Commissioner. "

"All right, then. This is the way it happened down to the Scaur. I waseating lunch by the fish-stairs, looking up at 'em and kind of planninghow to save cement, and not thinking about anybody being near me, when_something_ made me turn my head. . .. You know how it is in the woods. . .. I kinda _felt_ somebody near. And, by cracky! -- there stood a manwith a big, black automatic pistol, and he had a bead on my belly. 

"`Well, ' said I, `what's troubling _you_ and your gun, my friend?' -- Iwas that astonished. 

"He was a slim-built, powerful guy with a foreign face and voice andway. He wanted to know if he had the honour -- as he put it -- tointroduce himself to a detective or game constable, or a friend of MikeClinch. 

"I told him I wasn't any of these, and that I worked in a privatehatchery; and he called me a liar. "

Young Fry's face flushed and his voice began to quiver:

"That's the way he misused me; and he backed me into the shanty and Ihad to sit down with both hands up. Then he filled my pack-basket withgrub, and took my axe, and strapped my kit onto his back. . .. Andtalking all the time in his mean, sneery, foreign way -- and I guess hethought he was funny, for he laughed at his own jokes. 

"He told me his name was Quintana, and that he ought to shoot me for arat, but he wouldn't because of the stink. Then he said he was going todo a quick job that the police were too cowardly to do; -- that he wasa-going to find Mike Clinch down to Drowned Valley and kill him; and ifhe could catch Mike's daughter, too, he'd spoil her face for life----"

The boy was breathing so hard and his rage made him so incoherent thatLannis took him by the shoulder and shook him:

"What next?" demanded the Trooper impatiently. "Tell your story andquit thinking how you were misused!"

"He told me to stay in the shanty for an hour or he'd do for me good, "cried Fry. . .. "Once I got up and went to the door; and there he stoodby the brook, wolfing my lunch with both hands. I tell you he cursedand drove me, like a dog, inside with his big pistol -- my God -- like adog. . .. 

"Then, the next time I took a chance he was gone. . .. And I beat it hereto get me a rifle----" The boy broke down and sobbed: "He drove mearound -- like a dog -- he did----"

"You leave that to me, " interrupted Lannis sharply. And, to Wier: "Youand George had better get a gun apiece. That fellow _might_ come backhere or go to Harrod Place if we starve him out. "

Wier said to Fry: "Go up to Harrod Place and tell Jansen your story andbring back two 45-70's. . .. And quit snivelling. . .. You may get a shotat him yet. "

Lannis had already ridden down to the brook. Now he jumped his horseacross, pulled up, called back to Wier:

"I think our man is making for Drowned Valley, all right. My mate, Stormont, telephoned me that some of his gang are there, and that MikeClinch and his gang have them stopped on the other side! Keep your eyeon Harrod Place!"

And away he cantered into the North. 

* * * * *

Behind the curtains of her open window Eve Strayer, lying on her bed, had heard every word. 

Crouched there beside her pillow she peered out and saw Trooper Lannisride away; saw the Fry boy start toward Harrow Place on a run; saw RalphWier watch them out of sight and then turn and re-enter the lodge. 

Wrapped in Darragh's big blanket robe she got off the bed and opened herchamber door as Wier was passing through the living-room. 

"Please -- I'd like to speak to you a moment, " she called. 

Wier turned instantly and came to the partly open door. 

"I want to know, " she said, "where I am. "

"Ma'am?"

"What is this place?"

"It's a hatchery----"

"Whose?"

"Ma'am?"

"Whose lodge is this? Does it belong to Harrod Place?"

"We're h-hootch runners, Miss----" stammered Wier, mindful ofinstructions, but making a poor business of deception; "-- I and HalSmith, we run a `Easy One, ' and we strip trout for a blind and sell toHarrod Place -- Hal and I----"

"_Who_ is Hal Smith?" she asked. 

"Ma'am?"

The girl's flower-blue eyes turned icy: "Who is the man who callshimself Hal Smith?" she repeated. 

Wier looked at her, red and dumb. 

"Is he a Trooper in plain clothes?" she demanded in a bitter voice. "Ishe one of the Commissioner's spies? Are _you_ one, too?"

Wier gazed miserably at her, unable to formulate a convincing lie. 

She flushed swiftly as a terrible suspicion seized her:

"Is this Harrod property? Is Hal Smith old Harrod's heir? _Is_ he?"

"My God, Miss----"

"He _is!_"

"Listen, Miss----"

She flung open the door and came out into the living-room. 

"Hal Smith is that nephew of old Harrod, " she said calmly. "His name isDarragh. And you are one of his wardens. . .. And I can't stay here. Doyou understand?"

Wier wiped his hot face and waited. The cat was out; there was a holein the bag; and he knew there was no use in such lies as he could tell. 

He said: "All I know, Miss, is that I was to look after you and get youwhatever you want----"

"I want my clothes!"

"Ma'am?"

"My _clothes!_" she repeated impatiently. "I've _got_ to have them!"

"Where are they, ma'am?" asked the bewildered man. 

At the same moment the girl's eyes fell on a pile of men's sportingclothing -- garments sent down from Harrod Place to the Lodge -- lyingon a leather lounge near a gun-rack. 

Without a glance at Wier, Eve went to the heap of clothing, tossed itabout, selected cords, two pairs of woollen socks, grey shirt, puttees, shoes, flung the garments through the door into her own room followedthem, and locked herself in. 

* * * * *

When she was dressed -- the two heavy of socks helping to fit her feetto the shoes -- she emptied her handful of diamonds, sapphires andemeralds, including the Flaming Jewel, into the pockets of her breeches. 

Now she was ready. She unlocked her door and went out, scarcely limpingat all, now. 

Wier gazed at her helplessly as she coolly chose a rifle andcartridge-belt at the gun-rack. 

Then she turned on him as still and dangerous as a young puma:

"Tell Darragh he'd better keep clear of Clinch's, " she said. "Tell himI always thought he was a rat. Now I know he's one. "

She plunged one slim hand into her pocket and drew out a diamond. 

"Here, " she said insolently. "This will pay your _gentleman_ for hisgun and clothing. "

She tossed the gem onto a table, where it rolled, glittering. 

"For heaven's sake, Miss----" burst out Wier, horrified, but she cut himshort:

"-- He may keep the change, " she said. "We're no swindlers at Clinch'sDump!"

Wier started forward as though to intercept her. Eve's eyes flamed. And he stood still. She wrenched open the door and walked out among thesilver birches. 

At the edge of the brook she stood a moment, coolly loading the magazineof her rifle. Then, with one swift glance of hatred, flung at the placethat Harrod's money had built, she sprang across the brook, tossed herrifle to her shoulder, and passed lithely into the golden wilderness ofpoplar and silver birch. 

* * * * *

II

Quintana, on a fox-trot along the rock-trail into Drowned Valley, nowthoroughly understood that it was the only sanctuary left him for themoment. Egress to the southward was closed; to the eastward, also; andhe was too wary to venture westward toward Ghost Lake. 

No, the only temporary safety lay in the swamps of Drowned Valley. 

And there, he decided as he jogged along, if worse came to worst andstarvation drove him out, he'd settle matters with Mike Clinch and breakthrough to the north. 

He meant to settle matters with Mike Clinch anyway. He was not afraidof Clinch; not really afraid of anybody. It had been the dogs thatdemoralised Quintana. He'd had no experience with hunting hounds, --did not know what to expect, -- how to manoeuvre. If only he could have_seen_ these beasts that filled the forest with their hob-goblinoutcries -- if he could have had a good look at the creatures who gaveforth that weird, crazed, melancholy volume of sound!---

"Bon!" he said coolly to himself. "It was a crisis of nerves which Iexperience. Yes. . .. I should have shot him, that fat Sard. Yes. . .. Only those damn dog---- And now he shall die an' rot -- that fat Sard-- all by himse'f, parbleu! -- like one big dead thing all alone in thewood. . .. A puddle of guts full of diamonds! Ah! -- mon dieu! -- amillion francs in gems that shine like festering stars in this damn woodtill the world end. Ah, bah -- nome de dieu de----"

"Halte la!" came a sharp voice from the cedar fringe in front. A pause, then recognition; and Henri Picquet walked out on the hard ridge beyondand stood leaning on his rifle and looking sullenly at his leader. 

Quintana came forward, carelessly, a disagreeable expression in his eyesand on his narrow lips, and continued on pas Picquet. 

The latter slouched after his leader, who had walked over to the lean-tobefore which a pile of charred logs lay in cold ashes. 

As Picquet came up, Quintana turned on him, with a gesture toward theextinguished fire: "It is cold like hell, " he said. "Why do you nothave some fire?"

"Not for me, non. " growled Picquet, and jerked a dirty thumb in thedirection of the lean-to. 

And there Quintana saw a pair of muddy boots protruding from a blanket. 

"It is Harry Beck, yes?" he inquired. Then _something_ about the bootsand blanket silenced him. He kept his eyes on them for a full minute, then walked into the lean-to. The blanket also covered Harry Beck'sfeatures and there was a stain on it where it outlined the prostrateman's features, making a ridge over the bony nose. 

After a moment Quintana looked around at Picquet:

"So. He is dead. Yes?"

Picquet shrugged: "Since noon, mon capitaine. "

"Comment?"

"How shall I know. It was the fire, perhaps, -- green wood or wet -- itis no matter now. . .. I said to him, `Pay attention, Henri; your woodmakes too much smoke. ' To me he reply I shall go to hell. . .. Well, there was too much smoke for me. I arise to search for wood more dry, when, crack! -- they begin to shoot out there----" He waved a dirtyhand toward the forest. 

"`Bon, ' said I, `Clinch, he have seen your damn smoke!'

"`What shall I care?' he make reply, Henri Beck, to me. `Clinch heshall shoot and be damn to him. I cook me my dejeuner all the same. '

"I make representations to that Johnbull; he say to me that I am a frog, and other injuries, while he lay yet more wood on his sacre fire. 

