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. B
ut 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 s
aid, "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,