Complete weird tales of.., p.1180
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 1180
At the memory, and quite mechanically, she turned in her char and drew
Quintana’s basket pack toward her.
First she lifted out his rifle, examined it, set it against the window sill. Then, one by one, she drew out two pistols, loaded; the murderous Spanish clasp-knife; an axe; a fry-pan and a tin pail, and the rolled-up mackinaw.
Under these the pack seemed to contain nothing except food and ammunition; staples in sacks and a few cans — lard, salt, tea — such things.
The cartridge boxes she piled up on the table; the food she tossed into a tin swill bucket.
About the effects of this man it seemed to her as though something unclean lingered. She could scarcely bear to handle them, — threw them from her with disgust.
The garment, also — the heavy brown and green mackinaw — she disliked to touch. to throw it out doors was her intention; but, as she lifted the coat, it unrolled and some things fell form the pockets to the kitchen table, — money, keys, a watch, a flat leather case ——
She looked stupidly at the case. It had a coat of arms emblazoned on it.
Still, stupidly and as though dazed, she laid one hand on it, drew it to her, opened it.
The Flaming Jewel blazed in her face amid a heap of glittering gems.
Still she seemed slow to comprehend — as though understanding were paralysed.
It was when her eyes fell upon the watch that her heart seemed to stop.
Suddenly her stunned senses were lighted as by an infernal flare. …
Under the awful blow she swayed upright to her feet, sick with fright,
her eyes fixed on her father’s watch.
It was still ticking.
She did not know whether she cried out in anguish or was dumb under it.
The house seemed to reel around her; under foot too.
When she came to her senses she found herself outside the house, running with her rifle, already entering the woods. But, inside the barrier of trees, something blocked her way, stopped her, — a man — her man!
“Eve! In God’s name! — —” he said as she struggled in his arms; but she fought him and strove to tear her body from his embrace:
“They’ve killed Dad!” she panted,— “Quintana killed him. I didn’t know — oh, I didn’t know! — and I let Quintana go! Oh, Jack, Jack, he’s at the Place of Pines! I’m going there to shoot him! Let me go! — he’s killed Dad, I tell you! He had Dad’s watch — and the case of jewels — they were in his pack on the kitchen table — —”
“Eve!”
“Let me go! — —”
“Eve!” He held her rigid a moment in his powerful grip, compelled her dazed, half-crazed eyes to meet his own:
“You must come to your senses,” he said. “Listen to what I say: they are bringing in your father.”
Her dilated blue eyes never moved from his.
“W found him in Drowned Valley at sunrise,” said Stormont quietly. “The men are only a few rods behind me. They are carrying him out.”
Her lips made a word without sound.
“Yes,” said Stormont in a low voice.
There was a sound in the woods behind them. Stormont turned. Far away down the trail the men came into sight.
Then the State Trooper turned the girl very gently and placed one arm around her shoulders.
Very slowly they descended the hill together. His equipment was shining in the morning sun: and the sun fell on Eve’s drooping head, turning her chestnut hair into fiery gold.
* * * * *
An hour later Trooper Stormont was at the Place of Pines.
There was nothing there except an empty trap and the ashes of the dying fire beyond.
* * * * *
Episode Twelve
Her Highness Intervenes
* * * * *
I
Toward noon the wind changed, and about one o’clock it began to snow.
Eve, exhausted, lay on the sofa in her bedroom. Her step-father lay on a table in the dance hall below, covered by a sheet from his own bed. And beside him sat Trooper Stormont, waiting.
It was snowing heavily when Mr. Lyken, the little undertaker from Ghost Lake, arrived with several assistants, a casket, and what he called “swell trimmings.”
Long ago Mike Clinch had selected his own mortuary site and had driven a section of iron pipe into the ground on a ferny knoll overlooking Star Pond. In explanation he grimly remarked to Eve that after death he preferred to be planted where he could see that Old Harrod’s ghost didn’t trespass.