"Then crack! crack! crack! and zing-gg! -- whee-ee! come the bigbullets of Clinch and his voyous yonder. 

"`Bon, ' I say, `me, I make my excuse to retire. '

"Then Henri Beck he laugh and he say, `Hop it, frog!' And that is allhe has find time to say, when crack! spat! Bien droit he has it --tenez, mon capitaine -- here, over the left eye! . .. Like a beefsurprise he go over, crash! thump! And like a beef that dies, the airbellows out from his big lungs----"

Picquet looked down at the dead comrade in sort of weary compassion forsuch stupidity. 

"-- So he pass, this ros-biff goddam Johnbull. . .. Me, I roll him inthere. . .. Je ne sais pas pourquoi. . .. Then I put out the fire andleave. "

Quintana let his sneering glance rest on the head a moment, and his thinlip curled immemorial contempt for the Anglo-Saxon. 

Then he divested himself of the basket-pack which he had stolen from theFry boy. 

"Alors, " he said calmly, "it has been Mike Clinch who shoot my frien'Beck. Bien. "

He threw a cartridge into the breech of his rifle, adjusted hisammunition belt _en bandouliere, _ carelessly. 

Then, in a quiet voice: "My frien' Picquet, the time has now arrive whenit become ver' necessary that we go from here away. Done -- I shall nogo kill me my frien' Mike Clinch. "

Picquet, unastonished, gave him a heavy, bovine look of inquiry. 

Quintana said softly: "Me, I have enough already of this damn woods. Why shall we starve here when there lies our path?" He pointed north;his arm remained outstretched for a while. 

"Clinch, he is there, " growled Picquet. 

"Also our path, l'ami Henri. . .. And, behind us, they hunt us now with_dogs. _"

Picquet bared his big white teeth in fierce surprise. "Dogs?" herepeated with a sort of snarl. 

"That is how they now hunt us, my frien' -- like they hunt the hare inthe Cote d'Or. . .. Me, I shall now reconnoitre -- _that_ way!" And helooked where he was pointing, into the north -- with smouldering eyes. Then he turned calmly to Picquet: "An' you, l'ami?"

"At orders, mon capitaine. "

"C'est bien. Venez. "

They walked leisurely forward with rifles shouldered, following the hardridge out across a vast and flooded land where the bark of treesglimmered with wet mosses. 

After a quarter of a mile the ridge broadened and split into two, onehog-back branching northeast! They, however, continued north. 

About twenty minutes later Picquet, creeping along on Quintana's left, and some sixty yards distant, discovered something moving in the woodsbeyond, and fired at it. Instantly two unseen rifles spoke from thewoods ahead. Picquet was jerked clear around, lost his balance andnearly fell. Blood was spurting from his right arm, between elbow andshoulder. 

He tried to lift and level his rifle; his arm collapsed and dangledbroken and powerless; his rifle clattered to the forest floor. 

For a moment he stood there in plain view, dumb, deathly white; then hebegan screaming with fury while the big, soft-nosed bullets camestreaming in all around him. His broken arm was hit again. His screamceased; he dragged out his big clasp-knife with his left hand andstarted running toward the shooting. 

As he ran, his mangled arm flopping like a broken wing, Byron Hastingsstepped out from behind a tree and coolly shot him down at closequarters. 

Then Quintana's rifle exploded twice very quickly, and the Hastings boystumbled sideways and fell sprawling. He managed to rise to his kneesagain; he even was trying to stand up when Quintana, taking his time, deliberately began to empty his magazine into the boy, riddling him limband body and head. 

Down once more, he still moved his arms. Sid Hone reached out frombehind a fallen log to grasp the dying lad's ankle and draw him intoshelter, but Quintana reloaded swiftly and smashed Hone's left hand withthe first shot. 

Them Jim Hastings, kneeling behind a bunch of juniper, fired ahigh-velocity bullet into the tree behind which Quintana stood; butbefore he could fire again Quintana's shot in reply came ripping throughthe juniper and tore a ghastly hole in the calf of his left leg, striking a blow that knocked young Hastings flat and paralysed as a deadflounder. 

A mile to the north, blocking the other exit from Drowned Valley, MikeClinch, Harve Chase, Cornelius Blommers, and Dick Berry stood listeningto the shooting. 

"B'gosh, " blurted out Chase, "it sounds like they was goin' through, Mike. B'gosh, it does!"

Clinch's little pale eyes blazed, but he said in his soft, agreeablevoice:

"Stay right here, boys. Like as not some of 'em will come this way. "

The shooting below ceased. Clinch's nostrils expanded and flattenedwith every breath, as he stood glaring into the woods. 

"Have, " he said presently, "you an' Corny go down there an' kinda lookaround. And you signal if I'm wanted. G'wan, both o' you. Git!"

They started, running heavily, but their feet made little noise on themoss. 

Berry came over and stood near Clinch. For ten minutes neither manmoved. Clinch stared at the woods in front of him. The younger man'snervous glance flickered like a snake's tongue in every direction, andhe kept moistening his lips with his tongue. 

Presently two shots came from the south. A pause; a rattle of shotsfrom hastily emptied magazines. 

"G'wan down there, Dick!" said Clinch. 

"You'll be alone, Mike----"

"Au right. You do like I say; git along quick!"

Berry walked southward a little way. He had turned very white under histan. 

"Gol ding ye!" shouted Clinch, "take it on a lope or I'll kick the pantsoff'n ye!"

Berry began to run, carrying his rifle at a trail. 

For half an hour there was not a sound in the forests of Drowned Valleyexcept in the dead timber where unseen woodpeckers hammered fitfully atthe ghosts of ancient trees. 

Always Clinch's little pale eyes searched the forest twilight in frontof him; not a falling leaf escaped him; not a chipmunk. 

And all the while Clinch talked to himself; his lips moved a little nowand then, but uttered no sound:

"All I want God should do, " he repeated again and again, "is to just letQuintana come _my_ way. 'Tain't for because he robbed my girlie. 'Tain't for the stuff he carries onto him. . .. No, God, 'tain't themthings. But it's what that there skunk done to my Evie. . .. O God, beyou listenin'? He _hurt_ her, Quintana did. That's it. He misusedher. . .. God, if you had seen my girlie's little bleeding feet!----_That's_ the reason. . .. 'Tain't the stuff. I can work. I can save forto make my Evie a lady same's them high-steppers on Fifth Avenoo. I canmoil and toil and slave an' run hootch -- hootch---- They wuz wine 'n'fixin's into the Bible. It ain't you, God, it's them fanatics. . .. Nobody in my Dump wanted I should sell 'em more'n a bottle o' beerbefore this here prohybishun set us all crazy. 'Tain't right. . .. OGod, don't hold a little hootch agin me when all I want of you is to letQuintana----"

The slightest noise behind him. He waited, turned slowly. Eve stoodthere. 

Hell died in his pale eyes as she came to him, rested silently in hisgentle embrace, returned his kiss, laid her flushed, sweet cheek againsthis unshaven face. 

"Dad, darling?"

"Yes, my baby---"

"You're watching to kill Quintana. But there's no use watching anylonger. "

"Have the boys below got him?" he demanded. 

"They got one of his gang. Byron Hastings is dead. Jim is badly hurt:Sid Hone, too, -- not so badly----"

"Where's Quintana?"

"Dad, he's gone. . .. But it don't matter. See here!----" She dug herslender hand into her breeches pocket and pulled out a little fistful ofgems. 

Clinch, his powerful arm closing her shoulders, looked dully at thejewels. 

"You see, dad, there's no use killing Quintana. These are the things herobbed you of. "

"'Tain't them that matter. . .. I'm glad you got 'em. I allus wanted youshould be a great lady, girlie. Them's the ticket of admission. Youput them in your pants. I gotta stay here a spell---"

"Dad! Take them!"

He took them, smiled, shoved them into his pocket. 

"What is it, girlie?" he asked absently, his pale eyes searching thewoods ahead. 

"I've just told you, " she said, "that the boys went in as far asQuintana's shanty. There was a dead man there, too; but Quintana hasgone. "

Clinch said, -- not removing his eyes from the forest: "If any o' themboys has let Quintana crawl through I'll kill _him, _ too. . .. G'wanhome, girlie. I gotta mosey -- I gotta kinda loaf around f'r aspell----"

"Dad, I want you to come back with me---"

"You go home; you hear me, Eve? Tell Corny and Dick Berry to hook itfor Owl Marsh and stop the Star Peak trails -- both on 'em. . .. Can Sidand Jimmy walk?"

"Jim can't---"

"Well, let Harve take him on his back. You go too. You help fix Jimmyup at the house. He's a little fella, Jimmy Hastings is. Harve cantote him. And you go along----"

"Dad, Quintana says he means to kill you! What is the use of hurtinghim? You have what he took----"

"I gotta have more'n he took. But even that ain't enough. He couldn'tpay for all he ever done to me, girlie. . .. I'm aimin' to draw him onsight---"

Clinch's set visage relaxed into an alarming smile which flickered, faded, died in the wintry ferocity of his eyes. 

"Dad----"

"G'wan home!" he interrupted harshly. "You want that Hastings boy tobleed to death?"

She came up to him, not uttering a word, yet asking him with all thetenderness and eloquence of her eyes to leave this blood-trail where itlay and hunt no more. 

He kissed her mouth, infinitely tender, smiled; then, again prim andscowling:

"G'wan home, you little scut, an' do what I told ye, or, by God, I'llcut a switch that'll learn ye good! Never a word, now! On yer way!G'wan!"

* * * * *

Twice she turned to look back. The second time, Clinch was slowlywalking into the woods straight ahead of him. She waited; saw him goin; waited. After a while she continued on her way. 

When she sighted the men below she called to Blommers and Dick Berry:

"Dad says you're to stop Star Peak trail by Owl Marsh. "

Jimmy Hastings sat on a log, crying and looking down at his deadbrother, over whose head somebody had spread a coat. 

Blommers had made a tourniquet for Jimmy out of a bandanna and a peeledstick. 

