 EPISODE 11 OF THE FLAMING JUEL This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. THE FLAMING JUEL BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS EPISODE 11 THE PLACE OF PINES 1. The last sound that Mike Lynch heard on Earth was the detonation of his own rifle. Probably it was an agreeable sound to him. He lay there with a pleasant expression on his massive features. His watch had fallen out of his pocket. Quintana shined him with an electric torch, picked up the watch. Then, holding the torch in one hand, he went through the dead man's pockets very thoroughly. When Quintana had finished, both trays of the flat Morocco case were full of jewels. And Quintana was full of wonder and suspicion. Unquietly he looked upon the dead, upon the glittering contents of the jewel box, but always his gaze reverted to the dead. The faintest shadow of a smile edged Quintana's lips. Quintana's lips grew graver. He said slowly, like one who does his thinking aloud, What is it that you have done to me, La Ami-Clinch? Are there truly then two sets of precious stones, two flaming jewels, two gems of aerosite like there never has been in all this world except only two more? Have I hear one set of paced facsimiles? My friend, Clinch, why do you lie there and smile at me so very funny? Like you are amused. I am wondering what you may have done to me, my friend, Clinch. For a while he remained kneeling beside the dead. Then, ah, bah, he said, pocketing the Morocco case and getting to his feet. He moved a little way toward the open trail, stopped, came back, stood his rifle against the tree. For a while he was busy with his sharp Spanish clasp knife, whittling and fitting together two peeled twigs across was the ultimate result. Then he placed Clinch's hands palm to palm upon his chest, laid the cross on his breast and shined the result with complacency. Then Quintana took off his hat. La Ami-Mike, he said, you are a man. Adios. Quintana put on his hat. The path was free. The world lay open before Jose Quintana once more. The world, his hunting ground. But he thought uneasily, what is it that I bring home this time? How much is paced? My God, how droll that smile of Clinch, what is the false? His jewels are mine. Duque jetes pete. Me, who have not suspect that there are two trays within my jewel box. I understand. It is very simple. In the top tray the false James. Ah, paced on top to deceive a thief. Allors, then what I have recovered of Clinch is the real. Nom de du. How should I know? His smile is so very funny. I think these dead men make mock of me. All inside himself. So in darkness prowling south by west, shining the trail furtively and loaded rifle ready, Quintana moved with stealthy unhurried tread out of the wilderness that had trapped him and toward the tangled border of that outer world which led to safe, obscure, uncharted labyrinths, old world mazes, immemorial hunting grounds haunted by men who prey. The night had turned frosty. Quintana went to the knees and very tired moved slowly, not daring to leave a trail because sinkholes. However, the trail led to Clinch's dump and sooner or later he must leave it. What he had to have was a fire, he realized that. Somewhere off the trail, in Big Timber, if possible, he must build a fire and master this deadly chill that was slowly paralyzing all power of movement. He knew that a fire in the forest, particularly in Big Timber, could be seen only a little way. He must take his chances with sinkholes and find some spot in the forest to build that fire. Who could discover him except by accident? Who would prowl the Midnight Wilderness? At thirty yards the fire would not be visible and as for the odor, well, he'd be gone before dawn. Meanwhile, he must have that fire, he could wait no longer. He cut a pole first, then he left the trail where a little spring flowed west and turned to the right, shining the forest floor as he moved and sounding with his pole every wet stretch of moss, every strip of mud, every tiniest glimmer of water. At last he came to a place of pines, first growth giants towering at night and looking up, saw stars, infinitely distanced where perhaps those things called souls drifted like wisps of vapor. When the fire took, Quintana's thin dark hands had become nearly useless from cold. He could not have crooked fingers to trigger. For a long time he sat close to the blaze, slowly massaging his torpid limbs, but did not dare strip off his foot gear. Steam rose from putty and heavy shoe and from the sodden woollen breeches, warmth slowly penetrated. There was little smoke. The big dry branches were dead and bleached and he let the fire eat into them without using his axe. Once or twice he sighed, oh my god, in a weary, demmy voice as though a content of well-being were permeating him. Later he ate and drank languidly, looking up at the stars, speculating as to the possible presence of my clinch up there. Ah, the dirty thief, he murmured. Never the less, amen. Quel omet mes pétés offerer pleure. Je l'ai bien triche moi. Ha! Quintana smiled pale as he thought of the coat in gently swaying bush of the red glare of clinch's shot, of the death echo of his own shot. Then, uneasy, he drew out the Moroccan case and gazed at the two trays full of gems. The jewels blazed in the firelight. He touched them, moved them about, picked up several and examined them, testing the unset edges against his underlip as an expert tests Jade. But he couldn't tell. There was no knowing. He replaced them, closed the case, pocketed it. When he had a chance, he could try boiling water for one sort of trick. He could scratch one or two. Sard would know. He wondered whether Sard had got away, not concerned except selfishly. Quintana was at a price. Quintana rested both elbows on his knees and framed his dark face between both bony hands. What a chase, clinch had led him after the flaming jewel and now clinch laid dead in the forest faintly smiling. At what? In a very low, passionless voice, Quintana cursed monotonously as he gazed into the fire. In Spanish, French, Portuguese, Italian, he cursed clinch. After a little