A few minutes before Darragh and Stormont had come out on the farther
edge of Star Pond, Sard, who had heard from Quintana about the big drain
pipe which led from Clinch's pantry into the lake, decided to go in and
take a look at it.
He had been told all about its uses,--how Clinch,--in the event of a
raid by State Troopers or Government enforcement agents,--could empty
his contraband hootch into the lake if necessary,--and even could slide
a barrel of ale or a keg of rum, intact, into the great tile tunnel and
recover the liquor at his leisure.
Also, and grimly, Quintana had admitted that through this drain Eve
Strayer and the State Trooper, Stormont, had escaped from Clinch's Dump.
So now Sard, full of curiosity, went back into the pantry to look at it
for himself.
Almost instantly the idea occurred to him to make use of the drain for
his own safety and comfort.
Why shouldn't he sleep in the pantry, lock the door, and, in case of
intrusion,--other exits being unavailable,--why shouldn't he feel
entirely safe with such an avenue of escape open?
For swimming was Sard's single accomplishment. He wasn't afraid of the
water; he simply couldn't sink. Swimming was the only sport he ever had
indulged in. He adored it.
Also, the mere idea of sleeping alone amid that hell of trees terrified
Sard. Never had he known such horror as when Quintana abandoned him in
the woods. Never again could he gaze upon a tree without malignant
hatred. Never again did he desire to lay eyes upon even a bush. The very
sight, now, of the dusky forest filled him with loathing. Why should he
not risk one night in this deserted house,--sleep well and warmly, feed
well, drink his bellyfull of Clinch's beer, before attempting the
dead-line southward, where he was only too sure that patrols were riding
and hiding on the lookout for the fancy gentlemen of Jose Quintana's
selected company of malefactors?
Well, here in the snug pantry were pies, crullers, bread, cheeses,
various dried meats, tinned vegetables, ham, bacon, fuel and range to
prepare what he desired.
Here was beer, too; and doubtless ardent spirits if he could nose out
the hidden demijohns and bottles.
He peered out of the pantry window at the forest, shuddered, cursed
it and every separate tree in it; cursed Quintana, too, wishing him
black mischance. No; it was settled. He'd take his chance here in the
pantry.... And there must be a mattress somewhere upstairs.
He climbed the staircase, cautiously, discovered Clinch's bedroom, took
the mattress and blankets from the bed, dragged them to the pantry.
Could any honest man be more tight and snug in this perilous world of
the desperate and undeserving? Sard thought not. But one matter troubled
him: the lock of the pantry door had been shattered. To remedy this he
moused around until he discovered some long nails and a claw-hammer.
When he was ready to go to sleep he'd nail himself in. And in the
morning he'd pry the door loose. That was simple. Sard chuckled for the
first time since he had set eyes upon the accursed region.
And now the sun came out from behind a low bank of solid grey cloud, and
fell upon the countenance of Emanuel Sard. It warmed his parrot-nose
agreeably; it cheered and enlivened him.
Not for him a night of terrors in that horrible forest which he could
see through the pantry window.
A sense of security and of well-being pervaded Sard to his muddy shoes.
He even curled his fat toes in them with animal contentment.
A little snack before cooking a heavily satisfactory dinner? Certainly.
So he tucked a couple of bottles of beer under one arm, a loaf of bread
and a chunk of cheese under the other, and waddled out to the veranda
door.
And at that instant the very heavens echoed with that awful tumult which
had first paralysed, then crazed him in the woods.
Bottles, bread, cheese fell from his grasp and his knees nearly
collapsed under him. In the bushes on the lake shore he saw animals
leaping and racing, but, in his terror, he did not recognise them for
dogs.
Then, suddenly, he saw a man, close to the house, running: and another
man not far behind. _That_ he understood, and it electrified him into
action.
It was too late to escape from the house now. He understood that
instantly.
He ran back through the dance-hall and dining-room to the pantry; but he
dared not let these intruders hear the noise of hammering.
In an agony of indecision he stood trembling, listening to the infernal
racket of the dogs, and waiting for the first footstep within the house.
No step came. But, chancing to look over his shoulder, he saw a man
peering through the pantry window at him.
Ungovernable terror seized Sard. Scarcely aware what he was about, he
seized the edges of the big drain-pipe and crowded his obese body into
it head first. He was so fat and heavy that he filled the tile. To start
himself down he pulled with both hands and kicked himself forward,
tortoise-like, down the slanting tunnel, sticking now and then, dragging
himself on and downward.
Now he began to gain momentum; he felt himself sliding, not fast but
steadily.
There came a hitch somewhere; his heavy body stuck on the steep incline.
Then, as he lifted his bewildered head and strove to peer into the
blackness in front, he saw four balls of green fire close to him in
darkness.
He began to slide at the same instant, and flung out both hands to check
himself. But his palms slid in the slime and his body slid after.
He shrieked once as his face struck a furry obstruction where four balls
of green fire flamed horribly and a fury of murderous teeth tore his
face and throat to bloody tatters as he slid lower, lower, settling
through crimson-dyed waters into the icy depths of Star Pond.
* * * * *
Stormont, down by the lake, called to Darragh, who appeared on the
veranda:
"Oh, Jim! Both otters crawled into the drain! I think your dogs must
have killed one of them under water. There's a big patch of blood
spreading off shore."
"Yes," said Darragh, "something has just been killed, somewhere ...
Jack!"
"Yes?"
"Pull both your guns and come up here, quick!"