The girl examined it, loosened it for a moment, twisted it again, andbade Harvey Chase take him on his back and start for Clinch's. 

The boy began to sob that he didn't want his brother to be left outthere all alone; but Chase promised to come back and bring him in beforenight. 

Sid Hone came up, haggard from pain and loss of blood, resting hismangled hand in the sling of his cartridge-belt. 

Berry and Blommers were already starting across toward Owl Marsh; andthe latter, passing by, asked Eve where Mike was. 

"He went into Drowned Valley by the upper outlet, " she said. 

"He'll never find no one in them logans an' sinks, " muttered Chase, squatting to hoist Jimmy Hastings to his broad back. 

"I guess he'll be over Star Peak side by sundown, " nodded Blommers. 

Eve watched him slouching off into the woods, followed sullenly byBerry. Then she looked down at the dead man in silence. 

"Be you ready, Eve?" grunted Chase. 

She turned with a heavy heart to the home trail; but her mind waspassionately with Clinch in the spectral forests of Drowned Valley. 

* * * * *

II

And Clinch's mind was on her. All else -- his watchfulness, hisstealthy advance -- all the alertness of eye and ear, all the subtlety, the cunning, the infinite caution -- were purely instinctive mechanics. 

Somewhere in this flooded twilight of gigantic trees was Jose Quintana. Knowing that, he dismissed that fact from his mind and turned histhoughts to Eve. 

Sometimes his lips moved. They usually did when he was arguing with Godor calling his Creator's attention to the justice of his case. His_two_ cases -- each, to him, a cause celebre; the matter of Harrod; theaffair of Quintana. 

Many a time he had pleaded these two causes before the Most High. 

But now his thoughts were chiefly concerned with Eve -- with the problemof her future -- his master passion -- this daughter of the dead wife hehad loved. 

He sighed unconsciously; halted. 

"Well, Lord, " he concluded, in his wordless way, "my girlie has gottahave a chance if I gotta go to hell for it. That's sure as shootin'. . .. Amen. "

At that instant he saw Quintana. 

Recognition was instant and mutual. Neither man stirred. Quintana wasstanding beside a giant hemlock. His pack lay at his feet. 

Clinch had halted -- always the mechanics! -- close to a great ironwoodtree. 

Probably both men knew that they could cover themselves before the othermoved a muscle. Clinch's small, light eyes were blazing; Quintana'sblack eyes had become two slits. 

Finally: "You -- dirty -- skunk, " drawled Clinch in his agreeablymisleading voice, "by Jesus Christ I got you now. "

"Ah -- h, " said Quintana, "thees has happen ver' nice like I expec'. . .. Always I say myse'f, yet a little patience, Jose, an' one day you shallmeet thees fellow Clinch, who has rob you. . .. I am ver' thankful to thegood God----"

He had made the slightest of movements: instantly both men were behindtheir trees. Clinch, in the ferocious pride of woodcraft, laughedexultingly -- filled the dim and spectral forest with his roar oflaughter. 

"Quintana, " he called out, "you're a-going to cash in. Savvy? You'rea-going to hop off. An' first you gotta hear why. 'Tain't for thestuff. Naw! I hooked it off'n you; you hooked it off'n me; now I gotit again. _That's_ all square. . .. No, 'tain't _that_ grudge, yougreen-livered whelp of a cross-bred, still-born slut! No! It's becuzyou laid the heft o' your dirty little finger onto my girlie. 'N' nowyou gotta hop!"

Quintana's sinister laughter was his retort. Then: "You damfoolClinch, " he said. "I got in my pocket what you rob of me. Now I killyou, and then I feel ver' well. I go home, live like some kings; yes. But you, " he sneered, "you shall not go home never no more. No. Youshall remain in thees damn wood like ver' dead old rat that is allwormy. . .. He! I got a million dollaire -- five million franc in mypocket. You shall learn what it cost to rob Jose Quintana!Understan'?"

"You liar, " said Clinch contemptuously, "I got them jools in my pantspocket. ----"

Quintana's derisive laugh cu him short: "I give you thee Flaming Jewelif you show me you got my gems in you pants pocket!"

"I'll show you. Lay down your rifle so's I see the stock. "

"First you, my frien' Mike, " said Quintana cautiously. 

Clinch took his rifle by the muzzle and shoved the stock into view sothat Quintana could see it without moving. 

To his surprise, Quintana did the same, then coolly stepped a paceoutside the shelter of his hemlock stump. 

"You show me now!" he called across the swamp. 

Clinch stepped into view, dug into his pocket, and, cupping both hands, displayed a glittering heap of gems. 

"I wanted you should know who's gottem" he said, "before you hop. It'llgive you something to think over in hell. "

Quintana's eyes had become slits again. Neither man stirred. Then:

"So you are a buzzard, eh, Clinch? You feed on dead man's pockets, eh?You find Sard somewhere an' you feed. " He held up the morocco case, emblazoned with the arms of the Grand Duchess of Esthonia, and shook itat Clinch. 

"In there is my share. . .. Not all. Ver' quick, now, I take yours, too----"

Clinch vanished and so did his rifle; and Quintana's first bullet struckthe moss where the stock had rested. 

"You black crow!" jeered Clinch, laughing, "-- I need that empty case ofyours. And I'm going after it. . .. But it's because your filthy clawtouched my girlie that you gotta hop!"

Twilight lay over the phantom wood, touching with pallid tints theflooded forest. 

So far only that one shot had been fired. Both men were stillmanoeuvering, always creeping in circles and always lining some greattree for shelter. 

Now, the gathering dusk was making them bolder and swifter; and twice, already, Clinch caught the shadow of a fading edge of something thatvanished against the shadows too swiftly for a shot. 

Now Quintana, keeping a tree in line, brushed with his little back aleafy moose-bush that stood swaying as he avoided it. 

Instantly a stealthy hope seized him: he slipped out of his coat, spreadit on the bush, set the naked branches swaying, and darted to his tree. 

Waiting, he saw that grey blot his coat made in the dusk was stillmoving a little -- just vibrating a little bit in the twilight. Hetouched the bush with his rifle barrel, then crouched almost flat. 

Suddenly the red crash of a rifle lit up Clinch's visage for a fractionof a second. And Quintana's bullet smashed Clinch between the eyes. 

* * * * *

After a long while Quintana ventured to rise and creep forward. 

Night, too, came creeping like an assassin amid the ghostly trees. 

So twilight died in the stillness of Drowned Valley and the pall ofnight lay over all things, -- living and dead alike. 

* * * * *

Episode Eleven

The Place Of Pines

* * * * *

I

The last sound that Mike Clinch heard on earth was the detonation of hisown rifle. Probably it was an agreeable sound to him. He lay therewith a pleasant expression on his massive features. His watch hadfallen out of his pocket. 

Quintana shined him with an electric torch; picked up the watch. Then, holding the torch in one hand, he went through the dead man's pocketsvery thoroughly. 

When Quintana had finished, both trays of the flat morocco case werefull of jewels. And Quintana was full of wonder and suspicion. 

Unquietly he looked upon the dead -- upon the glittering contents of thejewel-box, -- but always his gaze reverted to the dead. The faintestshadow of a smile edged Clinch's lips. Quintana's lips grew graver. Hesaid slowly, like one who does his thinking aloud:

"What is it you have done to me, l'ami Clinch? . .. Are there truly twosets of precious stones? -- _two_ Flaming Jewels? -- two gems of Erositelike there never has been in all thees worl' excep' only two more? . .. Or is one set false? . .. Have I here one set of paste facsimiles? . .. Myfrien' Clinch, why do you lie there an' smile at me so ver' funny . .. Like you are amuse? . .. I am wondering what you may have done to me, myfrien' Clinch. . .. "

For a while he remained kneeling beside the dead. Then: "Ah, bah, " hesaid, pocketing the morocco case and getting to his feet. 

He moved a little way toward the open trail, stopped, came back, stoodhis rifle against a tree. 

For a while he was busy with his sharp Spanish clasp knife, whittlingand fitting together two peeled twigs. A cross was the ultimate result. Then he placed Clinch's hands palm to palm upon his chest, lay the crosson his breast, and shined the result with complacency. 

Then Quintana took off his hat. 

"L'ami Mike, " he said, "you were a _man!_ . .. Adios!"

* * * * *

Quintana put on his hat. The path was free. The world lay open beforeJose Quintana once more; -- the world, his hunting ground. 

"But, " he thought uneasily, "what is it that I bring home this time?How much is paste? My God, how droll that smile of Clinch. . .. Which isthe false -- his jewels or mine? Dieu que j'etais bete!---- Me whohave not suspec' that there are _two_ trays within my jewel-box! . .. Iunnerstan'. It is ver' simple. In the top tray the false gems. Ah!Paste on top to deceive a thief! . .. Alors. . .. Then what I have recoverof Clinch is the _real!_ . .. Nom de Dieu! . .. I think thees dead manmake mock of me -- all inside himse'f----"

So, in darkness, prowling south by west, shining the trail furtively, and loaded rifle ready, Quintana moved with stealthy, unhurried treadout of the wilderness that had trapped him and toward the tangled borderof that outer world which led to safe, obscure, uncharted labyrinths --old-world mazes, immemorial hunting grounds -- haunted by men who prey. 

* * * * *

The night had turned frosty. Quintana, wet to the knees and very tired, moved slowly, not daring to leave the trail because of sink-holes. 

However, the trail led to Clinch's Dump, and sooner or later he mustleave it. 

What he had to have was a fire; he realised that. Somewhere off thetrail, in big timber if possible, he must built a fire and master thisdeadly chill that was slowly paralysing all power of movement. 

He knew that a fire in the forest, particularly in big timber, could beseen only a little way. He must take his chances with sink-holes andfind some spot in the forest to build that fire. 

Who could discover him except by accident?

Who would prowl the midnight wilderness? At thirty yards the fire wouldnot be visible. And, as for the odour -- well, he'd be gone beforedawn. . .. Meanwhile, he must have that fire. He could wait no longer. 

