Part 23 (1/2)

”Where Jake Kloon?” demanded the latter.

At that the weasel wits of the trap-robber awoke to the instant crisis.

Blood and pulse began to jump. He pa.s.sed one dirty hand over his mouth to mask any twitching.

”Where my packet, eh?” inquired Quintana.

”Jake's got it.” Leverett's voice was growing stronger. His small eyes switched for an instant toward his rifle, where it stood against a tree behind Quintana.

”Where is he, then, this Jake?” repeated Quintana impatiently.

”He got bogged.”

”Bogged? What is that, then?”

”He got into a sink-hole.”

”What!”

”That's all I know,” said Leverett, sullenly. ”Him and me was travellin'

h.e.l.l-bent to meet up with you,--Jake, he was for a short cut to Drowned Valley,--but 'no,' sez I, 'gimme a good hard ridge an' a long deetoor when there's sink-holes into the woods----'”

”What is it the talk you talk to me?” asked Quintana, whose perplexed features began to darken. ”Where is it, my packet?”

”I'm tellin' you, ain't I?” retorted the other, raising a voice now shrill with the strain of this new crisis rus.h.i.+ng so unexpectedly upon him: ”I heard Jake give a holler. 'What the h.e.l.l's the trouble?' I yells. Then he lets out a beller, 'Save me!' he screeches, 'I'm into a sink-hole! The quicksand's got me,' sez he. So I drop my rifle, I did,--there she stands against that birch sapling!--and I run down into them there pitcher-plants.

”'Whar be ye!' I yells. Then I listens, and don't hear nothin' only a kina wallerin' noise an' a s...o...b..r like he was gulpin' mud.

”Then I foller them there sounds and I come out by that sink-hole. The water was a-shakin' all over it but Jake he had went down plum out o'

sight. T'want no use. I cut a sapling an' I poked down. I was sick and scared like, so when you come up over the moss, not makin' no noise, an'

grabbed me--G.o.d!--I guess you'd jump, too.”

Quintana's dark, tense face was expressionless when Leverett ventured to look at him. Like most liars he realised the advisability of looking his victim straight in the eyes. This he managed to accomplish, sustaining the cold intensity of Quintana's gaze as long as he deemed it necessary.

Then he started toward his rifle. Quintana blocked his way.

”Where my packet?”

”Gol ram it! Ain't I told you? Jake had it in his pocket.”

”My packet?”

”Yaas, yourn.”

”My packet, it is down in thee sink 'ole?”

”You think I'm lyin'?” bl.u.s.tered Leverett, trying to move around Quintana's extended arm. The arm swerved and clutched him by the collar of his flannel s.h.i.+rt.

”Wait, my frien',” said Quintana in a soft voice. ”You shall explain to me some things before you go.”