From his form among the frost-blackened rag-weeds, the trap-robber could
see only the plastered ceiling of the bed chamber.
But the kerosene lamp cast two shadows on that -- tall shadows of human
shapes that stirred at times.
The trap-robber, scared, stiffened to immobility, but his little eyes
remained fastened on the camera obscura above. All the cunning,
patience, and murderous immobility of the rat were his.
Not a weed stirred under the stars where he lay with tiny, unwinking
eyes intent upon the shadows on the ceiling.
* * * * *
The shadows on the ceiling were cast by Eve Strayer and her State
Trooper.
Eve sat on her bed's edge, swathed in a lilac silk kimona -- delicate
relic of school days. Her bandaged feet, crossed, dangled above the
rag-rug on the floor; her slim, tanned fingers were interlaced over the
book on her lap.
Near the door stood State Trooper Stormont, spurred, booted, trig and
trim, an undecided and flushed young man, fumbling irresolutely with the
purple cord on his campaign-hat.
The book on Eve's knees -- another relic of the past -- was _Sigurd the
Volsung._ Stormont had been reading to her -- they having found, after
the half shy tentatives of new friends, a point d'appui in literature.
And the girl, admitting a passion for the poets, invited him to inspect
the bookcase of unpainted pine which Clinch had built into her bedroom
wall.
Here it was he discovered mutual friends among the nobler Victorians --
surprised to discover _Sigurd_ there -- and, carrying it to her bedside,
looked leisurely through the half forgotten pages.
"Would you read a little?" she ventured.
He blushed but did his best. His was an agreeable, boyish voice,
betraying taste and understanding. Time passed quickly -- not so much
in the reading but in the conversations intervening.
And now, made uneasy by chance consultation with his wrist-watch, and
being rather a conscientious young man, he had risen and had informed
Eve that she ought to go to sleep.
And she had denounced the idea, almost fretfully.
"Even if you go I shan't sleep till daddy comes," she said. "Of
course," she added, smiling at him out of gentian-blue eyes, "if _you_
are sleepy I shouldn't dream of asking you to stay."
"I'm not intending to sleep."
"What are you going to do?"
"Take a chair on the landing outside your door."
"What!"
"Certainly. What did you expect me to do, Eve?"
"Go to bed, of course. The beds in the guest rooms are all made up."
"Your father didn't expect me to do that," he said, smiling.
"I'm not afraid, as long as you're in the house," she said.
She looked up at him again, wistfully. Perhaps he was restless, bored,
sitting there beside her half the day, and, already, half the night.
Men of that kind -- active, nervous young men accustomed to the open,
can't stand caging.
"I want you to go out and get some fresh air," she said. "It's a
wonderful night. Go and walk a while. And -- if you feel like --
coming back to me----"
"Will you sleep?"
"No, I'll wait for you."
Her words were natural and direct, but in their simplicity there seemed
a delicate sweetness that stirred him.
"I'll come back to you," he said.
Then, in his response, the girl in her turn became aware of something
beside the simpler words -- a vague charm about them that faintly
haunted her after he had gone away down the stairs.
_That_ was the man she had once tried to kill! At the sudden and
terrible recollection she shivered from curly head to bandaged feet.
Then she trembled a little with the memory of his lips against her
bruised hands -- bruised by handcuffs which he had fastened upon her.
She sat very, very still now, huddled on the bed's edge, scarcely
breathing.
For the girl was beginning to dare formulate the deepest of any thoughts
that had ever stirred her virgin mind and body.
If it was love, then it had come suddenly, and strangely. It had come
on that day -- at the very moment when he flung her against the tree and
handcuffed her -- that terrible instant -- if it were love.
Or -- what was it that so delicately overwhelmed her with pleasure in
his presence, in his voice, in the light, firm sound of his spurred
tread on the veranda below?
Friendship? A lonely passion for young and decent companionship? The
clean youth of him in contrast to the mangy, surly louts who haunted
Clinch's Dump, -- was that the appeal?