Here two of Mr. Lyken’s able assistants dug a grave while the digging was still good; for it Mike Clinch was to lie underground that season there might be need of haste — no weather prophet ever having successfully forecast Adirondack weather.
Eve, exhausted by shock an a sleepless night, was spared the more harrowing details of the coroner’s visit and the subsequent jaunty activities of Mr. Lyken and his efficient assistants.
She had managed to dress herself in a black wool gown, intending to watch by Mike, but Stormont’s blunt authority prevailed and she lay down for an hour’s rest.
The hour lengthened into many hours; the girl slept heavily on her sofa under blankets laid over her by Stormont.
All that dark, snowy day she slept, mercifully unconscious of the proceedings below.
In its own mysterious way the news penetrated the wilderness; and out of the desolation of forest and swamp and mountain drifted the people who somehow existed there — a few shy, half wild young girls, a dozen silent, lank men, two or three of Clinch’s own people, who stood silently about in the falling snow and lent a hand whenever requested.
One long shanked youth cut hemlock to line the grave; others erected a little fence of silver birch around it, making of the enclosure a “plot.”
A gaunt old woman from God knows where aided Mr. Lyken at intervals: a pretty, sulky-eyed girl with her slovenly, red-headed sister cooked for anybody who desired nourishment.
When Mike was ready to hold the inevitable reception everybody filed into the dance hall. Mr. Lyken was master of ceremonies: Trooper Stormont stood very tall and straight by the head of the casket.
Clinch wore a vague, indefinable smile and his best clothes, — that same smile which had so troubled Jose Quintana.
Light was fading fast in the room when the last visitor took silent leave of Clinch and rejoined the groups in the kitchen, where were the funeral baked meats.
Eve still slept. Descending again from his reconnaissance, Trooper
Stormont encountered Trooper Lannis below.
“Has anybody picked up Quintana’s tracks?” inquired the former.
“Not so far. An Inspector and two state Game Protectors are out beyond Owl Marsh. The Troopers from Five Lakes are on the job, and we have enforcement men along Drowned Valley from The Scaur to Harrod Place.”
“Does Darragh know?”
“Yes. He’s in there with Mike. He brought a lot of flowers from Harrod
Place.”
The two troopers went into the dance hall where Darragh was arranging the flowers from his greenhouses.
Stormont said quietly: “All right, Jim, but Eve must not know that they came from Harrod’s.”
Darragh nodded: “How is she, Jack?”
“All in.”
“Do you know the story?”
“Yes. Mike went into Drowned Valley early last evening after Quintana. He didn’t come back. Before dawn this morning Eve located Quintana, set a bear-trap for him, and caught him with the goods — —”
“What goods?” demanded Darragh sharply.
“Well, she got his pack and found Mike’s watch and jewelry in it — —”
“What jewelry?”
“The jewels Quintana was after. But that was after she’d arrived at the
Dump, here, leaving Quintana to get free of the trap and beat it.
“That’s how I met her — half crazed, going to find Quintana again. We’d found Mike in Drowned Valley and were bringing him out when I ran into Eve. … I brought her back here and called Ghost Lake. … They haven’t picked up Quintana’s tracks so far.”
After a silence: “Too bad this snow came so late,” remarked Trooper
Lannis. But we ought to get Quintana anyway.”
Darragh went over and looked silently at Mike Clinch
“I liked you,” he said under his breath. “It wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t mine, Mike. … I’ll try to square things. Don’t worry.”
He came back slowly to where Stormont was standing near the door:
“Jack,” he said, “you can’t marry Eve on a Trooper’s pay. Why not quit and take over the Harrod estate? … You and I can go into business together later if you like.”
After a pause: “That’s rather wonderful of you, Jim,” said Stormont, “but you don’t know what sort of business man I’d make — —”
“I know what sort of officer you made. … I’m taking no chance. … And I’ll make my peace with Eve — or somebody will do it for me. .. Is it settled then?”
