"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, and caught him with the goods----"
"What goods?" demanded Darragh 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'd arrived at the
Dump, here, leaving Quintana to get free of 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 tracks so far."
After a silence: "Too bad this snow came so late," remarked Trooper
Lannis. "But we ought to get Quintana anyway."
Darragh went over and looked silently at Mike Clinch.
"I liked 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. Why not quit
and take over the Harrod estate?... You and I can go into business
together later if you like."
After a pause: "That's rather wonderful of you, Jim," said Stormont,
"but you don't know what sort of business man I'd make----"
"I know what sort of officer you made.... 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 lighted the candles in the room. Clinch's face,
again revealed, was still faintly amused at something or other. The dead
have much to be amused at.
As Darragh was about to go, Stormont said: "We're burying Clinch at
eleven to-morrow morning. The Ghost Lake Pilot officiates."
"I'll come if it won't upset Eve," said Darragh.
"She won't notice anybody, I fancy," remarked Stormont.
He stood by the veranda and watched Darragh take the Lake Trail through
the snow. Finally the glimmer of his swinging lantern was lost in the
woods and Stormont mounted the stairs once more, stood silently by Eve's
open door, realised she was still heavily asleep, and 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 guard, noticed that Eve was growing
restless.
Downstairs the flotsam of the forest had gathered again: Mr. Lyken was
there in black gloves; the Reverend Laomi 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; and 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 pallor 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 lift her eyes until 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 snow-storm 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 Harrod.
It blew and stormed and stormed, and the thin, nasal voice of "Rev.
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. Lyken's talented assistants
had some difficulty in shaping the mound which snow began to make into a
white and flawless monument.
The last slap 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 filtered back into it one by one; "Rev.
Smatter" got into his sleigh, plainly concerned about the road; Mr.
Lyken betrayed unprofessional haste in loading his wagon with his
talented assistants and starting for Ghost Lake.
A Game Protector or two put on snow-shoes when they departed. Trooper
Lannis led out his horse and Stormont's, and got into the saddle.
"I'd better get these beasts into Ghost Lake while I can," he said.
"You'll follow on snow-shoes, won't you, Jack?"
"I don't know. I may need a sleigh for Eve. She can't remain here all
alone. I'll telephone the Inn."
Darragh, in blanket outfit, a pair of snow-shoes on his back, a rifle in
his mittened hand, came trudging up from the lake. He and Stormont
watched Lannis riding away with the two horses.
"He'll make it all right, but it's time he started," said the latter.