Listening there where she sat clasping the book, she heard his steady
tread patrolling the veranda; caught the faint fragrance of his brier
pipe in the still night air.
"I think -- I think it's -- love," she said under her breath. ... "But
he couldn't ever think of me----" always listening to his spurred tread
below.
After a while she placed both bandaged feet on the rug. It hurt her,
but she stood up, walked to the open window. She wanted to look at him
-- just a moment----
By chance he looked up at that instant, and saw her pale face, like a
flower in the starlight.
"Why, Eve," he said, "you ought no be on your feet."
"Once," she said, "you weren't so particular about my bruises."
Her breathless little voice coming down through the starlight thrilled
him.
"Do you remember what I did?" he asked.
"Yes. You bruised my hands and made my mouth bleed."
"I did penance -- for your hands."
"Yes, you kissed _them!_"
What possessed her -- what irresponsible exhilaration was inciting her
to a daring utterly foreign to her nature? She heard herself laugh,
knew that she was young, pretty, capable of provocation. And in a
sudden, breathless sort of way an overwhelming desire seized her to
please, to charm, to be noticed by such a man -- whatever, on
afterthought, he might think of the step-child of Mike Clinch.
Stormont had come directly under her window and stood looking up.
"I dared not offer further penance," he said.
The emotion in his voice stirred her -- but she was still laughing down
at him.
She said: "You _did_ offer further penance -- you offered your
handkerchief. So -- as that was _all_ you offered as reparation for --
my lips----"
"Eve! I could have taken you into my arms---"
"You _did!_ And threw me down among the spruces. You really did
everything that a contrite heart could suggest----"
"Good heavens!" said that rather matter-of-fact young man, "I don't
believe you have forgiven me after all."
"I have -- everything except the handkerchief----"
"Then I'm coming up to complete my penance----"
"I'll lock my door!"
"Would you?"
"I ought to. ... But if you are in great spiritual distress, and if you
really and truly repent, and if you humble desire to expiate your sin by
doing -- penance----" And hesitated: "Do you so desire?"
"Yes, I do."
"Humbly? Contritely?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Say `Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.'"
"Mea maxima culpa," he said so earnestly, looking up into her face that
she bent lower over the sill to see him.
"Let me come up, Eve," he said.
She strove to laugh, gazing down into his shadowy face -- but suddenly
the desire had left her, -- and all her gaiety left her, too, suddenly,
leaving only a still excitement in her breast.
"You - you knew I was just laughing," she said unsteadily. "You
understood, didn't you?"
"I don't know."
After a silence: "I didn't mean you to take me seriously," she said.
She tried to laugh. It was no use. And, as she leaned there on the
sill, her heart frightened her with its loud beating.
"Will you let me come up, Eve?"
No answer.
"Would you lock your door?"
"What do you think I'd do?" she asked tremulously.
"You know; I don't."
"Are you so sure I know what I'd do? I don't think either of us know
our own minds. ... I seem to have lost some of my wits. ... Somehow.
..."
"If you are not going to sleep, let me come up."
"I want you to take a walk down by the pond. And while you're walking
there all by yourself, I want you to think very clearly, very calmly,
and make up your mind whether I should remain awake to-night, or
whether, when you return, I ought to be asleep and -- and my door
bolted."
After a long pause: "All right," he said in a low voice.
* * * * *
V
She saw him walk away -- saw his shadowy, well-built form fade into the
starlit mist.
An almost uncontrollable impulse set her throat and lips quivering with
desire to call to him through the night, "I do love you! I do love you!
Come back quickly, quickly!----"
Fog hung over Star Pond, edging the veranda, rising in frail shreds to
her window. The lapping of the water sounded very near. An owl was
very mournful in the hemlocks.
The girl turned from the window, looked at the door for a moment, then
her face flushed and she walked toward a chair and seated herself,
leaving the door unbolted.
For a little while she sat upright, alert, as though a little
frightened. After a few moments she folded her hands and sat
unstirring, with lowered head, awaiting Destiny.
* * * * *
It came, noiselessly. And so swiftly that the rush of air from her
violently opened door was what first startled her.