“Thanks,” said Trooper Stormont, reddening. They clasped hands. Then Stormont went about and lighted the candles in the room. Clinch’s face, again revealed, was still faintly amused at something or other. The dead have much to be amused at.
As Darragh was about to go, Stormont said: “We’re burying Clinch at eleven to-morrow morning. The Ghost Lake Pilot officiates.”
“I’ll come if it won’t upset Eve,” said Darragh.
“She won’t notice anybody, I fancy,” remarked Stormont.
He stood by the veranda and watched Darragh take the Lake Trail through the snow. Finally the glimmer of his swinging lantern was lost in the woods and Stormont mounted the stairs once more, stood silently by Eve’s open door, realised she was still heavily asleep, and seated himself on a chair outside her door to watch and wait.
* * * * *
All night long it snowed hard over the Star Pond country, and the late grey light of morning revealed a blinding storm pelting a white robed world.
Toward ten o’clock, Stormont, on guard, noticed that Eve was growing restless.
Downstairs the flotsam of the forest had gathered again: Mr. Lyken was there in black gloves; the Reverend Laomi Smatter had arrived in a sleigh from Ghost Lake. Both were breakfasting heavily.
The pretty, sulky-faced girl fetched a tray and placed Eve’s breakfast on it; and Trooper Stormont carried it to her room.
She was awake when he entered. He set the tray on the table. She put both her arms around his neck.
“Jack,” she murmured, her eyes tremulous with tears.
“Everything has been done,” he said. “Will you be ready by eleven?
I’ll come for you.”
She clung to him in silence for a while.
* * * * *
At eleven he knocked on her door. She opened it. She wore her black wool gown and a black fur turban. Some of her pallor remained — traces of tears and bluish smears under both eyes. But her voice was steady.
“Could I see Dad a moment alone?”
“Of course.”
She took his arm: they descended the stairs. There seemed to be many people about but she did not lift her eyes until her lover led her into the dance hall where Clinch lay smiling his mysterious smile.
Then Stormont left her alone there and closed the door.
* * * * *
In a terrible snow-storm they buried Mike Clinch on the spot he had selected, in order that he might keep a watchful eye on the trespassing ghost of old man Harrod.
It blew and stormed and stormed, and the thin, nasal voice of “Rev. Smatter” was utterly lost in the wind. The slanting laces of snow drove down on the casket, building a white mound over the flowers, blotting the hemlock boughs from sight.
There was no time to be lost now; the ground was freezing under a veering and bitter wind out of the west. Mr. Lyken’s talented assistants had some difficulty in shaping the mound which snow began to make into a white and flawless monument.
The last slap of the spade rang with a metallic jar across the lake, where snow already blotted the newly forming film of ice; the human denizens of the wilderness filtered back into it one by one; “Rev. Smatter” got into his sleigh, plainly concerned about the road; Mr. Lyken betrayed unprofessional haste in loading his wagon with his talented assistants and starting for Ghost Lake.
A Game Protector or two put on snow-shoes when they departed. Trooper
Lannis led out his horse and Stormont’s, and got into the saddle.
“I’d better get these beasts into Ghost Lake while I can,” he said.
“You’ll follow on snow-shoes, won’t you, Jack?”
“I don’t know. I may need a sleigh for Eve. She can’t remain here all alone. I’ll telephone the Inn.”
Darragh, in blanket outfit, a pair of snow-shoes on his back, a rifle in his mittened hand, came trudging up from the lake. He and Stormont watched Lannis riding away with the two horses.
“He’ll make it all right, but it’s time he started,” said the latter.
Darragh nodded: “Some storm. Where is Eve?”
“In her room.”
What is she going to do, Jack?”
“Marry me as soon as possible. She wants to stay here for a few days but I can’t leave her here alone. I think I’ll telephone to Ghost Lake for a sleigh.”
