came up, he quietlytook his weapon from him and laid it beside his own.
"What-a da matt'?" demanded Salzar, astonished. "Why you take my gun?"
Smith measured him. They were well matched.
"Set your torch in that crotch," he said.
Salzar, puzzled and impatient, demanded to know why. Smith took bothtorches, set them opposite each other and drew Salzar into the whiteglare.
"Now," he said, "you dirty desperado, I am going to try to kill youclean. Look out for yourself!"
For a second Salzar stood rooted in blank astonishment.
"I'm one of Clinch's men," said Smith, "but I can't stick a knife inyour back, at that! Now, take care of yourself if you can----"
His voice died in his throat; Salzar was on him, clawing, biting,kicking, striving to strangle him, to wrestle him off his feet. Smithreeled, staggering under the sheer rush of the man, almost blinded byblows, clutched, bewildered in Salzar's panther grip.
For a moment he writhed there, searching blindly for his enemy's wrist,striving to avoid the teeth that snapped at his throat, stifled by thehot stench of the man's breath in his face.
"I keel you! I keel you! Damn! Damn!" panted Salzar, in convulsivefury as Smith freed his left arm and struck him in the face.
Now, on the narrow, wet and slippery strip of rock they swayed to andfro, murderously interlocked, their heavy boots splashing, battling withlimb and body.
Twice Salzar forced Smith outward over the sink, trying to end it, butcould not free himself.
Once, too, he managed to get a hidden knife, drag it out and stab athead and throat; but Smith caught the fist that wielded it, forced backthe arm, held it while Salzar screamed at him, lunging at his face withbared teeth.
Suddenly the end came: Salzar's body heaved upward, sprawled for aninstant in the dazzling glare, hurtled over Smith's head and fell intothe sink with a crashing splash.
Frantically he thrashed there, spattering and floundering in darkness.He made no outcry. Probably he had landed head first.
In a moment only a vague heaving came from the unseen ooze.
Smith, exhausted, drenched with sweat, leaned against a tamarack,sickened.
After all sound had ceased he straightened up with an effort. Presentlyhe bent and recovered Salzar's red bandana and his hat, lifted his ownrifle and pack and struggled into the harness. Then, kicking Salzar'srifle overboard, he unfastened both torches, pocketed one, and startedon in a flood of ghostly light.
He was shaking all over and the torch quivered in his hand. He had seenmen die in the Great War. He had been near death himself. But neverbefore had he been near death in so horrible a form. The sodden noisesin the mud, the deadened flopping of the sinking body -- mud-plasteredhands beating frantically on mud, splattering, agonising in darkness --"My God," he breathed, "anything but that -- anything but that! ----"
* * * * *
II
Before midnight he struck the hard forest. Here there was no trail atall, only spreading outcrop of crock under dying leaves.
He could see a few stars. Cautiously he ventured to shine his compassclose to the ground. He was still headed right. The ghastly sinkcountry lay behind him.
About of him, somewhere in the darkness -- but how far he did not know-- Quintana and his people were moving swiftly at Clinch's Dump.
It may have been an hour later -- two hours, perhaps -- when from farahead in the forest came a sound -- the faint clink of a shod heel onrock.
Now, Smith unslung his pack, placed it between two rocks where laurelgrew.
Salzar's red bandanna was still wet, but he tied it across his face,leaving his eyes exposed. The dead man's hat fitted him. His own hatand the extra torch he dropped into his basket-pack.
Ready, now, he moved swiftly forward, trailing his rifle. And very soonit became plain to him that the people ahead were moving without muchcaution, evidently fearing no unfriendly ear or eye in that section ofthe wilderness.
Smith could hear their tread on rock and root and rotten branch, orswishing through frosted fern and brake, or louder on newly fallenleaves.
At times he could even see the round white glare of a torch on theground -- see it shift ahead, lighting up tree trunks, spread out,fanlike, into a wide, misty glory, then vanish as darkness rushed infrom the vast ocean of the night.
Once they halted at a brook. Their torches flashed it; he heard themsounding its depths with their gun-butts.