while, he remembered clinch's daughter. He cursed her too, elaborately, thoroughly, wishing her black miss-chance, awake in a sleep, living or dead. Dara too, he remembered in his curses and did not slight him, and the state trooper, Stormont, he should have killed all of them when he had the chance. And those two Baltic Russians, also the girl Duchess and her friend, one on earth hadn't he made a clean job of it? Over caution. A wary disinclination to stir up civilization by needless murder. But after all, old maxims, old beliefs, truths are the best. God knows, the dead don't talk, and that's the wisest wisdom of all. If, murmured Quintana fervently, God gives me further opportunity to acquire a little property to comfort me in my old age, I shall leave no gossiping fool to do me harm with his tongue. No, I kill. And though they raise a hue and cry, dead tongues cannot wag, and I save myself much annoyance in the end. He leaned his back against the trunk and slept after his own fashion. That is to say, looking closely at it, one could discover a glimmer under his lowered eyelid, and he listened always in that kind of sleep, as though a shadowy part of him were detached from his body and mowed guard over it. The inaudible movement of a woodmouse venturing into the firelit circle awoke Quintana, again a dropping leaf amid distant birches awoke him. Such things, and so he slept with wet feet to the fire and his rifle across his knees the flaming jewel was but a mass of glass. At that moment, the girl of whose white throat Quintana was dreaming and whining faintly in his dreams stood alone outside Cunch's dump, rifle in hand, listening, fighting the creeping dread that touched her slender body at times, seemed to touch her very heart with frost. Cunch's men had gone on to Ghost Lake with their wounded and dead, where there was fitter shelter for both. All had gone on. No, he remained to await Cunch's homecoming strayer. Black care, that tireless squire of dames had followed her from the time she had left Cunch, facing the spectral forest of Drowned Valley. An odd unusual dread waited her heart, something in emotions that she never before had experienced in time of danger. In it there was the deathly unease of premonition, but of what it was born she did not understand. Perhaps the strain of dangers passed of a shock of discovery concerning Smith's identity with Dara. The hated kinsmen of Herod the Abhorred. Fiercely she wondered how much her lover knew about this miserable masquerade. Was Stormont involved in this deception? Stormont the object of her first girl's passion? Stormont for whom she would have died? Wretched, perplexed, fiercely enraged at Dara, deadly anxious concerning Cunch, she had gone about cooking supper. The supper kept warm on the range, still awaiting the man who had no more need of meat and drink. Of the tragedy of Sard, Eve knew nothing. There were no traces saved in the disorder of the pantry and the bottle's chair on the veranda, who had visited the place except those from whom she and Stormont had fled did not appear. She had no idea why her stepfather's mattress and bed quilt lay in the pantry. Her heart heavy with ceaseless anxiety, Eve carried mattress and bedclothes to Cunch's chamber, remade his bed, wandered through the house, setting it in order. Then, in the kitchen, a strange dread that possessed her drove her out into the starlight till stand and listen, and stare at the dark forest where all her dread seemed concentrated. It was not yet dawn, but the girl could endure the strain no longer. With electric torch and rifles she started for the forest, almost running at first, then among the first trees, moving with caution and in silence along the trail over which Cunch should long since have journeyed homeward. In soft places when she ventured to flash her torch, footprints cast curious shadows, it was hard to make out tracks, so oddly distorted by the light. Prince mingled and partly obliterated other prince. She identified her own tracks leading south and guested others pointing north and south where they had carried in the wounded and had gone back to bring in the dead. But nowhere could she discover any impression resembling her stepfather's that great firm stride and solid imprint which so often had tracked through moss and swale which she knew so well. Once when she got up from her knees after close examination of the muddy trail she became aware of the slightest taint in the night air, stood with delicate nostrils quivering, advanced still conscious of the taint, listening, wary, every stealthy instance ordered. 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 might be distant. Whose fire? Her father's? Would a hunter of fire build a fire? The girl stood shivering in the dark. There was not a sound. Now keeping her cautious speed in the trail by sense of touch alone she moved on. Gradually as she advanced the odor of smoke became more distinct. She heard nothing, saw nothing, but there was a near reek of smoke in her nostrils and she stopped short. After a little while in the intense silence of the forest she ventured to touch the switch of her torch very cautiously. In the faint pale she saw a tiny rivulet flowing westward from a spring and, beside it, in the mud imprints of a man's feet. The tracks were small, narrow, slimmer than imprints made by any man she could think of. Under the glimmer of her torch they seemed quite fresh. Contours were still sharp, some ready to crumble and water stood in the heels. A little way she traced them, saw where their maker had cut a pole, peeled it, saw further on. There this unknown man had probed some mud, peppered some particularly suspicious swale with the series of holes as though a giant woodcock had been boring there. Who was this man wandering all alone at night off the Drowned Valley trail and probing the darkness with a pole? She knew it was not her father. She knew that no native, none of her father's men would behave in such a manner, nor could any of these have left such narrow, almost delicate tracks. As she stole along, dimly shining the tracks, lifting