THE EVIL-EYE TURQUOISE
The old man continued:
“Sven Pedersen hisself never tol’ me nothin’ about that Evil Eye
Turquoise o’ his’n. _That’s_ why I cal’late it was a yarn he used to
skeer off onweloome visitors to his rock house, bein’ as thar was spells
when he was away fer days, huntin’ fer Bodil.
“I heerd it was a big eye-shaped rock with a round center that was more
green than it was blue. Hangers-on in the store here used to spec’late
’bout it. Some reckoned, ef ’twas true that Sven _had_ found a green-blue
turquoise big as a coffee cup, it’d be wurth a lot o’ money, but I dunno,
I dunno!”
Dora recalled Mr. Harvey’s wandering thoughts by asking, “It must have
been very beautiful, but _why_ was it called ‘Evil Eye?’”
The old man shook his head. “Thar was folks who’d believe onythin’ in
them days,” he said. “I reckon thar still is. Superstitious, yo’d call
it, so, when Sven Pedersen tol’ yarns ’bout that green-blue eye o’ his’n,
thar _was_ them as swallowed ’em whule.”
“Tell us one of the yarns,” Mary urged.
“Wall, Lucky Loon tol’ ’round at the camps, as how he’d put that thar
turquoise eye into the inside wall o’ his house jest whar it could keep
watchin’ the door, an’ ef onyone tried to climb in, that thar eye’d _see_
’em!”
“But what if it did,” Dora laughed. “Was there ever anyone superstitious
enough to believe that the eye could _hurt_ them?”
The old man nodded, looking at her solemnly. “Sven Pedersen tol’ ’round
that ’twas a demon eye, an’ that whatever it looked at, ’ceptin’ hisself,
’d keel over paralyzed. Wall, mabbe it’s hard to believe, but them
miners, bad as some of ’em was, warn’t takin’ no chances till ’long come
a tenderfoot fellar from the East. He heern the yarn, an’ he laffed at
the whule outfit of ’em. He opined as how he’d come West to get rich
quick, an’ he reckoned cleanin’ out that rock house o’ its gold an’
turquoise’d be a sight easier than gettin’ it out o’ the earth wi’ pick
an’ shovel. Yessir, that fellar did a power o’ a lot o’ boastin’, but yo’
kin better believe, ’twa’n’t when Lucky Loon was in hearin’.”
Dora glanced up at the two boys sitting so silently on the counter back
of the old man. She saw that they were both listening with interest. The
story was evidently as new to Jerry as to the others. Dick motioned to
Dora to ask another question as the old man had paused.
“Oh, Mr. Harvey,” she leaned forward to ask, “did that bragging boy
actually try to rob Mr. Pedersen?”
“He sure sartin did,” the storekeeper replied. “He watched over the rocks
o’ nights till he’d seen Lucky Loon ridin’ off, and, jedging by the pack
he was totin’, that fellar cal’lated he was goin’ on one of them long
rides he took, off’n’ on, hunting for Bodil. Wall, arter a time, he
climbed up, draggin’ a bag he’d tuk along to put the gold in. He peered
into the rock house door an’ _thar_ was that eye, jest as Sven had said,
in the wall opposite, an’ it was glarin’ green like a cat’s eye in the
dark.”
The old man stopped talking and swayed his shaggy head back and forth for
a long minute before he satisfied his listeners’ curiosity. Dora found
herself clutching Mary’s hand but neither of them spoke.
“The nex’ day,” the old man continued, “cowboys ridin’ out on the road
heerd screamin’. Then it stopped an’ they couldn’t place it nohow. Arter
a time they heerd it agin. Thinkin’ as how Lucky Loon was hurt mabbe,
they rode in through his gate an’ found that young tenderfoot fellar
writhin’ around at the foot o’ the cliff. He was paralyzed, sure sartin,
an’ arter he’d tol’ about seein’ that thar turquoise eye, he give up the
ghost. _That_ much is true. They fetched the tenderfoot fellar in here to
my store an’ I seen the wild, skeered look in his eyes. Wall, arter that,
Sven Pedersen didn’t have no more need to worry about his house bein’
robbed.”
“Oh-o-o! I should think not.” Mary shuddered, then she glanced at her
wrist watch, thinking that they ought to go. Nine o’clock, and Mr.
Harvey’s store was always dark before that. They were keeping him up, but
before she could suggest leaving, she heard Dora asking still another
question.
“Mr. Harvey, when did poor Mr. Lucky Loon die?”
There was actually a startled expression in the deeply sunken eyes of the
old man. He turned in his chair and looked up at Jerry. After all, he had
_not_ forgotten the boys. In an awed voice he asked: “Jerry, did yo’ ever
hear tell how old Sven Pedersen give up the ghost?”
The tall cowboy shook his head. “No, Mr. Harvey. I’ve asked Dad but he
said it was a mystery that he reckoned never would be solved.”
