A coward died many times before Old Man Death really gets him.
The swimming minutes passed; his mind ceased to live for a space. Then,
as through the swirling waters of the last dark whirlpool, a dulled roar
of returning consciousness filled his being.
Somebody was shaking him, shouting at him. Suddenly instinct resumed
its function, and he struggled madly to get away from the edge of the
sink-hole -- fought his way, blindly, through the tangled undergrowth
toward the hard ridge. No human power could have blocked the frantic
creature thrashing toward solid ground.
But there Quintana held him in his wiry grip.
"Fool! Mule! Crazee fellow! What did you do, eh? For why you make
jumps like rabbits! Eh? You expec' Quintana? Yes? Alors!"
Leverett, in a state of collapse, sagged back against an oak tree.
Quintana's nervous grasp fell from his arms and they swung, dangling.
"What you do by that pond-hole? Eh? I come and touch you, and, my God!
-- one would think I have stab you. Such an ass!"
The sickly greenish hue changed in Leverett's face as the warmer tide
stirred from its stagnation. He lifted his head and tried to look at
Quintana.
"Where Jake Kloon?" demanded the latter.
At that the weasel wits of the trap-robber awoke to the instant crisis.
Blood and pulse began to jump. He passed one dirty hand over his mouth
to mask any twitching.
"Where's my packet, eh?" inquired Quintana.
"Jake's got it." Leverett's voice was growing stronger. His small eyes
switched for an instant toward his rifle, where it stood against a tree
behind Quintana.
"Where is he, then, this Jake?" repeated Quintana impatiently.
"He got bogged."
"Bogged? What is that, then?"
"He got into a sink-hole."
"What!"
"That's all I know," said Leverett, sullenly. "Him and me was
travellin' hell-bent to meet up with you, -- Jake, he was for a short
cut to Drowned Valley, -- but 'no,' sez I, sink-holes into the
woods----'"
"What is it the talk you talk to me?" asked Quintana, whose perplexed
features began to darken. "Where is it, my packet?"
"I'm tellin' you, ain't I?" retorted the other, raising a voice now
shrill with the strain of this new crisis rushing so unexpectedly upon
him: "I heard Jake give a holler. `What the hell's the trouble?' I
yells. Then he lets out a beller, `Save me!' he screeches, `I'm into a
sink-hole! The quicksand's got me,' sez he. So I drop my rifle, I did,
-- there she stands against that birch sapling! -- and I run down into
them there pitcher-plants.
"`Whar be ye!' I yells. Then I listens, and don't hear nothin' only a
kina wallerin' noise an' a slobber like he was gulpin' mud.
"Then I foller them there sounds and I come out by that sink-hole. The
water was a-shakin' all over but Jake he had went down plum out o'
sight. T'want no use. I cut a sapling an' I poked down. I was sick
and scared like, so when you come up over the moss, not makin' no noise,
an' grabbed me -- God! -- I guess you'd jump, too."
Quintana's dark, tense face was expressionless when Leverett ventured to
look at him. Like most liars he realised the advisability of looking
his victim straight in the eyes. This he managed to accomplish,
sustaining the cold intensity of Quintana's gaze as long as he deemed it
necessary. Then he started toward his rifle. Quintana blocked his way.
"Where my packet?"
"Gol ram it! Ain't I told you? Jake had it in his pocket."
"My packet?"
"Yaas, yourn."
"My packet, it is down in thee sink 'ole?"
"You think I'm lyin'?" blustered Leverett, trying to move around
Quintana's extended arm. The arm swerved and clutched him by the collar
of his flannel shirt.
"Wait, my frien'," said Quintana in a soft voice. "You shall explain to
me some things before you go."
"Explain what! -- you gol dinged----"
Quintana shook him into speechlessness.
"Listen, my frien'," he continued with a terrifying smile, "I mus' ask
you what it was, that gun-shot, which I hear while I await at Drown'
Vallee. Eh? Who fire a gun?"
"I ain't heard no gun," replied Leverett in a strangled voice.
"You did not shoot? No?"
"No! -- damn it all----"
"And Jake? He did not fire?"
"No, I tell yeh----"
"Ah! Someone lies. It is not me, my frien'. No. Let us examine your
rifle----"
Leverett made a rush for the gun; Quintana slung him back against the
oak tree and thrust an automatic pistol against his chin.
"Han's up, my frien'," he said gently, "-- up! high up! -- or someone
will fire another shot you shall never hear. ... So! ... Now I search
the other pocket. ... So! ... Still no packet. Bah! Not in the pants,
either? Ah, bah! But wait! Tiens! What is this you hide inside your
shirt----?"
"I was jokin'," gasped Leverett; "-- I was jest a-goin' to give it to
you----"
"Is that my packet?"
"Yes. It was all in fun; I wan't a-going to steal it----"
Quintana unbuttoned the grey wool shirt, thrust in his hand and drew
forth the packet for which Jake Kloon had died within the hour.
Suddenly Leverett's knees gave way and he dropped to the ground,
grovelling at Quintana's feet in an agony of fright:
"Don't hurt me," he screamed, "-- I didn't mean no harm! Jake, he
wanted me to steal it. I told him I was honest. I fired a shot to
scare him, an' he tuk an' run off! I wan't a-goin' to steal it off you,
so help me God! I was lookin' for you -- as God is my witness----"
He got Quintana by one foot. Quintana kicked him aside and backed away.
"Swine," he sad, calmly inspecting the whimpering creature who had
started to crawl toward him.
He hesitate, lifted his automatic, then, as though annoyed by Leverett's
deafening shriek, shrugged, hesitated, pocket both pistol and packet,
and turned on his heel.
By the birch sapling he paused and picked up Leverett's rifle.
Something left a red smear on his palm as he worked the ejector. It was
blood.
Quintana gazed curiously at his soiled hand. Then he stopped and picked
up the empty cartridge case which had been ejected. And, as he stooped,
he noticed more blood on a fallen leaf.
With one foot, daintily as a game-cock scratches, he brushed away the
fallen leaves, revealing the mess underneath.
After he had contemplated the crimson traces of murder for a few
moments, he turned and looked at Leverett with faint curiosity.
"So," he said in his leisurely, emotionless way, "you have fight with my
frien' Jake for thee packet. Yes? Ver' amusing." he shrugged his
indifference, tossed the rifle to his shoulder and, without another
glance at the cringing creature on the ground, walked away toward
Drowned Valley, unhurriedly.
* * * * *