He cut a pole first. Then he left the trail where a little springflowed west, and turned to the right, shining the forest floor as hemoved and sounding with his pole every wet stretch of moss, every stripof mud, every tiniest glimmer of water. 

At last he came to a place of pines, first growth giants towering intonight, and, looking up, saw stars, infinitely distant. . .. Where perhapsthose things called souls drifted like wisps of vapour. 

When the fire took, Quintana's thin dark hands had become nearly uselessfrom cold. He could not have crooked finger to trigger. 

For a long time he sat close to the blaze, slowly massaging his torpidlimbs, but did not dare strip off his foot-gear. 

Steam rose from puttee and heavy shoe and from sodden woollen breeches. Warmth slowly penetrated. There was little smoke: the big dry brancheswere dead and bleached and he let the fire eat into them without usinghis axe. 

Once or twice he signed, "Oh, my God, " in a weary demi-voice, as thoughthe contentment of well-being were permeating him. 

Later he ate and drank languidly, looking up at the stars, speculatingas to the possible presence of Mike Clinch up there. 

"Ah, the dirty thief, " he murmured: "-- nevertheless a man. Quel homme!Mais bete a faire pleurer! Je l'ai bien triche, moi! Ha!"

Quintana smiled palely as he thought of the coat and the gently-swayingbush -- of the red glare of Clinch's shot, of the death-echo of his ownshot. 

Then, uneasy, he drew out the morocco case and gazed at the two traysfull of gems. 

The jewels blazed in the firelight. He touched them, moved them about, picked up several and examined them, testing the unset edges against hisupper lip as an expert tests jade. 

But he couldn't tell; there was no knowing. He replaced them, closedthe case, pocketed it. When he had a chance he could try boiling waterfor one sort of trick. He could scratch one or two. . .. Sard wouldknow. He wondered whether Sard got away, not concerned exceptselfishly. However, there were others in Paris whom he could trust --at a price. . .. 

Quintana rested both elbows on his knees and framed his dark facebetween both bony hands. 

What a chase Clinch had led him after the Flaming Jewel. And now Clinchlay dead in the forest -- faintly smiling. At _what?_

In a very low, passionless voice, Quintana cursed monotonously as hegazed into the fire. In Spanish, French, Portuguese, Italian, he cursedClinch. After a little while he remembered Clinch's daughter, and hecursed her, elaborately, thoroughly, wishing her black mischance awakeand asleep, living or dead. 

Darragh, too, he remembered in his curses, and did not slight him. Andthe trooper, Stormont -- ah, he should have killed all of them when hehad the chance. . .. And those two Baltic Russians, also the girl duchessand her friend. Why on earth hadn't he made a clean job of it?Overcaution. A wary disinclination to stir up civilization by needlessmurder. But after all, old maxims, old beliefs, old truths are thebest, God knows. The dead don't talk! And that's the wisest wisdom ofall. 

"If, " murmured Quintana fervently, "God gives me further opportunity toacquire a little property to comfort me in my old age, I shall leave nogossiping fool to do me harm with his tongue. No! I kill. 

"And though they raise a hue and cry, dead tongues can not wag and Isave myse'f much annoyance in the end. "

He leaned his back against the trunk of a massive pine. 

Presently Quintana slept after his own fashion -- that is to say, looking closely at him one could discover a glimmer under his loweredeyelids. And he listened always in that kind of sleep. As though ashadowy part of him were detached from his body, and mounted to guardover it. 

The inaudible movement of a wood-mouse venturing into the firelit circleawoke Quintana. Again a dropping leaf amid distant birches awoke him. Such things. And so he slept with wet feet to the fire and his rifleacross his knees; and dreamed of Eve and of murder, and that the FlamingJewel was but a mass of glass. 

* * * * *

At that moment the girl whose white throat Quintana was dreaming, andwhining faintly in his dreams, stood alone outside Clinch's Dump, riflein hand, listening, fighting the creeping dread that touched her slenderbody at times -- seemed to touch her very heart with frost. 

Clinch's men had gone on to Ghost Lake with their wounded and dead, where there was fitter shelter for both. All had gone on; nobodyremained to await Clinch's homecoming except Eve Strayer. 

Black Care, that tireless squire of dames, had followed her from thetime she had left Clinch, facing the spectral forests of Drowned Valley. 

An odd, unusual dread weighted her heart -- something in emotions thatshe never before had experienced in time of danger. In it there was thedeathly unease of premonition. But of what it was born she did notunderstand, -- perhaps of the strain of dangers passed -- of the shockof discovery concerning Smith's identity with Darragh -- Darragh! -- thehated kinsman of Harrod the abhorred. 

Fiercely she wondered how much her lover knew about this miserablemasquerade. Was Stormont involved in this deception -- Stormont, theobject of her first girl's passion -- Stormont, for whom she would havedied?

Wretched, perplexed, fiercely enraged at Darragh, deadly anxiousconcerning Clinch, she had gone about cooking supper. 

The supper, kept warm on the range, still awaited the man who had nomore need of meat and drink. 

* * * * *

Of the tragedy of Sard Eve knew nothing. There was no traces save thedisorder in the pantry and the bottles and chair on the veranda. 

Who had visited the place excepting those from whom she and Stormont hadfled, did not appear. She had no idea why her step-father's mattressand bed-quilt lay in the pantry. 

Her heart heavy with ceaseless anxiety, Eve carried mattress andbed-clothes to Clinch's chamber, re-made his bed, wandered through thehouse setting it in order; then, in the kitchen, seated herself andwaited until the strange dread that possessed her drove her out into thestarlight to stand and listen and stare at the dark forest where all herdread seemed concentrated. 

* * * * *

It was not yet dawn, but the girl could not endure the strain no longer. 

With electric torch and rifle she started for the forest, almost runningat first; then, among the first trees, moving with caution and insilence along the trail over which Clinch should long since havejourneyed homeward. 

In soft places, when she ventured to flash her torch, footprints castcurious shadows, and it was hard to make out tracks so oddly distortedby the light. Prints mingled and partly obliterated other prints. Sheidentified her own tracks leading south, and guessed at the others, pointing north and south, where they had carried in the wounded and hadgone back to bring in the dead. 

But nowhere could she discover any impression resembling herstep-father's, -- that great, firm stride and solid imprint which sooften she had tracked through moss and swale and which she knew so well. 

Once when she got up from her knees after close examination of the muddytrail, she became aware of the slightest taint in the night air -- stoodwith delicate nostrils quivering -- advanced, still conscious of thetaint, listening, wary, every stealthy instinct alert. 

She had not been mistaken: somewhere in the forest there was smoke. Somewhere a fire was burning. It might not be very far away; it mightbe distant. _Whose fire?_ Her father's? Would a hunter of men build afire?

The girl stood shivering in the darkness. There was not a sound. 

Now, keeping her cautious feet in the trail by sense of touch alone, shemoved on. Gradually, as she advanced, the odour of smoke became moredistinct. She heard nothing, saw nothing; but there was a near reek ofsmoke in her nostrils and she stopped short. 

After a little while in the intense silence of the forest she venturedto touch the switch of her torch, very cautiously. 

In the faint, pale lustre she saw a tiny rivulet flowing westward from aspring, and, beside it, in the mud, imprints of a man's feet. 

The tracks were small, narrow, slimmer than imprints made by any man shecould think of. Under the glimmer of her torch they seemed quite fresh;contours were still sharp, some ready to crumble, and water stood in theheels. 

A little way she traced them, saw where their maker had cut a pole, peeled it; saw, further on, where this unknown man had probed in mossand mud -- peppered some particularly suspicious swale with a series ofholes as though a giant woodcock had been "boring" there. 

Who was this man wandering all alone at night off the Drowned Valleytrail probing the darkness with a pole?

She knew it was not her father. She knew that no native -- none of herfather's men -- would behave in such a manner. Nor could any of thesehave left such narrow, almost delicate tracks. 

As she stole along, dimly shining the tracks, lifting her headincessantly to listen an peer into the darkness, her quick eye caughtsomething ahead -- something very slightly different from the wall ofblack obscurity -- a vague hint of colour -- the very vaguest tintscarcely perceptible at all. 

But she knew it was firelight touching the trunk of an unseen tree. 

Now, soundlessly over damp pine needles she crept. The scent of smokegrew strong in nostril and throat; the pale tint became palely reddish. All about her the blackness seemed palpable -- seemed to touch her bodywith its weight; but, ahead, a ruddy glow stained two huge pines. Andpresently she saw the fire, burning low, but redly alive. And, after along, long while, she saw a man. 

He had left the fire circle. His pack and belted mackinaw still laythere at the foot of a great tree. But when, finally, she discoveredhim, he was scarcely visible where he crouched in the shadow of atree-trunk, with his rifle half lowered at a ready. 

Had he heard her? It did not seem possible. Had he been crouchingthere since he made his fire? Why had he made it then -- for its warmthcould not reach him there. And why was he so stealthily watching --silent, unstirring, crouched in the shadows?

She strained her eyes; but distance and obscurity made recognitionimpossible. And yet, somehow, every quivering instinct within her wastelling her that the crouched and shadowy watcher beyond the fire wasQuintana. 

And every concentrated instinct was telling her that he'd kill her if hecaught sight of her; her heart clamoured it; her pulses thumped it inher ears. 

Had the girl been capable of it she could have killed him where hecrouched. She thought of it, but knew it was not in her to do it. Andyet Quintana had boasted that he meant to kill her father. That waswhat terribly concerned her. And there must be a way to stop thatdanger -- some way to stop it short of murder, -- a way to render thisman harmless to her and hers. 

No, she could not kill him this way. Except in extremes she could notbring herself to fire upon any human creature. And yet this man must berendered harmless -- somehow -- somehow -- ah!----

As the problem presented itself its solution flashed into her mind. Menof the wilderness knew how to take dangerous creatures alive. To take adangerous and reasoning human was even less difficult, because reasonmakes more mistakes than does instinct. 

