CHAPTER XXIII
CHATEAU BELLAIRE
Now Drennen, having passed around the shore of Red Deer Lake, havingoften dipped his body into the icy water where there was little room topass between the lake and the cliffs, having fought his way upwardagain much as he had travelled downward but by an easier path, came atlast, in the late afternoon, to the grove of giant trees upon the crestof the great ridge. And, as he paused a moment, a new wonder was uponhim.
He had expected to find here merely a rude camp; he found himselfstaring at a house under the trees! Such a house as he had never seenin all of his life, but a house none the less. It was screened fromhim by the tree trunks until he stood within fifty yards of it; it wasdisguised now in the very manner of its construction.
The corners were great stacks of high piled flat stones; across therude columns lay tree trunks roughly squared with axes; the roof was asloping shed-roof, steep pitched, made of saplings, covered a foot deepwith loose soil. In this soil grew the hardy mountain grasses; eventwo or three young trees were seeking life here where the cones hadfallen from the lofty branches of the mother trees. Over the great,square door was a long slab of wood, carefully cut into a thick board,the marks of the axe blades still showing. And inscribed deep intothis board, the letters having been burned there with a red hot iron,were the words:
CHATEAU BELLAIRE.
Drennen's pause was brief. From the low, awkward building there werevoices floating out to him. He had come to the end of the long trail.One voice, low toned and clear, drove the blood racing through hisbody. His hand shook upon his rifle stock. In spite of him a strangeshiver ran through him. He knew now how only a woman, one woman, canbring to a man his heaven of joy, his hell of sorrows. And that woman,the one woman, was at last only fifty yards away! After all of thesebitter empty months she was at last only fifty yards away!
He came on slowly, making no sound. He drew near the corner of thebuilding. The voices came more distinctly, each word clear. The othervoice was the musical utterance of Ramon Garcia. Again Drennen stoppedfor a brief instant. Were Sefton and Lemarc in there, too?
Ygerne's laughter drove a frown into his eyes. His hand was steady nowupon his rifle. Her laughter was like a child's, and a child's is likethe music of God's own heaven. Drennen came on.
In another moment he stood at the wide door, looking in. There was ahunger in his eyes which he could not guess would ever come into them.He did not see Garcia just then, though the little Mexican stood out infull view, making the girl a sweeping, exaggerated bow after hismanner. He did not notice the long bare floor nor yet the rough beamsacross the ceiling; he registered no mental picture of the deepthroated, rock chimney, the rude, worm eaten table and benches, the fewhomemade objects scattered about the long room. He saw only YgerneBellaire, and the picture which she made would never grow dim in theman's mind though he lived a hundred years.
She stood upon a monster bear skin. Upon the rug, strewn about hercarelessly, their bright discs adance with reflected light, a thousandminted gold pieces caught the glint of the low sun. Her head wasthrown back, her arms lifted. Her eyes were filled with light, her redmouth curved to the gaity of her laughter. About her white throat wasthe dazzle of diamonds; upon her bared white arms was the splendour ofdiamonds.
"My Countess!" murmured the Mexican, his eyes soft with the unhiddenworship in them. "You are like a Lady who is born out from the dreamof a poet! See!" He dropped suddenly to his knees, caught up the hemof her short skirt and pressed it to his lips. "You are the Queen ofthe Worl'!"
"At last," she cried, her voice ringing triumphantly, "I have come intomy own! For it is mine, mine, I tell you! You shall have your share,and Sefton and Marc! But it is mine, the heritage of Paul Bellaire!"
As Garcia had stooped something had fallen from his breast. Risingswiftly he caught it up. It was a little faded bunch of field flowers.
"My share, senorita?" He laughed softly. "I am not come here forgol'. Me, I have this." He lifted the flowers, his eyes tender uponthem. "With this I am more rich than the King of Spain!"
