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 t
urned 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