Stealthily, without a sound, the girl crept back through the shadowsover the damp pine needles, until, peering fearfully over her shoulder, she saw the last ghost-tint of Quintana's fire die out in the terrificdark behind. 

Slowly, still, she moved until her sensitive feet felt the trodden pathfrom Drowned Valley. 

Now, with torch flaring, she ran, carrying her rifle at a trail. Beforeher, here and there, little night creatures fled -- a humped-up raccoon, dazzled by the glare, a barred owl still struggling with its wood-ratkill. 

She ran easily, -- an agile, tireless young thing, part of the swiftnessand silence of the woods -- part of the darkness, the sinuous celerity, the ominous hush of wide, still places -- part of its very blood andpulse and hot, sweet breath. 

Even when she came out among the birches by Clinch's Dump she wasbreathing evenly and without distress. She ran to the kitchen door butdid not enter. On pegs under the porch a score or more of rusty trapshung. She unhooked the largest, would the chain around it, tucked itunder her left arm and started back. 

* * * * *

When at last she arrived at the place of pines again, and saw the far, spectral glimmer of Quintana's fire, the girl was almost breathless. But dawn was not very far away and there remained little time for thetaking alive of a dangerous man. 

Where two enormous pines grew close together near a sapling, she kneltdown, and, with both hands, scooped out a big hollow in the immemoriallayers of pine needles. Here she placed her trap. It took all herstrength and skill to set it; to fasten the chain around the base of thesapling pine. 

And now, working with only the faintest glimmer of her torch, shecovered everything with pine needles. 

It was not possible to restore the forest floor; the place remainedvisible -- a darker, rougher patch on the bronzed carpet of needlesbeaten smooth by decades of rain and snow. No animal would have troddenthat suspicious space. But it was with man she had to deal -- adangerous but reasoning man with few and atrophied instincts -- and withno experience in traps; and, therefore, in no dread of them. 

* * * * *

Before she started she had thrown a cartridge into the breech of herrifle. 

Now she pocketed her torch and seated herself between the two big pinesand about three feet behind the hidden trap. 

Dawn was not far away. She looked upward through high pine-tops wherestars shone; and saw no sign of dawn. But the watcher by the firebeyond was astir, now, in the imminence of dawn, and evidently meant towarm himself before leaving. 

Eve could hear him piling dry wood on the fire; the light on the treetrunks grew redder; a pungent reek of smoke was drawn through the forestaisles. She sniffed it, listened, and watched, her rifle across herknees. 

Eve never had been afraid of anything. She was not afraid of this man. If it came to combat she would have to kill. It never entered her mindto fear Quintana's rifle. Even Clinch was not as swift with a rifle asshe. . .. Only Stormont had been swifter -- thank God!----

She thought of Stormont -- sat there in the terrific darkness lovinghim, her heart of a child tremulous with adoration. 

Then the memory of Darragh pushed in and hot hatred possessed her. Always, in her heart, she had distrusted the man. 

Instinct had warned her. A spy! What evil had he worked already?Where was her father? Evidently Quintana had escaped him at DrownedValley. . .. Quintana was yonder by his fire, preparing the flee thewilderness where men hunted him. . .. But where was Clinch? Had thissneak, Darragh, betrayed him? Was Clinch already in the clutch of theState Troopers? Was he in _jail?_

At the thought the girl felt slightly faint, then a rush f angry bloodstung her face in the darkness. Except for game and excise violationsthe stories they told about Clinch were lies. 

He had nothing to fear, nothing to be ashamed of. Harrod had driven himto lawlessness; the Government took away what was left him to make aliving. He had to live. What if he did break laws made by millionaireand fanatic! What of it? He had her love and her respect -- and herdeep, deep pity. And these were enough for any girl to fight for. 

Dawn spread a silvery light above the pines, but Quintana's fire stillreddened the tree trunks; and she could hear him feeding it atintervals. 

Finally she saw him. He came out on the edge of the ruddy ring of lightand stood peering around at the woods where already a vague greyness wasrevealing nearer trees. 

When, finally, he turned his back and looked at his fire, Eve rose andstood between the two big pines. Behind one of them she placed herrifle. 

It was growing lighter in the woods. She could see Quintana in the firering and outside, -- saw him go to the spring rivulet, lie flat, drink, then, on his knees, wash face and hands in the icy water. 

It became plain to her that he was nearly ready to depart. She watchedhim preparing. And now she could see him plainly, and knew him to beQuintana and no other. 

He had a light basket pack. He put some articles into it, stretchedhimself and yawned, pulled on his hat, hoisted the pack and fastened itto his back, stood staring at the fire for a long time; then, with asudden upward look at the zenith where a slight flush stained a cloud, he picked up his rifle. 

At that moment Eve called to him in a clear and steady voice. 

The effect on Quintana was instant; he was behind a tree before hervoice ceased. 

"Hallo! Hi! You over there!" she called again. "This is Eve Strayer. I'm looking for Clinch! He hasn't been home all night. Have you seenhim?"

After a moment she saw Quintana's head watching her, -- not at theshoulder-height of a man but close to the ground and just above the treeroots. 

"Hey!" she cried. "What's the matter with you over there? I'm askingyou who you are and if you've seen my father?"

After a while she saw Quintana coming toward her, circling, creepingswiftly from tree to tree. 

As he flitted through the shadows the trees between which she wasstanding hid her from him a moment. Instantly she placed her rifle onthe ground and kicked the pine needles over it. 

As Quintana continued his encircling manoeuvres Eve, apparentlyperplexed, walked out into the clear space, putting the concealed trapbetween her and Quintana, who now came stealthily toward her from therear. 

It was evident that he had reconnoitred sufficiently to satisfy himselfthat the girl was alone and that no trick, no ambuscade, threatened him. 

And now, from behind a pine, and startlingly near her, came Quintana, moving with a confident grace yet holding his rifle ready for anyemergency. 

Eve's horrified stare was natural; she had not realised that any mancould wear so evil a smile. 

Quintana stopped a short dozen paces away. The dramatic in him demandedof the moment its full value. He swept off his hat with a flourish, bowed deeply where he stood. 

"Ah!" he cried gaily, "the happy encounter, Senorita. God is too goodto us. And it was but a moment since my thoughts were of you! I swearit!----"

It was not fear; it was a sort of slow horror of this man that began tocreep over the girl. She stared at his brilliant eyes, at his thickmouth, too red -- shuddered slightly. But the toe of her right foottouched the stock of her rifle under the pine needles. 

She held herself under control. 

"So it's you, " she said unsteadily. "I thought out people had caughtyou. "

Quintana laughed: "Charming child, " he said, "it is _I_ who have caughtyour people. And now, my God! -- I catch _you!_ . .. It is ver' funny. Is it not?"

She looked straight into Quintana's black eyes, but the look he returnedsent the shamed blood surging into her face. 

"By God, " he said between his white, even teeth, -- "by God!"

Staring at her he slowly disengaged his pack, let it fall behind him onthe pine needles; rested his rifle on it; slipped out his mackinaw andlaid that across his rifle -- always keeping his brilliant eyes on her. 

His lips tightened, the muscles in his face grew tense; his eyes becameblazing insult. 

For an instant he stood there, unencumbered, a wiry, graceful shape inhis woollen breeches, leggings, and grey shirt open at the throat. Thenhe took a step toward her. And the girl watched him, fascinated. 

One pace, two, a third, a fourth -- the girl's involuntary cry echoedthe stumbling crash of the man thrashing, clawing, scrambling in theclenched jaws of the bear-trap amid a whirl of flying pine needles. 

He screamed once, tried to rise, turned blindly to seize the jaws thatclutched him; and suddenly crouched, loose-jointed, cringing like atrapped wolf -- the true fatalist among our lesser brothers. 

Eve picked up her rifle. She was trembling violently. Then, masteringher emotion, she walked over to the pack, placed Quintana's rifle andmackinaw in it, coolly hoisted it to her shoulders and buckled it there. 

Over her shoulder she kept an eye on Quintana who crouched where he hadfallen, unstirring, his deadly eyes watching her. 

She placed the muzzle of her rifle against his stomach, rested it so, holding it with one hand, her finger at the trigger. 

At her brief order he turned out both breeches pockets. She herselfstooped and drew the Spanish clasp-knife from its sheath at his belt, took a pistol from the holster, another out of his hip pocket. Reachingup and behind her, she dropped these into the pack. 

"Maybe, " she said slowly, "your ankle is broken. I'll send somebodyfrom Ghost Lake to find you. But whether you've a broken bone or notyou'll not go very far, Quintana. . .. After I'm gone you'll be able tofree yourself. But you can't get away. You'll be followed and caught. . .. So if you can walk at all you'd better go in to Ghost Lake an giveyourself up. . .. It's that or starvation. . .. You've got a watch. . .. Don't stir or touch that trap for half an hour. . .. And that's all. "

As she moved away toward the Drowned Valley trail she looked back athim. His face was bloodless but his black eyes blazed. 

"If ever you come into this forest again, " she said, "my father willsurely kill you. "

To her horror Quintana slowly grinned at her. Then, still grinning, heplaced the forefinger of his left hand between his teeth and bit it. 

Whatever he meant by the gesture it seemed unclean, horrible; and thegirl hurried on, seized with an overwhelming loathing through which asort of terror pulsated like evil premonition in a heavy and torturedheart. 

Straight into the fire of dawn she sped. A pale primrose lightglimmered through the woods; trees, bushes, undergrowth turned a duskypurple. Already the few small clouds overhead were edged with fieryrose. 

Then, of a sudden, a shaft of flame played over the forest. The sun hadrisen. 

Hastening, she searched the soft path for any imprint of her father'sfoot And even in the vain search she hoped to find him at home --hurried on burdened with two rifles and a pack, still all nervous andaquiver from her encounter with Quintana. 

Surely, surely, she thought, if he had missed Quintana in Drowned Valleyhe would not linger in that ghastly place; he'd come home, call in hismen, take counsel perhaps----

* * * * *

Mist over Star Pond was dissolving to a golden powder in the blindingglory of the sun. The eastern window-panes in Clinch's Dump glitteredas though the rooms inside were all on fire. 