her head in listen and peer into the darkness, her quick eyes caught something ahead. Something very slightly different from the wall of black obscurity, a faint hint of color, the very vegas tint scarcely 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 smoke grew strong in nostril and throat, the pale tint became palely reddish. All about her, the blackness seemed palpable, seemed to touch her body with its weight, but ahead a ruddy glow stained two huge pines and presently she saw the fire, burning low but readily alive, and after a long, long while she saw a man. He had left the fire-circle, his pack and belted machina still lay there at the foot of a great tree, but when finally she discovered him, he was scarcely visible where he crouched in the shadow of a tree-trunk with his rifle half lowered at a ready. For her, it did not seem possible had he been crouching there since he made his fire, why had he made it for its warmth could not reach him there and why was he so stealthily watching, silent, unsteering, crouched in the shadows. She strained her eyes but distance and obscurity made recognition impossible, and yet somehow every quivering instinct within her was telling her that the crouched and shadowy watcher beyond the fire was Quintana, and every concentrated instinct was telling her if he caught sight of her. Her heart clamored it, her pulses thumped in her ears, had the girl been capable of it she would have killed him where he crouched. She thought of it, but knew it was not in her to do it, and yet Quintana had boasted that he meant to kill her father. That was what terribly concerned her, and there must be a way to stop that danger, some way to stop it short of murder, a way to render this man harmless to her and hers. No, she could not kill him this way, except in a dream she could not bring herself to fire upon any human creature, and yet this man must be rendered harmless somehow, somehow. Ah! As the problem presented itself its solution flashed into her mind. Men of the wilderness know how to take dangerous creatures alive. To take a dangerous and reasoning human was even less difficult because reason makes more mistakes than does instinct. Stealthily without a sound the girl crept back through the shadows over the damp pine until peering fearfully over her shoulder she saw the last ghost tint of Quintana's fire die out in the terrific dark behind. Slowly still she moved until her sensitive feet felt the trodden path from Drowned Valley. Now with torch flaring she ran, carrying her rifle at a trail, before her here and there little night creatures fled, a humped up raccoon dazzled by the glare, a barred owl still struggling with its wood rat kill. She ran easily an agile tireless young thing part of the swiftness and silence of the wood, part of the darkness, the sinuous celerity, the ominous hush of wide still paces part of its very blood and pulse and hot sweet breath. Even when she came out among the birches by clinches dumps she was breathing evenly without distress. She ran to the kitchen door but did not enter. On pegs under the porch a score more of rusty traps hung. She unhooked the largest wound the chain rounded, tucked it under 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 the taking alive of a dangerous man. Where two enormous pines grew close together near a sapling she knelt down and with both hands scooped out a big hollow in the immemorial layers of pine needles. Here she placed her trap. It took all her strength and skill to set it to fasten the chain around the base of the sapling pine. And now working with only the faintest glimmer of her torch she covered everything with pine needles. It was not possible to restore the forest floor the place remained visible, a darker rougher patch on the bronze carpet of needles beaten smooth by decades of random snow. No animal would have trodden that suspicious space but it was with man she had to deal a dangerous but reasoning man with few and atrophied instincts and with no experience in traps and therefore no dread of them. Before she started she had thrown a cartridge into the breach of her rifle. Now she pocketed her torch and seeded herself between the two big pines about three feet behind the hidden trap. Dawn was not far away. She looked upward through high pine tops where stars shone and saw no sign of Dawn. But the watcher by the fire was a stir now in the eminence of the dawn and evidently meant to warm himself before leaving. Eve could hear him piling dry wood on the fire. The light in the tree trunks grew redder. A pungent reek of smoke was drawn through the forest aisles. She sniffed it, listened, and watched her rifle across her knees. She 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 mind to fear Quintana's rifle. Even clinch was not as swift with a rifle as she. Only Stormont had been swifter, thank God. She thought of Stormont, sat there in the terrific darkness loving him, her heart of a child tremulous with adoration. Then the memory of Dara 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 Drowned Valley. Quintana was yonder by his fire, preparing to flee the wilderness where men fought. But where was clinch? Had this sneak Dara betrayed him? Was clinch already in the clutch of the state troopers? Was he in jail? At the thought the girl felt slightly faint. Then a rush of angry blood stung her face in the darkness. Except for game and excise violations the stories they told about clinch were lies. He had nothing to fear, nothing to be ashamed of. Herd had driven him to lawlessness. The government took away what was left him to make a living. He had to live. What if he did break laws made by millionaire and fanatic? What of it? He had her love and her respect and her deep, deep pity. And these were enough for any girl to fight for. Dawn spread a silvery light above his pines, but Quintana's fire still reddened the tree trunks. She could hear him feeding it at intervals. Finally she saw him. He came out on the edge of the ruddy ring of light and stood peering around at the woods where already a vague greyness was revealing