For in the same second Earl Leverett was upon her in his stockinged
feet, one bony hand gripping her mouth, the other flung around her,
pinning both arms to her sides.
"The packet!" he panted, "-- quick, yeh dirty little cat, 'r'I'll break
yeh head off'n yeh damn neck!"
She bit at the hand that he held crushed against her mouth. He lifted
her bodily, flung her onto the bed, and, twisting sheet and quilt around
her, swathed her to the throat.
Still controlling her violently distorted lips with his left hand and
holding her so, one knee upon her, he reached back, unsheathed his
hunting knife, and pricked her throat till the blood spurted.
"Now, gol ram yet!" he whispered fiercely, "where's Mike's packet?
Yell, and I'll hog-stick yeh fur fair! Where is it, you dum thing!"
He took his left hand from her mouth. The distorted, scarlet lips
writhed back, displaying her white teeth clenched.
"Where's Mike's bundle!" he repeated, hoarse with rage and fear.
"You rat!" she gasped.
At that he closed her mouth again, and again he pricket her with his
knife, cruelly. The blood welled up onto the sheets.
"Now, by God!" he said in a ghastly voice, "answer or I'll hog-stick yeh
next time! Where is it? Where! where!"
She only showed her teeth in answer. Her eyes flamed.
"Where! Quick! Gol ding yeh, I'll shove this knife in behind your ear
if you don't tell! Go on. Where is it? It's in this Dump som'ers. I
know it is -- don't lie! You want that I should stick you good? That
what you want -- you dirty little dump-slut? Well, then, gol ram yeh --
I'll fix yeh like Quintana was aimin' at----"
He slit the sheet downward from her imprisoned knees, seized one wounded
foot and tried to slash the bandages.
"I'll cut a coupla toes off'n yeh," he snarled, "-- I'll hamstring yeh
fur keeps!" -- struggling to mutilate her while she flung her helpless
and entangled body from side to side and bit at the hand that was almost
suffocating her.
Unable to hold her any longer, he seized a pillow, to bury the venomous
little head that writhed, biting, under his clutch.
As he lifted it he saw a packet lying under it.
"By God!" he panted.
As he seized it she screamed for the first time: "Jack! Jack Stormont!"
-- and fairly hurled her helpless little body at Leverett, striking him
full in the face with her head.
Half stunned, still clutching the packet, he tried to stab her in the
stomach; but the armour of bed-clothes turned the knife, although his
violence dashed all breath out of her.
Sick with the agony of it, speechless, she still made the effort; and,
as he stumbled to his feet and turned to escape, she struggled upright,
choking, blood running down from the knife pricks in her neck.
With the remnant of her strength, and still writhing and gasping for
breath, she tore herself from the sheets and blankets, reeled across the
room to where Stormont's rifle stood, threw in a cartridge, dragged
herself to the window.
Dimly she saw a running figure in the night mist, flung the rifle across
the window sill and fired. Then she fired again -- or thought she did.
There were two shots.
"Eve!" came Stormont's sharp cry, "what the devil are you trying to do
to me?"
His cry terrified her; the rifle clattered to the floor.
The next instant he came running up the stars, bare headed, heavy pistol
swinging, and halted, horrified at sight of her.
"Eve! My God!" he whispered, taking her blood-wet body into his arms.
"Go after Leverett," she gasped. "He's robbed daddy. He's running away
-- out there -- somewhere---"
"Where did he hurt you, Eve -- my little Eve----"
"Oh, go! go!" she wailed, -- "I'm not hurt. He only pricked me with his
knife. I'm not hurt, I tell you. Go after him! Take your pistol and
follow him and kill him!"
"Oh," she cried hysterically, twisting and sobbing in his arms, "don't
lose time here with me! Don't stand here while he's running away with
dad's money!" And, "Oh -- oh -- _oh!!_" she sobbed, collapsing in his
arms and clinging to him convulsively as he carried her to her tumbled
bed and laid her there.
