Part 13 (1/2)
”You think I'd talk, Hal?”
Smith looked up into the light-coloured eyes. The pupils were pin points. Then he went on cleaning fish.
”Hal?”
”What?”
”If they get me,--but no matter; they ain't a-going to get me.”
”Were you going to tell me where those jewels are hidden, Mike?”
enquired the young man, still busy with his fish. He did not look around when he spoke. Clinch's murderous gaze was fastened on the back of his head.
”Don't go to gettin' too d.a.m.n nosey, Hal,” he said in his always agreeable voice.
Smith soused all the fish in water again: ”You'd better tell somebody if you go gunning for Quintana.”
”Did I ask your advice?”
”You did not,” said the young man, smiling.
”All right. Mind your business.”
Smith got up from the water's edge with his pan of trout:
”That's what I shall do, Mike,” he said, laughing. ”So go on with your private war; it's no b.u.t.ton off _my_ pants if Quintana gets you.”
He went away toward the ice-house with the trout. Eve Strayer, doing chamber work, watched the young man from an upper room.
The girl's instinct was to like Smith,--but that very instinct aroused her distrust. What was a man of his breeding and education doing at Clinch's dump? Why was he content to hang around and do ch.o.r.es? A man of his type who has gone crooked enough to stick up a tourist in an automobile nourishes higher--though probably perverted--ambitions than a dollar a day and board.
She heard Clinch's light step on the uncarpeted stair; went on making up Smith's bed; and smiled as her step-father came into the room, still carrying his rifle.
He had something else in his hand, too,--a flat, thin packet wrapped in heavy paper and sealed all over with black wax.
”Girlie,” he said, ”I want you should do a little errand for me this morning. If you're spry it won't take long--time to go there and get back to help with noon dinner.”
”Very well, dad.”
”Go git your pants on, girlie.”
”You want me to go into the woods?”
”I want you to go to the hole in the rocks under Star Peak and lay this packet in the hootch cache.”
She nodded, tucked in the sheets, smoothed blanket and pillow with deft hands, went out to her own room. Clinch seated himself and turned a blank face to the window.
It was a sudden decision. He realised now that he couldn't keep the jewels in his house. War was on with Quintana. The ”hotel” would be the goal for Quintana and his gang. And for Smith, too, if ever temptation overpowered him. The house was liable to an attempt at robbery any night, now;--any day, perhaps. It was no place for the packet he had taken from Jose Quintana.
Eve came in wearing grey s.h.i.+rt, breeches, and puttees. Clinch gave her the packet.