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.
Wit
h 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 invocatio
n, 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
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