nearer the trees. When finally he turned his back and looked at his fire, Eve rose and stood between the two big pines. Behind one of them she placed her rifle. It was growing lighter in the woods. She could see Quintana in the fire ring and outside. Saw him go out to the spring rivulet, lie flat, drink, then on his knees wash his face and hands in the icy water. It became plain to her that he was nearly ready to depart. She watched him preparing, and now she could see him plainly and knew him to be Quintana and no other. He had a light basket pack. He put some articles into it, stretched himself and yawned, pulled on his hat and hoisted the pack and fastened it to his back, stood staring at the fire for a long time, and with a sudden upward look at the zenith where a slight flush stained the cloud he picked up his rifle. At that moment Eve called him in a clear and steady voice. The effect on Quintana was instant. He was behind for her voice ceased. Hello, 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 seen him? After a moment she saw Quintana's head washing her, not at shoulder height of a man but close to the ground and just above the tree roots. Hey, she cried. What's the matter with you over there? I'm asking you who you are and if you've seen my father. After a while she saw Quintana coming toward her, circling, creeping swiftly from tree as he flitted through the shadows, the trees between which she was standing hit her from a moment. Instantly she placed her rifle on the ground and kicked the pine needles over it. As Quintana continued his encircling maneuvers, Eve apparently perplexed, walked out into the clear space, putting the concealed trap between her and Quintana, who now came stealthily toward her from the rear. It was evident that he had reconnoitred sufficiently to satisfy himself that 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 confidence, grace, yet holding his rifle ready for any emergency. Eve's horrified stare was natural. She had not realized that any man could wear so evil a smile. Quintana stopped short, a dozen paces away. The dramatic in him demanded of the moment its full value. He swept off his hat with a flourish, bowed deeply where he stood. Ah, he cried gaily. A happy encounter, senorita. God is too good to us. It was but a moment since my thoughts were of you. I swear it. It was not fear. It was a sort of slow horror of this man that began to creep over the girl. She stared at his brilliant eyes at his thick mouth, too red, shuttered slightly. But the toe of her right foot touched the stalk of her rifle under the pine needles. She held herself under control. So it is you, she said, quietly. I thought our people had caught you. Quintana laughed. Charming child, he said. It is I who have caught your people. And now, my God, I catch you. It is very funny, is it not? She looked straight into Quintana's black eyes. But the look he returned sent 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 on the pine needles, lifted his rifle on it, slipped out of his Mackinac, and laid that across his rifle, always keeping his brilliant eyes on her. His lips tightened, the muscles in his dark face grew tense, his eyes became a blazing insult. For an instant he stood there, unencumbered, a wiry, graceful shape in his woollen breeches, leggings, and gray shirt open at the throat. Then he took a step toward her, and the girl watched him, fascinated. One pace, two, a third, a fourth, the girl's involuntary cry echoed the stumbling crash of the man thrashing, clawing, scrambling at the clenched jaws of the bear trap amid a whirl of flying pine needles. He screamed once, tried to rise, turned blindly to seize the jaw that clutched him, and suddenly crouched, loose-jointed, cringing like a trapped wolf, the true fatalist among our lesser brothers. Eve picked up her rifle, she was trembling violently, then, mastering her emotion, she walked over to the pack, and as Quintana's rifle and Mackinac in it, Cooley hoisted it to her shoulders and buckled it there. Over her shoulders she kept an eye on Quintana who crouched where he had fallen, unsteering his deadly eyes watching her. She placed the muzzle of her rifle against his stomach, rested it so, holding it with one hand, and her finger at the trigger. At her brief order he turned out both breeches' pockets. She herself scooped and drew the Spanish-class knife from its sheath and a pistol from the holster, another out of his hit-pocket, reaching up and behind her, she dropped these into the pack. Maybe, she said slowly, your ankle is broken. I'll send somebody from Ghost Lake to find you. But whether you've broken bone or not, you'll not go very far, Quintana. After I'm gone you'll be able to free yourself, but you can't get away. You'll be followed and caught. So if you can walk at all, you'd better go into Ghost Lake and give yourself up. It's that or starvation. Don't stir or touch that trap for half an hour. And that's all. As she moved away to the Drowned Valley, she looked back at him. His face was bloodless, but his black eyes blazed. If ever you come into this forest again, she said, my father will surely kill you. To her horror, Quintana slowly grinded her. Then, still grinning, he placed the forefinger of his left hand between his teeth and bit it. Whatever he meant by the gesture, it seemed unclean, horrible, and hurried on, seized with an overwhelming loathing through which sort of terror pulsated like evil premonition in heavy and tortured heart. Straight into the fire of dawn she sped. A pale primrose light glimmered through the woods. Trees, bushes, undergrowth turned up dusky purple. Already the few small clouds overhead were edged with fiery rose. Then, of a sudden, a shaft of flame played over the forest. The sun had risen. Hastening, she searched the soft path for any imprint of her father's foot. And even in the vain search she hoped to find him at home, hurried on, burdened with two rifles in a pack, still all nervous and a quiver from her encounter with Quintana. Surely, surely, she thought, if he had missed Quintana in Drowned Valley, he would not