Down through withered weeds and scrub she hurried, ran across the grassto the kitchen door which swung ajar under its porch. 

"Dad!" she called, "Dad!"

Only her own frightened voice echoed in the empty house. She climbedthe stairs to his room. The bed lay undisturbed as she had made it. Hewas not in any of the rooms; there were no signs of him. 

Slowly she descended to the kitchen. He was not there. The food shehad prepared for him had become cold on a chilled range. 

For a long while she stood staring through the window at the sunlightoutside. Probably, since Quintana had eluded him, he'd come home forsomething to eat. . .. Surely, now that Quintana had escaped, Clinchwould come back for some breakfast. 

Eve slipped the pack from her back and laid it on the kitchen table. There was kindling in the wood-box. She shook down the cinders, laid afire, soaked it with kerosene, lighted it, filled the kettle with freshwater. 

In the pantry she cut some ham, and found eggs, condensed milk, butter, bread, and an apple pie. After she had ground the coffee she placed allthese on a tray and carried them into the kitchen. 

Now there was nothing more to do until her father came, and she sat downby the kitchen table to wait. 

Outside the sunlight was becoming warm and vivid. There had been nofrost after all -- or, at most, merely a white trace in the shadow -- ona fallen plank here and there -- but not enough to freeze the ground. And, in the sunshine, it all quickly turned to dew, and glittered andsparkled in a million hues and tints like gems -- like that handful ofjewels she had poured into her father's joined palms -- yesterday --there at the ghostly edge of Drowned Valley. 

At the memory, and quite mechanically, she turned in her char and drewQuintana's basket pack toward her. 

First she lifted out his rifle, examined it, set it against the windowsill. Then, one by one, she drew out two pistols, loaded; the murderousSpanish clasp-knife; an axe; a fry-pan and a tin pail, and the rolled-upmackinaw. 

Under these the pack seemed to contain nothing except food andammunition; staples in sacks and a few cans -- lard, salt, tea -- suchthings. 

The cartridge boxes she piled up on the table; the food she tossed intoa tin swill bucket. 

About the effects of this man it seemed to her as though somethingunclean lingered. She could scarcely bear to handle them, -- threw themfrom her with disgust. 

The garment, also -- the heavy brown and green mackinaw -- she dislikedto touch. To throw it out doors was her intention; but, as she liftedthe coat, it unrolled and some things fell form the pockets to thekitchen table, -- money, keys, a watch, a flat leather case----

She looked stupidly at the case. It had a coat of arms emblazoned onit. 

Still, stupidly and as though dazed, she laid one hand on it, drew it toher, opened it. 

The Flaming Jewel blazed in her face amid a heap of glittering gems. 

Still she seemed slow to comprehend -- as though understanding wereparalysed. 

It was when her eyes fell upon the watch that her heart seemed to stop. Suddenly her stunned senses were lighted as by an infernal flare. . .. Under the awful blow she swayed upright to her feet, sick with fright, her eyes fixed on her father's watch. 

It was still ticking. 

She did not know whether she cried out in anguish or was dumb under it. The house seemed to reel around her; under foot too. 

When she came to her senses she found herself outside the house, runningwith her rifle, already entering the woods. But, inside the barrier oftrees, something blocked her way, stopped her, -- a man -- _her_ man!

"Eve! In God's name!----" he said as she struggled in his arms; but shefought him and strove to tear her body from his embrace:

"They've killed Dad!" she panted, -- "Quintana killed him. I didn'tknow -- oh, I didn't know! -- and I let Quintana go! Oh, Jack, Jack, he's at the Place of Pines! I'm going there to shoot him! Let me go!-- he's killed Dad, I tell you! He had Dad's watch -- and the case ofjewels -- they were in his pack on the kitchen table----"

"Eve!"

"Let me go!----"

"_Eve!_" He held her rigid a moment in his powerful grip, compelled herdazed, half-crazed eyes to meet his own:

"You must come to your senses, " he said. "Listen to what I say: theyare _bringing in your father. _"

Her dilated blue eyes never moved from his. 

"W found him in Drowned Valley at sunrise, " said Stormont quietly. "Themen are only a few rods behind me. They are carrying him out. "

Her lips made a word without sound. 

"Yes, " said Stormont in a low voice. 

There was a sound in the woods behind them. Stormont turned. Far awaydown the trail the men came into sight. 

Then the State Trooper turned the girl very gently and placed one armaround her shoulders. 

Very slowly they descended the hill together. His equipment was shiningin the morning sun: and the sun fell on Eve's drooping head, turning herchestnut hair into fiery gold. 

* * * * *

An hour later Trooper Stormont was at the Place of Pines. 

There was nothing there except an empty trap and the ashes of the dyingfire beyond. 

* * * * *

Episode Twelve

Her Highness Intervenes

* * * * *

I

Toward noon the wind changed, and about one o'clock it began to snow. 

Eve, exhausted, lay on the sofa in her bedroom. Her step-father lay ona table in the dance hall below, covered by a sheet from his own bed. And beside him sat Trooper Stormont, waiting. 

It was snowing heavily when Mr. Lyken, the little undertaker from GhostLake, arrived with several assistants, a casket, and what he called"swell trimmings. "

Long ago Mike Clinch had selected his own mortuary site and had driven asection of iron pipe into the ground on a ferny knoll overlooking StarPond. In explanation he grimly remarked to Eve that after death hepreferred to be planted where he could see that Old Harrod's ghostdidn't trespass. 

Here two of Mr. Lyken's able assistants dug a grave while the diggingwas still good; for it Mike Clinch was to lie underground that seasonthere might be need of haste -- no weather prophet ever havingsuccessfully forecast Adirondack weather. 

Eve, exhausted by shock an a sleepless night, was spared the moreharrowing details of the coroner's visit and the subsequent jauntyactivities of Mr. Lyken and his efficient assistants. 

She had managed to dress herself in a black wool gown, intending towatch by Mike, but Stormont's blunt authority prevailed and she lay downfor an hour's rest. 

The hour lengthened into many hours; the girl slept heavily on her sofaunder blankets laid over her by Stormont. 

All that dark, snowy day she slept, mercifully unconscious of theproceedings below. 

In its own mysterious way the news penetrated the wilderness; and out ofthe desolation of forest and swamp and mountain drifted the people whosomehow existed there -- a few shy, half wild young girls, a dozensilent, lank men, two or three of Clinch's own people, who stoodsilently about in the falling snow and lent a hand whenever requested. 

One long shanked youth cut hemlock to line the grave; others erected alittle fence of silver birch around it, making of the enclosure a"plot. "

A gaunt old woman from God knows where aided Mr. Lyken at intervals: apretty, sulky-eyed girl with her slovenly, red-headed sister cooked foranybody who desired nourishment. 

When Mike was ready to hold the inevitable reception everybody filedinto the dance hall. Mr. Lyken was master of ceremonies: TrooperStormont stood very tall and straight by the head of the casket. 

Clinch wore a vague, indefinable smile and his best clothes, -- thatsame smile which had so troubled Jose Quintana. 

Light was fading fast in the room when the last visitor took silentleave of Clinch and rejoined the groups in the kitchen, where were thefuneral baked meats. 

Eve still slept. Descending again from his reconnaissance, TrooperStormont encountered Trooper Lannis below. 

"Has anybody picked up Quintana's tracks?" inquired the former. 

"Not so far. An Inspector and two state Game Protectors are out beyondOwl Marsh. The Troopers from Five Lakes are on the job, and we haveenforcement men along Drowned Valley from The Scaur to Harrod Place. "

"Does Darragh know?"

"Yes. He's in there with Mike. He brought a lot of flowers from HarrodPlace. "

The two troopers went into the dance hall where Darragh was arrangingthe flowers from his greenhouses. 

Stormont said quietly: "All right, Jim, but Eve must not know that theycame from Harrod's. "

Darragh nodded: "How is she, Jack?"

"All in. "

"Do you know the story?"

"Yes. Mike went into Drowned Valley early last evening after Quintana. He didn't come back. Before dawn this morning Eve located Quintana, seta bear-trap for him, and caught him with the goods----"

"What goods?" demanded Darragh sharply. 

"Well, she got his pack and found Mike's watch and jewelry in it----"

"What jewelry?"

"The jewels Quintana was after. But that was after she'd arrived at theDump, here, leaving Quintana to get free of the trap and beat it. 

"That's how I met her -- half crazed, going to find Quintana again. We'd found Mike in Drowned Valley and were bringing him out when I raninto Eve. . .. I brought her back here and called Ghost Lake. . .. Theyhaven't picked up Quintana's tracks so far. "

After a silence: "Too bad this snow came so late, " remarked TrooperLannis. But we ought to get Quintana anyway. "

Darragh went over and looked silently at Mike Clinch

"I liked you, " he said under his breath. "It wasn't your fault. And itwasn't mine, Mike. . .. I'll try to square things. Don't worry. "

He came back slowly to where Stormont was standing near the door:

"Jack, " he said, "you can't marry Eve on a Trooper's pay. Why not quitand take over the Harrod estate? . .. You and I can go into businesstogether later if you like. "

After a pause: "That's rather wonderful of you, Jim, " said Stormont, "but you don't know what sort of business man I'd make----"

"I know what sort of officer you made. . .. I'm taking no chance. . .. AndI'll make my peace with Eve -- or somebody will do it for me. . . Is itsettled then?"

"Thanks, " said Trooper Stormont, reddening. They clasped hands. ThenStormont went about and lighted the candles in the room. Clinch's face, again revealed, was still faintly amused at something or other. Thedead have much to be amused at. 

As Darragh was about to go, Stormont said: "We're burying Clinch ateleven to-morrow morning. The Ghost Lake Pilot officiates. "

"I'll come if it won't upset Eve, " said Darragh. 

"She won't notice anybody, I fancy, " remarked Stormont. 