“It wa’n’t never any mystery to _me_,” the old man told them, “but I’d
been swore to secrecy. Sven Pedersen said he’d come back an’ hant my
store if I ever tol’, but I reckon thar’s no sech thing as hants. Anyhow
I ain’t never _seen a_ ghost, though thar _is_ folks as calls this here
town hanted.”
Mary turned startled eyes around to question Jerry. That boy said
seriously, “Mr. Harvey, we’d like awfully well to know what happened to
Mr. Pedersen, but we wouldn’t want your store to be haunted if you
believe—”
“I _don’_ believe nothin’ o’ the sort.” The old man seemed to scorn the
inference. Turning, he beckoned to the boys. “Stan’ up close, sort o’. I
won’t tell it loud; than mabbe it won’t be heern by nobody but you-uns.”
Jerry stood close back of Mary’s chair. Dick sat on his heels next to
Dora. The wind that had rattled loose boards had gone down. Not a sound
was to be heard. The fire in the stove had burned to ashes. The room was
getting cold but the girls did not notice. With wide, almost startled
eyes they were watching the old man who was again chewing on an end of
his gray beard.
Suddenly he cupped an ear with one palsied hand and seemed to be
listening intently. Mary clutched Dora’s arm. She expected the old man to
ask them if they heard a gun shot, but he didn’t. He dropped his arm and
commenced in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Fer the las’ year o’ his life, Sven Pedersen give up minin’. He reckoned
as how he’d never find his sister an’ he’d jest been pilin’ up wealth to
give to her, he sed. He used to spec’late about poor Bodil a lot. She’d
be a young woman now, he’d say, sad like, _if_ them bandits let her live.
Then thar was times when he’d hope she’d died ruther than be fetched up
by robbers. He didn’t talk much about anythin’ else. Folks never knew
whar he went to do his buyin’; thot as how he’d go off to Bisbee, but
’twa’n’t so. He come here arter midnight so’s not to be seen. He tol’ me
if, chance be, Bodil was alive an’ showed up arter he was dead, he wanted
her to have his gold. He writ a letter in that furrin tongue o’ his an’
give it to me. I got it yit. In it he tol’ Bodil _whar_ he’d got his
fortin hid.” The old man paused and blinked his eyes hard.
Mary asked softly, “But she never came, did she, Mr. Harvey? That poor
Little Bodil with the china-blue eyes and the corn-silk hair.”
“No, she never come, an’ I cal’late she never will. Lucky Loon didn’t
reckon she would, really, but he hung on till he felt death comin’. Then
he tol’ me what he was a plannin’ to do to hisself.” The old man glanced
anxiously at Jerry, who stood with his hands on Mary’s shoulders. “It’s a
mighty gruesome story, the rest o’ it, Jerry lad. Do you reckon it’d
better be tol’?”
It was Dora who replied, “Oh, _please_, Mr. Harvey! We girls aren’t a
mite scary. It’s only a story to us, you know. It all happened so long
ago.”
“Wall, as I was sayin’, Sven Pedersen knew he hadn’t long to live, so one
night thar was a blizzard threatenin’—an’ it turned into as bad a one as
when he furst blowed into my store years back. Whar was I?” He looked
blankly at Mary who prompted with, “So one night when he felt that he was
soon to die—”
“Sven come to me an’ swore me to keep it secret what he was goin’ to do.
He sed that back of his house an’ opening into it, he had a vault. He’d
jest left room for hisself to creep into it. Then he was goin’ to wall it
up, an’ lay hisself down an’ die.”
“Oh, how terrible!” Dora exclaimed. “Surely he didn’t _do_ that?”
The old man sighed. “Fur as I know he did. I seen as how he was white as
a ghost an’ coughin’ suthin’ awful. I tol’ him to stay at the store till
the blizzard blew over. It commonly lasted three days, but out he went
an’ I never seen him sence.”
“Poor Lucky Loon!” Mary said commiseratingly.
“An’ poor Little Bodil,” Dora began, when she glanced at the old man who
had suddenly sat erect, staring into a dark corner.
“Oh, Mr. Harvey,” Mary whispered, “_do_ you see that ghost?”
They all looked and saw a flickering light. Then Jerry, glancing up at
the hanging lamp, saw that the kerosene had burned out. One more flicker
and the store was in darkness. Mary screamed and clung to Jerry, but
Dora, remembering her flash, turned it on.
Dick, matter-of-factly, glanced about, saw the oil can, pulled down the
lamp, refilled it, and relighted it.
“Thank ye! Thank ye!” the old man said. “I reckon that’s about all thar
is to hants anyhow. I never had no reason to believe in ghosts an’ ain’t
a-goin’ to start in now. Wall, must yo’ be goin’? Drop in tomorrer an’ ef
I kin find it, I’ll show yo’ that yellar ol’ letter Lucky Loon left fer
his gal.”