linger in that ghastly place. He'd come home, call in his men, take counsel, perhaps. Mist over Starpawne was dissolving to a golden powder in blinding glory of the sun. The eastern windowpains and clenches dumped glittered as though the rooms inside were all on fire. Down through withered weeds and scrubs, she hurried, run across the grass to the kitchen door which swung a jar under its porch. Dad, she called, Dad! Only her own frightened voice echoed in empty house. She climbed the stairs to his room. The bed lay undisturbed as she made it. He was not in any of the rooms. There was no sign of him. Slowly she descended to the kitchen. He was not there. The food she had prepared for him had become cold on a chilled range. For a long while she stood staring through the window at the sunlight outside. Probably since Quintana had eluded him, he'd come home for something to eat. Surely now that Quintana had escaped, Clinch would come back for some breakfast. Eve slipped the pack from her back and laid it on the kitchen table. There was kindling in the wood box. She shook down the cinders, laid a fire, soaked it with kerosene, lighted it, filled the kettle with fresh water. In the pantry she cut some ham and found eggs, condensed milk, butter, bread, and an apple pie. After she had ground the coffee, she placed all these on a tray and carried them into the kitchen. Now there was nothing more to do until her father came and she sat down by the kitchen table to wait. Outside the sunlight was becoming warm and vivid. There had been no frost after all, or at most merely a white trace in the shadow on a fallen plank here and there, but not enough water turned to do and glittered and sparkled in a million hues and tents like gems, like the handful of jewels she had poured into her father's joined palms yesterday, there at the ghostly edge of Drowned Valley. At the memory and quite mechanically she turned her chair 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 pistol, a frypan and a tin pail and a rolled up machina. Under these the pack seemed to contain nothing except food and ammunition, staples and sacks and a few cans, lard, salt, tea, such things. The cartridge boxes she piled up on the table and 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 it. The garment also, the heavy brown and green machina she disliked to touch. To throw it outdoors was her intention, but as she lifted the coat it unboldened some things fell from the pockets to the kitchen table. Money, keys, watch, a flat leather case. She looked stupidly at the case. It had a coat of arms emblazoned on it. Still, stupidly as though dazed she laid one hand on it, drew it to her, opened it. The flaming jewel blazed in her face amid her eyes. Still she seemed slow to comprehend as though understand were paralyzed. It was when her eyes fell upon the watch that her heart seemed to stop. Suddenly her stunned senses were light as by an internal 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 an anguish or was her underfoot, 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 the 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's killed him. I didn't know it. Oh, Jack, Jack, he's at the place of pines. I'm going there to shoot him. Let me go. He killed dad. I tell you, he had dad's watch in the case of Jules. They were in his pack on the kitchen table. Eve, let me go! Eve! He held a 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 highlighted blue eyes never moved from his. We 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 in to sight. Then the state trooper turned the girl very gently and placed one arm around her shoulders. Very slowly they went away. His equipment was shining in the morning sun, and the sun fell on Eve's drooping head, turning her chestnut hair to fiery gold. An hour later trooper Stormont was at the place of Pines. There was nothing except an empty trap in the ashes of the dying fire beyond. End of Episode 11. Episode 12 of The Flaming Jule This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more videos visit LibriVox.org The Flaming Jule by Robert W. Chambers Episode 12. Her Highness Intervenes. 1. Toward noon the wind changed and about one o'clock it began to snow. Eve exhausted, lay on the sofa in her bedroom. Her stepfather lay on a table in the dance hall below, covered by a sheet from his own bed, and beside him sat trooper Stormont waiting. Here, too, of Mr. Lichen, 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 Herod's ghost didn't trespass. Here, too, of Mr. Lichen's able to dug a grave while the digging was still good. For if Mike Clinch was to lie underground that season there might be need of haste. No weather prophet ever having successfully forecast Adderondack weather. Eve, exhausted by shock and sleepless night, was spared the more harrowing details of the coroner's visit and the subsequent jaunty activities of Mr. Lichen and his efficient assistants. She had managed to dress herself in a black woolen gown, intending to watch by Mike, but Stormont's blunt authority prevailed and she laid down for an hour's rest. The hour-lengthened of many hours the girl slept heavily on her sofa under blanket, 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 people who somehow existed there. A few shy, half-wild young girls, a dozen silent-length 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 shanty youth cut hemlock to line the grave. Others erected a little fence of silver birch around it, making the enclosure a plot. A gaunt old woman from God knows where aided Mr. Lichen at intervals, a pretty sulky-eyed girl with her sloven, 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. Lichen was master of ceremonies. Trooper Stormont stood very tall and straight by the head of the casket. Clinch wore a vague, undefinable smile in his best clothes, the 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 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 Al Marsh. The troopers from five lakes are on the job, and we have enforcement at a long drowned valley from the scour to Herd Place. Does Dara know? Yes, he's in