Drennen's dry laugh, the old, bitter snarl, cut through the room like acurse. They had not seen him; they had been too busy with their ownthoughts. Now, as they whirled toward the door which framed him,Garcia's hand went swiftly to his pocket, Ygerne's face grew as whiteas death.
"So," said the Mexican softly. "You are come, senor!"
The muzzle of Drennen's rifle moved in a quick arc. It came to restbearing upon Garcia's breast.
"Turn your back!" commanded Drennen sharply. He came well into theroom, setting his own back to the wall so that, should Sefton andLemarc come, he should be ready for them. "Do you hear me?" for Garciahad not stirred. "By God, I'll kill you . . ."
Garcia shrugged, and shrugging obeyed the command which he was in noposition to disobey. And, as again Drennen's curt words came crisplyto him, he obeyed, tossing his revolver aside so that it fell close tothe wall. Then, with Ygerne's wide eyes upon them both, Garcia backedup to Drennen and Drennen searched him swiftly, removing a cruel-bladedknife.
"Your little flowers," sneered Drennen, "you can keep."
He caught a murderous gleam from Garcia's eyes.
"The man who would touch them, senor," the Mexican said softly, "woulddie if I have but my hands to kill!"
"And now, my fine Countess Ygerne," mocked Drennen, coming a steptoward her. "Have you still your nice little habit . . ."
As though in answer her hand had sped toward her bosom. But Drennenwas too close to her, too quick and too strong. His grip set heavy,like steel, upon her wrist, he whipped out her weapon and tossed it tolie beside Garcia's.
"You brute," she said coolly.
He regarded her in silence, insolently. His eyes were bright andinexorable with their cold triumph.
"So," he said in a little, having passed over her remark just as he hadignored Garcia's, "in all of your lying to me there was some grain oftruth! There was a Bellaire treasure and you have found it."
"Yes," she cried passionately, her hands clenched and grown bloodlesslywhite. "And I'll spend every cent of it to make you suffer for thethings . . ."
"Not so fast," he taunted her. "Do you guess what I am going to do?Do you know that I am the one who is going to deal out the suffering?There is nothing in God's world you love . . . except it beyourself . . . as you love gold! To find is one thing; to keep isanother."
"You mean," she cried angrily, "that you will try to rob me?"
"I mean," he retorted grimly, "that in a little while you and I aregoing out there to the edge of the cliffs. You shall watch me; youshall see your diamonds circle in the sun before they go down into thelake! And then the gold is going where they go!"
It seemed to him that now, at last, was he Lucky Drennen indeed. Neverhad he known how to make this woman suffer; now he believed that theway was made plain before him.
"David Drennen," she said, the beauty of her face swept across with afiery anger, "one of these days I am going to kill you!"
He laughed. He had waited long to stand there before her as he nowstood, laughing at her. He had dreamed dreams of a time like this butalways his dreamings had fallen short of the reality. He would hurther and then, staring into her eyes, he would laugh at her. He saw therush of blood flaming up redly in her face, saw it draw out, leavingher cheeks white, and the evil in him raised its head and hissedthrough his laughter.
"_Sangre de Dios_!" muttered the Mexican, twisting his head as he stoodfacing the wall. "He has gone mad!"
Suddenly Ygerne had whipped off necklace and bracelet and had thrustdeep into her bosom the old famous French jewels which the gay Count ofBellaire had won across the green topped tables. It was Drennen's timeto shrug.
"Put them where you please," he told her with his old lip-lifted sneer."I'll get them. Put them between your white breasts that are as coldand bloodless as the stones themselves. I'll get them."
"You . . . you unspeakable cur!" she panted, in a flash scarlet-faced.
Garcia was edging slowly, noiselessly along the wall toward the tworevolvers, his and Ygerne's. Drennen whipped about upon him with asnapping curse.
"Stand where you are, do you hear? You go free of this when I amthrough . . . if you are not a fool! It is this girl I want. Her andSefton! Where is Sefton?"
