...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. T
hen 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