there with Mike. He brought a lot of flowers from Herd Place. The two troopers went into the dance hall where Dara was arranging the flowers from his greenhouses. Stormont said quietly, all right, Jim, but Eve must not know that they came from Herd's. Dara 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 What goods, demanded Dara 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 had arrived at the dump, here, leaving Quintana to get free from 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 track so far. After a silence. Too bad this snow came so late, remarked Trooper Lannis, but we ought to get Quintana anyway. Dara went over and looked silently at Mike's clinch. I like 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. I'll quit and take over the heritage state. You and I can go into business together later, if you like. After a pause. That's rather wonderful, Jim, said Stormont, but you don't know what sort of businessman I'd make. I know what sort of officer you make. 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 clenched his face again revealed was very faintly amused at something or other. The dead have much to be amused at. As Dara was about to go, Stormont said, we're bearing clench at eleven tomorrow morning. The Ghost Lake pilot officiates. I'll come if it won't upset Eve, said Dara. She won't notice anybody, I fancy, remarked Stormont. He stood by the veranda and watched Dara take the lake trail through the snow. Finally the glimmer of his swinging lantern was lost in the woods, and Stormont matted the stairs once more, stood silently by Eve's open door, realized she was still heavily asleep, 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 garve noticed Eve was growing restless. Downstairs the flotsam of the forests had gathered again. Mr. Lichen was there in black gloves. The Reverend Naomi 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. Trooper Stormont carried it to her room. She was awake when he entered. He set the tray on the table. She put both 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 power 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 tell 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 terrific snowstorm they buried Mike clinch on the spot he had selected in order that he might keep a watchful eye upon the trespassing ghost of old man Herod. It blew and stormed and stormed and the thin nasal voice of Reverend Smatter was utterly lost in the wind. The slanting lances 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. Lichen's talented assistants had some difficulty in shaking the mound which snow had began to make into a white and flawless monument. The last slab 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 went back into it one by one. Rev Smatter got into his sleigh plainly concerned about the road. Mr. Lichen betrayed unprofessional haste in loading his wagon and his talented assistants and starting for Ghost Lake. A game protector or two put on snowshoes when the departed Trooper Lannis let out his horse and Snormonts and got into the saddle. I better get the beast into Ghost Lake while I can," he said. You'll follow on snowshoes, won't you Jack? I don't know. I made it a sleigh leave. She can't remain here all alone. I'll telephone the inn. Dara, in blanket outfit, a pair of snowshoes on his back, a rifle in his mitten hand came trudging up from the lake. He and Snormont watched Lannis riding away with the two horses. He'll make it all right. But it's time he started, said the latter. Dara nodded. Some storm, where's Eve? In a 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 Dara, 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 Haired Place. She won't, said Snormont grimly. She might. Let me talk to her. Do you realize how she feels towards 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. Snormont hesitated, looked at him, nodded. Dara stood his rifle against the bench in the kitchen porch. They entered the house slowly and met Eve, descending the stairs. The girl looked at Dara, 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, and you lied about your purpose. You came here to betray Dad. If he'd known you would have killed you. Yes, he would have. But do you know why I came here, Eve? I've told you. And you were 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 Clinch. 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 Herob 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 Dara gravely. I've made some amends already. You don't know it, but I have. You may not believe it, but I liked him. He was a real man. Had anybody done to me what Henry Herob 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 into Henry Herob and Herob Place and every soul in it. The girl of silence 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 family and no closer friend than Jack Stormont asked him whether I am to be believed. Astounded the girl turned a flushed, incredulous face to Stormont. He said, you may trust Dara as you trust me. I don't know what he has to say to you, dear, but whatever he says will be the truth. Dara said gravely. Through a misunderstanding your father came into possession of stolen property, Eve. He did not know what had been stolen. I did. Mike Clinch would not have believed me had 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 came 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. It 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 Estonia. 