Ygerne, biting her lips into silence, her eyes flashing at him, herinsulted breasts rising and falling passionately, answered him with hermute contempt. Garcia lifted his shoulders.
"With el senor Marco he is away for the horses. . . ."
"Liar!" said Drennen sternly. "What horses can climb these cliffs?"
"Don't answer his questions!" commanded Ygerne.
"Silence is as good as the lies I'd get," retorted Drennen.
He closed the heavy panelled door behind turn, dropping into place aniron bolt which fastened staple and hasp. There was one other door atthe far end of the long room; he moved toward it, at all times watchingGarcia and Ygerne. Here was a smaller room, perhaps a third the sizeof the first, without doors, its windows boarded up with thick ax-hewnslabs. The floor of this room had been wrenched loose and torn away;there were big chests still sunken in the soil beneath, the boxescrumbling and evidently broken in their hasty rifling.
He came back into the larger room. Sefton and Lemarc, when they came,must enter through the door at the front. And he could do nothing butwait, his heart burning with the feverish hope that they would comebefore Max and the others. He drew a bench close to the door and satdown, his face turned so that he could at once watch Ygerne and Garciaand not lose sight of the door. He rose again, almost immediately,picked up the two revolvers and the knife, dropped them to the floorunder his bench and sat down again.
Ygerne in a little, her eyes never leaving his face, sat where she hadbeen standing, upon the rug amidst the scattered gold. Now and thenher fingers stole from her lap to the old coins about her; once ortwice her fingers travelled slowly to her breast where the diamonds layhidden.
Garcia did not move. As commanded he faced the wall. Once or twiceonly he turned his head a little, his eyes paying no heed to Drennenbut seeking Ygerne. And his eyes were not gay now, but restless andtroubled.
In a deep silence through which the faint murmur of the branches abovethe Chateau Bellaire spoke like a quiet sigh, they waited. To each,with his own bitter thoughts, the time writhed slowly like a woundedserpent.
Upon a little thing did many human destinies depend that summerafternoon. Though a man's destiny be always suspended by a mere silkenthread, not always is it given to him to see the thread itself and knowhow fragile it is. Had Lieutenant Max been five minutes later inpicking up Drennen's trail . . . had Sefton and Lemarc returned to the"chateau" five minutes earlier, God knows where the story would haveended.
As it was it was Max's tread which Drennen's eager ears first hearddrawing near swiftly. And a moment later Max himself, with bigKootanie George at his heels and both Marshall Sothern and Ernestinehurrying after them, came running toward the strange building. Drennenat the door, his rifle laid across his arm, met them.
"Well?" snapped the officer. "What in hell's name have you done?"
Ygerne had leaped to her feet, a little glad cry upon her lips. Nodoubt she had thought that this was Sefton returning, Lemarc with him.She stood still, staring incredulously, as she saw who these otherswere. A strange man, with an air of command about him . . . KootanieGeorge, his face convulsed with rage as his eyes met her own . . .Marshall Sothern . . . Ernestine!
"I came to find Captain Sefton," was Drennen's slow answer to thelieutenant's challenge. "He is not here. I am waiting for him."
"You have killed him!" shouted Max, pushing through the doorway.
"I have not," said Drennen quietly. "But I shall."
"The Mexican, Garcia!" snapped Max irritably. "And the girl. I haveno warrant for them. Hell's bells! Where are the others?"
To answer his own question he strode toward the rear door. Half waydown the long room he stopped with a muttered exclamation of surprise.He had seen the gold upon the old bear skin.
"Have they robbed the Bank of England?" he gasped.
From without came the sharp rattle of shod hoofs against the rockyground.
"It is Sefton and Marco who return," murmured Garcia, his hand at hismustache, a look of great thoughtfulness in his eyes. "Now there willbe another kind of talk!"
And he looked regretfully toward the revolver lying under Drennen'sbench.
Wolf Breed Page 23