He stood by the veranda and watched Darragh take the Lake Trail throughthe snow. Finally the glimmer of his swinging lantern was lost in thewoods and Stormont mounted the stairs once more, stood silently by Eve'sopen door, realised she was still heavily asleep, and seated himself ona chair outside her door to watch and wait. 

* * * * *

All night long it snowed hard over the Star Pond country, and the lategrey light of morning revealed a blinding storm pelting a white robedworld. 

Toward ten o'clock, Stormont, on guard, noticed that Eve was growingrestless. 

Downstairs the flotsam of the forest had gathered again: Mr. Lyken wasthere in black gloves; the Reverend Laomi Smatter had arrived in asleigh from Ghost Lake. Both were breakfasting heavily. 

The pretty, sulky-faced girl fetched a tray and placed Eve's breakfaston it; and Trooper Stormont carried it to her room. 

She was awake when he entered. He set the tray on the table. She putboth her arms around his neck. 

"Jack, " she murmured, her eyes tremulous with tears. 

"Everything has been done, " he said. "Will you be ready by eleven?I'll come for you. "

She clung to him in silence for a while. 

* * * * *

At eleven he knocked on her door. She opened it. She wore her blackwool gown and a black fur turban. Some of her pallor remained -- tracesof tears and bluish smears under both eyes. But her voice was steady. 

"Could I see Dad a moment alone?"

"Of course. "

She took his arm: they descended the stairs. There seemed to be manypeople about but she did not lift her eyes until her lover led her intothe dance hall where Clinch lay smiling his mysterious smile. 

Then Stormont left her alone there and closed the door. 

* * * * *

In a terrible snow-storm they buried Mike Clinch on the spot he hadselected, in order that he might keep a watchful eye on the trespassingghost of old man Harrod. 

It blew and stormed and stormed, and the thin, nasal voice of "Rev. Smatter" was utterly lost in the wind. The slanting laces of snow drovedown on the casket, building a white mound over the flowers, blottingthe hemlock boughs from sight. 

There was no time to be lost now; the ground was freezing under aveering and bitter wind out of the west. Mr. Lyken's talentedassistants had some difficulty in shaping the mound which snow began tomake into a white and flawless monument. 

The last slap of the spade rang with a metallic jar across the lake, where snow already blotted the newly forming film of ice; the humandenizens of the wilderness filtered back into it one by one; "Rev. Smatter" got into his sleigh, plainly concerned about the road; Mr. Lyken betrayed unprofessional haste in loading his wagon with histalented assistants and starting for Ghost Lake. 

A Game Protector or two put on snow-shoes when they departed. TrooperLannis led out his horse and Stormont's, and got into the saddle. 

"I'd better get these beasts into Ghost Lake while I can, " he said. "You'll follow on snow-shoes, won't you, Jack?"

"I don't know. I may need a sleigh for Eve. She can't remain here allalone. I'll telephone the Inn. "

Darragh, in blanket outfit, a pair of snow-shoes on his back, a rifle inhis mittened hand, came trudging up from the lake. He and Stormontwatched Lannis riding away with the two horses. 

"He'll make it all right, but it's time he started, " said the latter. 

Darragh nodded: "Some storm. Where is Eve?"

"In her room. "

What is she going to do, Jack?"

"Marry me as soon as possible. She wants to stay here for a few daysbut I can't leave her here alone. I think I'll telephone to Ghost Lakefor a sleigh. "

"Let me talk to her, " said Darragh in a low voice. 

"Do you think you'd better -- at such a time?"

"I think it's a good time. It will divert her mind, anyway. I want herto come to Harrod Place. "

"She won't, " said Stormont grimly. 

"She might. Let me talk to her. "

"Do you realise how she feels toward you, Jim?"

"I do, indeed. And I don't blame her. But let me tell you; Eve Strayeris the most honest and fair-minded girl I ever knew. . .. Except one. . .. I'll take a chance that she'll listen to me. . .. Sooner or later shewill be obliged to hear what I have to tell her. . .. But it will beeasier for her -- for everybody -- if I speak to her now. Let me try, Jack. "

Stormont hesitate, looked at him, nodded. Darragh stood his rifleagainst the bench on the kitchen porch. They entered the house slowly. And met Eve descending the stairs. 

The girl looked at Darragh, astonished, then her pale face flushed withanger. 

"What are you doing in this house?" she demanded unsteadily. "Have youno decency, no shame?"

"Yes, " he said, "I am ashamed of what my kinsman has done to you andyours. That is partly why I am here. "

"You came here as a spy, " she said with hot contempt. "You lied aboutyour name; you lied about your purpose. You came here to betray Dad!If he had known it he would have killed you!"

"Yes, he would have. But -- do you know why I came here, Eve?"

"I've told you!"

"And you are wrong. I didn't come here to betray Mike Clinch; I cameto save him. "

"Do you suppose I believe a man who has lied to Dad?" she cried. 

"I don't ask you to, Eve. I shall let somebody else prove what I say. I don't blame you for your attitude. God knows I don't blame MikeClinch. He stood up like a man to Henry Harrod. . .. All I ask is toundo some of the rotten things that my uncle did to you and yours. Andthat is partly why I came here. "

The girl said passionately: "Neither Dad nor I want anything from HarrodPlace or from you! Do you suppose you can come here after Dad is deadand pretend you want to make amends for what your uncle did to us?"

"Eve, " said Darragh gravely, "I've made some amends already. You don'tknow it, but I have. . .. You may not believe it, but I liked yourfather. He was a real man. Had anybody done to me what Henry Harroddid to your father I'd have behaved as your father behaved; I'd neverhave budged from this spot; I'd have hunted where I chose; I'd haveborne an implacable hatred against Henry Harrod and Harrod Place, andevery soul in it!"

The girl, silenced, looked at him without belief. 

He said: "I am not surprised that you distrust what I say. But the manyou are going to marry was a junior officer in my command. I have nocloser friend than Jack Stormont. Ask him whether I am to be believed. "

Astounded, the girl turned a flushed, incredulous face to Stormont. 

He said: "You may trust Darragh as you trust me. I don't know what hehas to say to you, dear. But whatever he says will be the truth. "

Darragh said, gravely: "Through a misunderstanding your father came intopossession of stolen property, Eve. He did not know it had been stolen. I did. But Mike Clinch would not have believed me if I told him thatthe case of jewels in his possession had been stolen from a woman. . .. Quintana stole them. By accident they came into your father'spossession. I learned of this. I had promised this woman to recoverher jewels. 

"I cam here for that purpose, Eve. And for two reasons: first, becauseI learned that Quintana also was coming here to rob your father of thesegems; second, because, when I knew your father, and knew _you, _ Iconcluded that it would be an outrage to call on the police. I wouldmean prison for Clinch, misery and ruin for you, Eve. So -- I tried tosteal the jewels . .. To save you both. "

He looked at Stormont, who seemed astonished. 

"To whom do these jewels belong, Jim?" demanded the trooper. 

"To the young Grand Duchess of Esthonia. . .. Do you remember that Ibefriended her over there?"

"Yes. "

"Do you remember that the Reds were accused of burning her chateau andlooting it?"

"Yes, I remember. "

"Well, it was Quintana and his gang of international criminals who didthat, " said Darragh drily. 

And, to Eve: "By accident this case of jewels, emblazoned with the coatof arms of the Grand Duchess of Esthonia, came into your father'spossession. That is the story, Eve. "

There was a silence. The girl looked at Stormont, flushed painfully, looked at Darragh. 

Then, without a word, she turned ascended the stairs, and reappearedimmediately carrying the leather case. 

"Thank you, Mr. Darragh, " she said simply; and laid the case in hishand. 

"But, " said Darragh, "I want you to do a little more, Eve. The owner ofthese gems is my guest at Harrod Place. I want you to give them to heryourself. "

"I -- I can't go to Harrod Place, " stammered the girl. 

"Please don't visit the sins of Henry Harrod on me, Eve. "

"I -- don't. But -- but that place----"

After a silence: "If Eve feels that way, " began Stormont awkwardly, "Icouldn't become associated with you in business, Jim----"

"I'd rather sell Harrod Place than lose you!" retorted Darragh almostsharply. "I want to go into business with you, Jack -- if Eve willpermit me----"

She stood looking at Stormont, the heightened colour playing in hercheeks as she began to comprehend the comradeship between these two men. 

Slowly she turned to Darragh, offered her hand:

"I'll go to Harrod Place, " she said in a low voice. 

Darragh's quick smile brightened the sombre gravity of his face. 

"Eve, " he said, "when I came over here this morning from Harrod Place Iwas afraid you would refuse to listen to me; I was afraid you would noteven see me. And so I brought with me -- somebody -- to whom I feltcertain you would listen. . .. I brought with me a young girl -- a poorrefugee from Russia, once wealthy, to-day almost penniless. . .. Her nameis Theodorica. . .. Once she was Grand Duchess of Esthonia. . .. But thismorning a clergyman from Five Lakes changed her name. . .. To suchfriends as you and Jack she is Ricca Darragh now . .. And she's having awonderful time on my new snow-shoes----"

He took Eve by one hand and Stormont by the other, and drew them to thekitchen door and kicked it open. 

Through the swirling snow, over the lake-slope at the timber edge, agraceful, boyish figure in scarlet and white wool moved swiftly over thedrifts with all the naive delight of a child with a brand new toy. 

As Darragh strode out into the open the distant figure flung up one armin salutation and came racing over the drifts, her brilliant scarfflying. 

All aglow and a trifle breathless, she met Darragh just beyond theveranda, rested one mitten hand on his shoulder while he knelt andunbuckled her snow-shoes, stepped lightly from them and came forward toEve with out-stretched hand and sudden winning gravity in her lovelyface. 

"We shall be friends, surely, " she said in her quick, winning voice; --"because my husband has told me -- and I am so grieved for you -- and Ineed a girl friend----"

Holding both Eve's hands, her mittens dangling from her wrist, shelooked into her eyes very steadily. 