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 Dara Triley. And to Eve, by accident this case of jewels emblazoned with the coat of arms of the Grand Duchess of Estonia came into your father's possession. That is the story, Eve. There was a silence. The girl looked at Stormont, flushed painfully, looked at Dara. Then without a word she turned, ascended the stairs and reappeared immediately carrying the leather case. Thank you, Mr. Dara, she said simply and laid the case in his hand. But, said Dara, I want you to do a little more, Eve. The owner of these gems is my guest at Herod Place. I want you to give them to her yourself. I... I... I can't go to Herod Place, stammered the girl. Please, don't visit the sins of Henry Herod on me, Eve. I... I don't, but... but that place... After a silence if Eve feels this way began Stormont awkwardly, I couldn't become associated with you in business, Jim. I'd rather sell Herod Place than lose you, retorted Dara almost sharply. I want to go into business with you, Jack, if Eve will permit me. She stood looking at Stormont, the heightened color playing in her cheeks as she began to comprehend the comradeship between these two men. Slowly she turned to Dara, offered her hand. I'll go to Herod Place, she said in a low voice. Dara's quick smile brightened the sombre gravity of his face. Eve, he said, When I came here this morning from Herod Place I was afraid you would refuse to listen to me. I was afraid you would not even see me, and so I brought with me somebody to whom I felt certain you would listen. I brought with me a young girl, a poor refugee from Russia, once wealthy today almost penniless. Her name is Theodorica, once she was a grand duchess of Estonia. But this morning a clergyman from five lakes changed her name. To such friends as you and Jack she is Rika Dara now, and she's having a wonderful time on her new snowshoes. He took Eve by one hand and Stormont by the other and drew them to the kitchen door and kicked it open. Through the swirling snow over on the lake slope at the timber edge a graceful boyish figure in scarlet and white wool moves swiftly over the drifts with all the naive delight of a child with a brand new toy. As Dara strode out into the open the distant figure flung up one arm in distant salutation and came racing over the drifts her brilliant scar flying. All aglow and a trifle breathless she met Dara just beyond the veranda rested one mitten hand on his shoulder while he knelt and unbuckled her snowshoes, stepped lightly from them and came forward to Eve without stretch hand and a sudden winning gravity in her lovely face. We shall be friends, surely she said in her quick winning voice, because my husband has told me and I am so grieve for you and I need a girl friend. Holding both Eve's hands her mittens dangling from her wrists she looked into her eyes very steadily slowly Eve's eyes filled more slowly still Rika kissed her on both cheeks framed her face in both hands kissed her lightly on the lips then still holding Eve's hand she turned and looked at Stormont I remember you now she said you were with my husband in Rika she freed her right hand and held it out to Stormont he had the grace to kiss it and did it very well for Yankee together they entered the kitchen door and turned into the dining room on the left where there were chairs around the plain pine table Dara said the new mistress of Herod place had selected your quarters Eve they had joined the quarters of her friend the Countess Orloff Strohwitz. Valentin begged me said Rika she is going to be lonely without me all hours of day and night we were trotting into one another's rooms she looked gravely at Eve you will like Valentin and she will like you very much as for me I already love you she put one arm around Eve's shoulders how could you think of her mating here all alone why I should never close my eyes for thinking of you dear Eve's head drooped she said in a stifled voice I'll go with you I want to I'm very tired we had better go now said Dara your things can be brought over later if you'll dress for snowshoeing Jack can pack what clothes you need are these snowshoes for him too Eve turned tragically to her lover in Dad's closet she said choking then turned and went up the stairs still clinging to Rika's hand and drawing her with her Stormont followed entered clinches quarters and presently came downstairs again carrying clinches and a basket pack he seated himself near Dara after a silence your wife is beautiful Jim her character seems to be even more beautiful she is like God's own messenger to Eve and you're rather wonderful yourself nonsense said Dara I've given my wife her first American friend and I've done a shrewd stroke of business nabbing the best business associate I ever heard of you're crazy but kind I hope I'll be some good one thing I'll never get over is what you've done for Eve in this crisis there'll be no crisis Jack marry and hook up with me in business that solves everything Lord what a life Eve has had but you'll make it all up to her all this loneliness and shame and misery of clinches dump Stormont touched his arm in caution Eve and Rika came down the stairs the former now in the gray wool snowshoe dress and carrying her snowshoes and toilet articles Stormont began to stow away her effects in the basket pack Dara went over to her and took her hand I'm so glad we are to be friends he said it hurt a lot to know you held me in contempt but I had to go about it that way Eve nodded then suddenly recollecting oh she exclaimed reddening I forgot the jewel case it's under my pillow she turned and sped upstairs and reappeared almost instantly carrying the jewel case breathless flushed thankful and happy and excitement of restitution she placed the leather case in Rika's hands my jewels cried the girl astounded then with a little cry of delight she placed the case upon the table stripped open the emblazoned cover and emptied the two trays all over the table rolled the jewels flashing scintillating a blaze with blinding light and at the same instant the outer door crashed open and Quintana covered them with Dara's rifle now by Christ he shouted who stirs a finger shall go to God in one jump you my Gendarame friend you my friend Smith turn your damn backs hands up high that's a way now ladies back away there get back or I kill sure by Jesus I kill you like I would some white little mice with incredible quickness he stepped forward and swept the jewels into one hand filled the pockets of his trousers caught up every stray stone and pocketed them you Gendarame he cried in a menacing voice you think you shall follow in my track yes I blow your damn head off if you serve before the hour after that well follow and be damned even as he spoke he