“Let me talk to her,” said Darragh in a low voice.
“Do you think you’d better — at such a time?”
“I think it’s a good time. It will divert her mind, anyway. I want her to come to Harrod Place.”
“She won’t,” said Stormont grimly.
“She might. Let me talk to her.”
“Do you realise how she feels toward you, Jim?”
“I do, indeed. And I don’t blame her. But let me tell you; Eve Strayer is the most honest and fair-minded girl I ever knew. … Except one. … I’ll take a chance that she’ll listen to me. … Sooner or later she will be obliged to hear what I have to tell her. … But it will be easier for her — for everybody — if I speak to her now. Let me try, Jack.”
Stormont hesitate, looked at him, nodded. Darragh stood his rifle against the bench on the kitchen porch. They entered the house slowly. And met Eve descending the stairs.
The girl looked at Darragh, astonished, then her pale face flushed with anger.
“What are you doing in this house?” she demanded unsteadily. “Have you no decency, no shame?”
“Yes,” he said, “I am ashamed of what my kinsman has done to you and yours. That is partly why I am here.”
“You came here as a spy,” she said with hot contempt. “You lied about your name; you lied about your purpose. You came here to betray Dad! If he had known it he would have killed you!”
“Yes, he would have. But — do you know why I came here, Eve?”
“I’ve told you!”
“And you are wrong. I didn’t come here to betray Mike Clinch; I came to save him.”
“Do you suppose I believe a man who has lied to Dad?” she cried.
“I don’t ask you to, Eve. I shall let somebody else prove what I say. I don’t blame you for your attitude. God knows I don’t blame Mike Clinch. He stood up like a man to Henry Harrod. … All I ask is to undo some of the rotten things that my uncle did to you and yours. And that is partly why I came here.”
The girl said passionately: “Neither Dad nor I want anything from Harrod Place or from you! Do you suppose you can come here after Dad is dead and pretend you want to make amends for what your uncle did to us?”
“Eve,” said Darragh gravely, “I’ve made some amends already. You don’t know it, but I have. … You may not believe it, but I liked your father. He was a real man. Had anybody done to me what Henry Harrod did to your father I’d have behaved as your father behaved; I’d never have budged from this spot; I’d have hunted where I chose; I’d have borne an implacable hatred against Henry Harrod and Harrod Place, and every soul in it!”
The girl, silenced, looked at him without belief.
He said: “I am not surprised that you distrust what I say. But the man you are going to marry was a junior officer in my command. I have no closer friend than Jack Stormont. Ask him whether I am to be believed.”
Astounded, the girl turned a flushed, incredulous face to Stormont.
He said: “You may trust Darragh as you trust me. I don’t know what he has to say to you, dear. But whatever he says will be the truth.”
Darragh said, gravely: “Through a misunderstanding your father came into possession of stolen property, Eve. He did not know it had been stolen. I did. But Mike Clinch would not have believed me if I told him that the case of jewels in his possession had been stolen from a woman. … Quintana stole them. By accident they came into your father’s possession. I learned of this. I had promised this woman to recover her jewels.
“I cam here for that purpose, Eve. And for two reasons: first, because I learned that Quintana also was coming here to rob your father of these gems; second, because, when I knew your father, and knew you, I concluded that it would be an outrage to call on the police. I would mean prison for Clinch, misery and ruin for you, Eve. So — I tried to steal the jewels … to save you both.”
He looked at Stormont, who seemed astonished.
“To whom do these jewels belong, Jim?” demanded the trooper.
“To the young Grand Duchess of Esthonia. … Do you remember that I befriended her over there?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember that the Reds were accused of burning her chateau and looting it?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, it was Quintana and his gang of international criminals who did that,” said Darragh drily.
And, to Eve: “By accident this case of jewels, emblazoned with the coat of arms of the Grand Duchess of Esthonia, came into your father’s possession. That is the story, Eve.”