Smith knew that brook. It was the east branch of Star Brook, the inletto Star Pond.
Far ahead above the trees the sky seemed luminous. It was star lustreover the pond, turning the mist to a silvery splendour.
Now the people ahead of him moved with more caution, crossing the brookwithout splashing, and their boots made less noise in the woods.
To keep in touch with them Smith hastened his pace until he drew nearenough to hear the low murmur of their voices.
They were travelling in single file; he had a glimpse of them againstthe ghostly radiance ahead. Indeed, so near had he approached that hecould hear the heavy, laboured breathing of the last man in the file --some laggard who dragged his feet, plodding on doggedly, panting,muttering. Probably the man was Sard.
Already the forest in front was invaded by the misty radiance from theclearing. Through the trees starlight glimmered on water. The perfumeof the open land grew in the night air, -- the scent of dew-wet grass,the smell of still water and of sedgy shores.
Lying flat behind a rotting log, Smith could see them all now, --spectral shapes against the light. There were five of them at theforest's edge.
They seemed to know what was to be done and how to do it. Two went downamong the ferns and stunted willows toward the west shore of the pond;two sheered off to the southwest, shoulder deep in blackberry and sumac.The fifth man waited for a while, then ran down across the open pasture.
Scarcely had he started when Smith glided to the wood's edge, crouched,and looked down.
Below stood Clinch's Dump, plain in the starlight, every window dark.To the west the barn loomed, huge with its ramshackle outbuildingsstraggling toward the lake.
Straight down the slope toward the barn ran the fifth man of Quintana'sgang, and disappeared among the out-buildings.
Smith crept after him through the sumacs; and, at the foot of the slope,squatted low in a clump of rag-weed.
So close to the house was he now that he could hear the dew rattling onthe veranda roof. He saw shadowy figures appear, one after another, andtake stations at the four corners of the house. The fifth man wassomewhere near the out-buildings, very silent about whatever he had onhand.
The stillness was absolute save for the drumming dew and a faint ripplefrom the water's edge.
Smith crouched, listened, searched the starlight with intent eyes, andwaited.
Until something happened he could not solve the problem before him. Hecould be of no use to Eve Strayer and to Stormont until he found outwhat Quintana was going to do.
He could be of little use anyway unless he got into the house, where tworifles might hold out against five.
There was no use in trying to get to Ghost Lake for assistance. He feltthat whatever was about to happen would come with a rush. It would beall over before he had gone five minutes. No; the only thing to do wasto stay where he was.
As for his pledge to the little Grand Duchess, that was always in hismind. Sooner or later, he was going to make good his pledge.
He knew Quintana and his gang were here to find the Flaming Jewel.
Had he not encountered Quintana, his own errand had been the same. ForSmith had started for Clinch's prepared to reveal himself to Stormont,and then, masked to the eyes -- and to save Eve from a broken heart, andClinch from States Prison -- he had meant to rob the girl atpistol-point.
It was the only way to save Clinch, the only way to save the pride ofhis blindly loyal girl. For the arrest of Clinch meant ruin to both,and Smith realised it
thoughtfully.
* * * * *
A slight sound form one of the out-houses -- a sort of wagon-shed --attracted his attention. Through the frost-highlighted rag-weeds afaint glow appeared in the shed. There was a crackling noise. The glowgrew pinker.
* * * * *
III
Inside Clinch's home Eve awoke with a start. Her ears were filled witha strange, rushing, cracking noise. A rosy glare danced and shookoutside her windows.
As she sprang to the floor on bandaged feet, a shrill scream burst outof the ruddy darkness -- unearthly, horrible; and there came athunderous battering from the burn.
The girl tore open her bedroom door. "Jack!" she cried in a terrifiedvoice. "The barn's on fire!"
"Good Good!" he said, "-- my horse!"
He had already sprung from his chair outside her door. Now he randownstairs, and she heard bolt and chain clash at the kitchen door andhis spurred boots land on the porch.
"Oh," she whimpered, snatching a
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