Slowly Eve's eyes filled; more slowly still Ricca kissed her on bothcheeks, framed her face in both hands, kissed her lightly on the lips. 

Then, still holding Eve's hands, she turned and looked at Stormont. 

"I remember you now, " she said. "You were with my husband in Riga. "

She freed her right hand and held it out to Stormont. He had the graceto kiss it an did it very well for a Yankee. 

Together they entered the kitchen door and turned into the dining roomon the left, where were chairs around the plain pine table. 

Darragh said: "The new mistress of Harrod Place has selected yourquarters, Eve. They adjoin the quarters of her friend, the CountessOrloff-Strelwitz. "

"Valentine begged me, " said Ricca, smiling. "She is going to be lonelywithout me. All hours of day and night we were trotting into oneanother's rooms----" She looked gravely at Eve: "You will likeValentine; and she will like you very much. . .. As for me -- I alreadylove you. "

She put one arm around Eve's shoulders: "How could you even think ofremaining here all alone? Why, I should never close my eyes forthinking of you, dear. "

Eve's head drooped; she said in a stifled voice: "I'll go with you. . .. I want to. . .. I'm very -- tired. "

"We had better go now, " said Darragh. "Your things can be brought overlater. If you'll dress for snow-shoeing, Jack can pack what clothes youneed. . .. Are there snow-shoes for him, too?"

Eve turned tragically to her lover: "In Dad's closet----" she said, choking; then turned and went up the stairs, still clinging to Ricca'shand and drawing her with her. 

Stormont followed, entered Clinch's quarters, and presently camedownstairs again, carrying Clinch's snow-shoes and a basket pack. 

He seated himself near Darragh. After a silence: "Your wife isbeautiful, Jim. . .. Her character seems to be even more beautiful. . .. She's like God's own messenger to Eve. . .. And -- you're ratherwonderful yourself----"

"Nonsense, " said Darragh, "I've given my wife her first American friendand I've done a shrew stroke of business in nabbing the best businessassociate I ever heard of----"

"You're crazy but kind. . .. I hope I'll be some good. . .. One thing;I'll never get over what you've done for Eve in this crisis----"

"There'll be no crisis, Jack. Marry, and hook up with me in business. That solves everything. . .. Lord! -- what a life Eve has had! Butyou'll make it all up to her . .. All this loneliness and shame andmisery of Clinch's Dump----"

Stormont touched his arm in caution: Eve and Ricca came down the stairs-- the former now in the grey wool snow-shoe dress, and carrying hersnow-shoes, black gown, and toilet articles. 

Stormont began to stow away her effects in the basket pack; Darragh wentover to her and took her hand. 

"I'm so glad we are to be friends, " he said. "It hurt a lot to know youheld me in contempt. But I had to go about it that way. "

Eve nodded. Then, suddenly recollecting: "Oh, " she exclaimed, reddening, "I forgot the jewel case! It's under my pillow----"

She turned and sped upstairs and reappeared almost instantly, carryingthe jewel-case. 

Breathless, flushed, thankful and happy in the excitement ofrestitution, she placed the leather case in Ricca's hands. 

"My jewels!" cried the girl, astonished. Then, with a little cry ofdelight, she placed the case upon the table, stripped open theemblazoned cover, and emptied the two trays. All over the table rolledthe jewels, flashing, scintillating, ablaze with blinding light. 

And at the same instant the outer door crashed open and Quintana coveredthem with Darragh's rifle. 

"Now, by Christ!" he shouted, "who stirs a finger shall go to God in onejump! You, my gendarme frien' -- _you, _ my frien' Smith -- turn yourdamn backs -- han's up high! -- tha's the way! -- now, ladies! -- backaway there -- get back or I kill! -- sure, by Jesus, I kill you like Iwould some white little mice!----"

With incredible quickness he stepped forward and swept the jewels intoone hand -- filled the pocket of his trousers, caught up every straystone and pocketed them. 

"You gendarme, " he cried in a menacing voice, "you think you shallfollow in my tack. Yes? I blow your damn head off if you stir beforethe hour. . .. After that -- well, follow and be damn!"

Even as he spoke he stepped outside and slammed the door; and Darraghand Stormont leaped for it. Then the lout detonation of Quintana'srifle was echoed by the splintered rip of bullets tearing through theclosed door; and both men halted in the face of the leaden hail. 

Eve ran to the pantry window and saw Quintana in somebody's stolenlumber-sledge, lash a big pair of horses to a gallop and go flounderingpast into the Ghost Lake road. 

As he sped by in a whirl of snow he fired five times at the house, then, rising and swinging his whip, he flogged the frantic horses into thewoods. 

In the dining room, Stormont, red with rage and shame, and having foundhis rifle in the corridor outside Eve's bedroom, was trying to open theshutters for a shot; and Darragh, empty-handed, searched the housefrantically for a weapon. 

Eve, terribly excited, came from the pantry:

"He's gone!" she cried furiously. "He's in somebody's lumber-sledgewith a pair of horses and he's driving west like the devil!"

Stormont ran to the tap-room telephone, cranked it, and warned theconstabulary at Five Lakes. 

"Good God!" he exclaimed, turning to Darragh, scarlet withmortification, "what a ghastly business! I never dreamed he was withinmiles of Clinch's! It's the most shameful thing that ever happened tome----"

"What could anybody do under that rifle?" said Eve hotly. "That beatwould have murdered the first person who stirred!"

Darragh, exasperated and dreadfully humiliated, looked miserably at hisbrand-new wife. 

Eve and Stormont also looked at her. She had come forward from the rearof the stairway where Quintana had brutally driven her. Now she stoodwith one hand on the empty leather jewel case, looking at everybody outof pretty, bewildered eyes. 

To Darragh, in a perplexed, unsteady voice: "Is it the same bandit whorobbed us before?"

"Yes; Quintana, " he said wretchedly. Rage began to redden his features. "Ricca, " he said, "I promised I'd find your jewels. . .. I promise youagain that I'll never drop this business until your gems -- and theFlaming Jewel -- are in your possession----"

"But, Jim----"

"I swear it!" he exclaimed violently. "I'm not such a stupid fool as Iseem----"

"Dear!" she protested excitedly, "you _have_ done what you promised. Mygems _are_ in my possession -- I believe----"

She caught up the emblazoned case, stripped out the first tray, then thesecond, and flung them aside. Then, searching with the delicate tip ofher forefinger in the empty case, she suddenly pressed the bottom hard, -- thumb, middle finger and little finger forming the three apexes of anequilateral triangle. 

There came a clear, tiny sound like the ringing of the alarm in arepeating watch. Very gently the false bottom of the case detacheditself and came away in the palm of her hand. 

And there, each embedded in its own shaped compartment of chamois, laythe Esthonian jewels -- the true ones -- deep hidden, always doublyguarded by two sets of perfect imitations lining the two visible traysabove. 

And, in the centre, blazed the Erosite gem -- the magnificent FlamingJewel, a glory of living, blinding fire. 

Nobody stirred or spoke. Darragh blinked at the crystalline blaze asthough stunned. 

Then the young girl who had once been Her Serene Highness Theodorica, Grand Duchess of Esthonia, looked up at her brand-new husband andlaughed. 

"Did you really suppose it was these that brought me across the ocean?Did you suppose it was a passion for these that filled my heart? Didyou think it was for these that I followed you?"

She laughed again, turned to Eve:

"_You_ understand. Tell him that if he had been in rags I would havefollowed him like a gypsy. . .. They say there is gypsy blood in us. . .. God knows. . .. I think perhaps there is a little of it in all realwomen----" Still laughing she placed her hand lightly upon her heart --"In all women -- perhaps -- a Flaming Jewel imbedded here----"

Her eyes, tender and mocking, met his; she lifted the jewel-case, closedit, and placed it in his hands. 

"Now, " she said, "you have everything in your possession; and we aresafe -- we are quite safe, now, my jewels and I. "

Then she went to Eve and rested both hands on her shoulders. 

"Shall we put on our snow-shoes and go -- home?"

Stormont flung open the bullet-splintered door. Outside in the snow hedropped on both knees to buckle on Eve's snow-shoes. 

Darragh was performing like office for his wife, and the State Trooper, being unobserved, took Eve's slim hands and kissed them, looking up ather where he was kneeling. 

Her pale face blushed as it had that day in the woods on Owl Marsh, solong, so long ago, when this man's lips first touched her hands. 

As their eyes met both remembered. Then she smiled at her lover withthe shy girl's soul of her gazing out at him through eyes as blue as thewild blind-gentians that grow among the ferns and mosses of Star Pond. 

* * * * *

Far away in the northwestern forests Quintana still lashed his horsesthrough the primeval pines. 

Triumphant, reckless, resourceful, dangerous, he felt that now nothingcould stop him, nothing bar his way to freedom. 

Out of the wilderness lay his road and his destiny; out of it he mustwin his way, by strategy, by cunning, by violence -- creep out, lie hisway out, shoot his way out -- it scarcely mattered. He was going out!He was going back to life once more. Who could forbid him? Who stophim? Who deny him, now, when, in his pockets, he held all that was worthliving for -- the keys to power, to pleasure, -- the key to everythingon earth!

In fierce exultation he slapped the glass jewels in his pocket andlaughed aloud. 

"The keys to the world!" he cried. "Let him stop me and take them whois better than I!" Then his long whip whistled and he cursed hishorses. 

Then, of a sudden, close by in the snowy road ahead, he saw a StateTrooper on snow-shoes, -- saw the upflung arm warning him -- screamedcurses at his horses, flogged them forward to crush this thing to deaththat dared menace him -- this object that suddenly rose up out ofnowhere to snatch from him the keys of the world----

* * * * *

For a moment the State Trooper looked after the runaway horses. Therewas no use following; they'd have to run till they dropped. 

Then he lowered the levelled rifle from his shoulder, looked grimly atthe limp thing which had tumbled from the sledge into the snowy road andwhich sprawled there crimsoning the spotless flakes that fell upon it. 

* * * * *

THE END