He said: "I couldn't risk following anybody now, after what has happened
to you. I can't leave you alone here! Don't cry, Eve. I'll get your
man for you, I promise! Don't cry, dear. I was all my fault for
leaving this room even for a minute----"
"No, no, no! It's all my fault. I sent you away. Oh, I wish I hadn't.
I wish I had let you come back when you wanted to. ... I was waiting for
you. ... I left the door unbolted for you. When it opened I thought it
was you. And it was Leverett! -- it was Leverett!----"
Stormont's face grew very white: "What did he do to you, Eve? Tell me,
darling. What did he do to you?"
"Dad's money was under my pillow," she wailed. "Leverett tried to make
me tell where it was. I wouldn't, and he hurt me----"
"How?"
"He pricked me with his knife. When I screamed for you he tried to
choke me with the pillow. Didn't you hear me scream?"
"Yes. I came on the jump."
"It was too late," she sobbed; "-- too late! He saw the money packet
under my pillow and he snatched it and ran. Somehow I found your rifle
and fired. I fired twice."
Her only bullet had torn his campaign hat from his head. But he did not
tell her.
"Let me see your neck," he said, bending closer.
She bared her throat, making a soft, vague complaint like a hurt bird,
-- lay there whimpering under her breath while he bathed the blood away
with lint, sterilised the two cuts from his emergency packet, and bound
them.
He was still bending low over her when her blue eyes unclosed on his.
"That is the second time I've tried to kill you," she whispered. "I
thought it was Leverett. ... I'd have died if I had killed you."
There was a silence.
"Lie very still," he said huskily. "I'll be back in a moment to
rebandage your feet and make you comfortable for the night."
"I can't sleep," she repeated desolately. "Dad trusted his money to me
and I've let Leverett rob me. How can I sleep?"
"I'll bring you something to make you sleep."
"I can't!"
"I promise you you will sleep. Lie still."
He rose, went away downstairs and out to the barn, where his campaign
hat lay in the weed, drilled through by a bullet.
There was something else lying there in the weeds, -- a flat, muddy,
shoeless shape sprawling grotesquely in the foggy starlight.
One hand clutched a hunting knife; the other a packet.
Stormont drew the packet from the stiff fingers, then turned the body
over, and, flashing his electric torch, examined the ratty visage --
what remained of it -- for his pistol bullet had crashed through from
ear to cheek-bone, almost obliterating the trap-robber's features.
* * * * *
Stormont came slowly into Eve's room and laid the packet on the sheet
beside her.
"Now," he said, "there is no reason for you to lie awake any longer.
I'll fix you up for the night."
Deftly he unbandaged, bathed, dressed, and rebandaged her slim white
feet -- little wounded feet so lovely, so exquisite that his hand
trembled as he touched them.
"They're doing fine," he said cheerily. "You've half a degree of fever
and I'm going to give you something to drink before you go to sleep----"
He poured out a glass of water, dissolved two tablets, supported her
shoulders while she drank in a dazed way, looking always at him over the
glass.
"Now," he said, "go to sleep. I'll b on the job outside your door until
your daddy arrives."
"How did you get back dad's money?" she asked in an odd, emotionless way
as though too weary for further surprises.
"I'll tell you in the morning."
"Did you kill him? I didn't hear your pistol."
"I'll tell you all about it in the morning. Good night, Eve."
As he bent over her, she looked up into his eyes and put both arms
around his neck.
It was her first kiss given to any man, except Mike Clinch.
After Stormont had gone out and closed the door, she lay very still for
a long while.
Then, instinctively, she touched her lips with her fingers; and, at that
contact, a blush clothed her from brow to ankle.
The Flaming Jewel in its morocco casket under her pillow burned with no
purer fire than the enchanted flame glowing in the virgin heart of Eve
Strayer of Clinch's Dump.
Thus they lay together, two lovely flaming jewels burning softly,
steadily through the misty splendour of the night.
Under a million stars, Death sprawled in squalor among the trampled
weeds. Under the same high stars dark mountains waited; and there was a
silvery sound of waters stirring somewhere in the mist.
* * * * *