stepped outside and slammed the door Dara and Stormont leaped for it then the loud detonation of Quintana's rifle was echoed by the splintering rip of bullets tearing through the closed door both men halted in the face of the leaden hail Eve ran to the pantry window and saw Quintana and somebody stolen lumber sledge lash a big pair of horses into a gallop and go floundering past into the ghost lake road as he sped by in a whirl of snow he fired five times at the house then rising and swinging his whip he flogged the frantic horses into the woods in the dining room Stormont red with rage and shame and having found his rifle on the corridor outside Eve's bedroom was trying to open the shutters for a shot and Dara empty handed searching the house frantically for a weapon Eve terribly excited came from the pantry he's gone she cried furiously he's in somebody's lumber sledge with a pair of horses and he's driving west like the devil Stormont ran to the tap room telephone and cranked it and warned the constable at five lakes good god he exclaimed turning to Dara Scarla with mortification what a ghastly business I never dreamed he was within miles of clinches it's the most shameful thing that has ever happened to me what could anybody do under that rifle said Eve hotly that beast would have murdered the first person who stirred Dara exasperated and dreadfully humiliated looked miserably at his brand new wife Eve and Stormont also looked at her she had come forward from the rear of the stairway where Quintana had brutally driven her now she stood with one hand on the empty leather jewel case looking at everybody out of pretty bewildered eyes to Dara in a perplexed unsteady voice is it the same planet who robbed us before yes Quintana he said wretchedly rage began to redden his features Rika he said I promise I'd find your jewels I promise you again that I'll never drop this business till your gems and the flaming jewel are in your possession but Jim I swear it he exclaimed wildly I'm not such a fool as I seem dear she protested excitedly you have done what she promised my gems are in my possession I believe she caught up the emblazing case stripped out the first tray then the second and flung them aside then searching with the delicate tip of her forefinger in the empty case she suddenly pressed the hard bottom thumb middle finger and little finger forming three apexes of an equilateral triangle there came a clear tiny sound like the ringing of the alarm in a repeating watch very gently the false bottom of the case detached itself and came away in the palm of her hand and there each embedded in its own shaped compartment of shammy laid the Estonian jewels the true ones deep hidden always doubly guarded by two sets of perfect imitations lining the two visible trays above and in the center blazed the aerosite gem the magnificent flaming jewel a glory of living blinding fire nobody stirred or spoke Dara blinked at the crystalline blaze as though stunned then the young girl who had once been her serene highness Theodorica grand Duchess of Estonia looked up at her brand new husband and laughed did you really suppose it was these that brought me across the ocean did you suppose it was a passion for these that filled my heart did you think it was for these that I followed you she laughed again turned to Eve you understand tell him if he had been in regs I would have followed him like a gypsy they say there is gypsy blood in us God knows I think perhaps there's a little bit in all real women still laughing she placed her hand lightly upon her heart in all women perhaps a flaming jewel embedded here her eyes tender and mocking met his she lifted the jewel case closed it and placed it in his hands now she said you have everything in your possession and we are safe we are quite safe now my jewels and I then she went to Eve and rested both hands on her shoulders shall we put on our snowshoes and go home Stormont flung open the bullet splinter door outside of snow he dropped on both knees to buckle Eve's snowshoes Dara was performing a like office for his wife and the state trooper being unobserved took Eve's slim hand and kissed them looking up at her where he was kneeling her pale face blushed as it had the day in the woods on Owl Marsh so long so long ago when this man's lips first touched her hands as their eyes met both remembered then she smiled at her lover with the shy girl's soul of her gazing at it him through eyes as blue as the wild blind Gentians that grow among the ferns and mosses of star pond far away in the northwestern forest Quintana still lashed his horses through the primeval pines triumphant, reckless, resourceful, dangerous he felt now that nothing could stop him nothing bar his weight freedom out of the wilderness lay his road his destiny out of it he must win his way by strategy by cunning by violence creep out lie his way out shoot his way out it scarcely mattered he was going out he was going back to life once more who could forbid him who could stop him who could deny him now when in his pocket he held all that was worth living for the keys to power to pleasure the key to everything on earth in fierce exultation he slapped the glass jewels in his pocket and laughed aloud the keys to the world he cried let him stop me and take them who is better man than I than his long whip whistled and he cursed his horses then of a sudden close by in a snowy road ahead he saw a state trooper on snowshoes saw the upflung arm warning him screamed curses at his horses flogged them forward to crush this thing to death that dared menace him this object that suddenly rose up out of nowhere to snatch from him the keys of the world for a moment the state trooper looked after the runaway horses there was no use following they'd have run till they dropped then he lowered the leveled rifle from his shoulder looked grimly at the limp thing which had tumbled from the sledge into the snowy road and which sprawled there crimsoning the spotless flakes that fell upon it the end end of episode 12 End of the Flaming Jewel by Robert W. Chambers this reading by Wyatt Erickson