The Flaming Jewel. Chambers Robert William
dollars once had been offered for the Flaming Jewel; and had been refused.
Clinch probably possessed it. Smith was now convinced of that. But he was there to rob Clinch of it himself. For he had promised the little Grand Duchess to help recover her Erosite jewel; and now that he had finally traced its probable possession to Clinch, he was wondering how this recovery was to be accomplished.
To arrest Clinch meant ruin to Eve Strayer. Besides he knew now that Clinch would die in prison before revealing the hiding place of the Flaming Jewel.
Also, how could it be proven that Clinch had the Erosite gem? The cipher from Quintana was not sufficient evidence.
No; the only way was to watch Clinch, prevent any robbery by Quintana's gang, somehow discover where the Flaming Jewel had been concealed, take it, and restore it to the beggared young girl whose only financial resource now lay in the possible recovery of this almost priceless gem.
Toward evening Hal Smith shot two deer near Owl Marsh. To poach on his own property appealed to his sense of humour. And Clinch, never dreaming that Hal Smith was the James Darragh who had inherited Harrod's vast preserve, damned all millionaires for every buck brought in, and became friendlier to Smith.
Clinch's dump was the disposal plant in which collected the human sewage of the wilderness.
It being Saturday, the scum of the North Woods was gathering at the Star Pond resort. A venison and chicken supper was promised – and a dance if any women appeared.
Jake Kloon had run in some Canadian hooch; Darragh, alias Hal Smith, contributed two fat deer and Clinch cooked them. By ten o'clock that morning many of the men were growing noisy; some were already drunk by noon. Shortly after midday dinner the first fight started – extinguished only after Clinch had beaten several of the backwoods aristocracy insensible.
Towering amid the wreck of battle, his light grey eyes a-glitter, Clinch dominated, swinging his iron fists.
When the combat ended and the fallen lay starkly where they fell, Clinch said in his pleasant, level voice:
"Take them out and stick their heads in the pond. And don't go for to get me mad, boys, or I'm liable to act up rough."
They bore forth the sleepers for immersion in Star Pond. Clinch relighted his cigar and repeated the rulings which had caused the fracas:
"You gotta play square cards here or you don't play none in my house. No living thumb-nail can nick no cards in my place and get away with it. Three kings and two trays is better than three chickens and two eggs. If you don't like it, g'wan home."
He went out in his shirt sleeves to see how the knock-outs were reviving, and met Hal Smith returning from the pond, who reported progress toward consciousness. They walked back to the "hotel" together.
"Say, young fella," said Clinch in his soft, agreeable way, "you want to keep your eye peeled to-night."
"Why?" inquired Smith.
"Well, there'll be a lot o' folks here. There'll be strangers, too… Don't forget the State Troopers are looking for you."
"Do the State Troopers ever play detective?" asked Smith, smiling.
"Sure. They've been in here rigged out like peddlers and lumber-jacks and timber lookers."
"Did they ever get anything on you?"
"Not a thing."
"Can you always spot them, Mike?"
"No. But when a stranger shows up here who don't know nobody, he never sees nothing and he don't never learn nothing. He gets no hootch outa me. No, nor no craps and no cards. He gets his supper; that's what he gets … and a dance, if there's ladies – and if any girl favours him. That's all the change any stranger gets out of Mike Clinch."
They had paused on the rough veranda in the hot October sunshine.
"Mike," suggested Smith carelessly, "wouldn't it pay you better to go straight?"
Clinch's small grey eyes, which had been roaming over the prospect of lake and forest, focussed on Smith's smiling features.
"What's that to you?" he asked.
"I'll be out of a job," remarked Smith, laughing, "if they ever land you."
Clinch's level gaze measured him; his mind was busy measuring him, too.
"Who the hell are you, anyway?" he asked. "I don't know. You stick up a man on the Ghost Lake Road and hide out here when the State Troopers come after you. And now you ask me if it pays better to go straight. Why didn't you go straight if you think it pays?"
"I haven't got a daughter to worry about," explained Smith. "If they get me it won't hurt anybody else."
A dull red tinge came out under Clinch's tan:
"Who asked you to worry about Eve?"
"She's a fine girl: that's all."
Clinch's steely glare measured the young man:
"You trying to make up to her?" he enquired gently.
"No. She has no use for me."
Clinch reflected, his cold tiger-gaze still fastened on Smith.
"You're right," he said after a moment. "Eve is a good girl. Some day I'll make a lady of her."
"She is one, Clinch."
At that Clinch reddened heavily – the first finer emotion ever betrayed before Smith. He did not say anything for a few moments, but his grim mouth worked. Finally:
"I guess you was a gentleman once before you went crooked, Hal," he said. "You act up like you once was… Say; there's only one thing on God's earth I care about. You've guessed it, too." He was off again upon his ruling passion.
"Eve," nodded Smith.
"Sure. She isn't my flesh and blood. But it seems like she's more, even. I want she should be a lady. It's all I want. That damned millionaire Harrod bust me. But he couldn't stop me giving Eve her schooling. And now all I'm livin' for is to be fixed so's to give her money to go to the city like a lady. I don't care how I make money; all I want is to make it. And I'm a-going to."
Smith nodded again.
Clinch, now obsessed by his monomania, went on with an oath:
"I can't make no money on the level after what Harrod done to me. And I gotta fix up Eve. What the hell do you mean by asking me would it pay me to travel straight I dunno."
"I was only thinking of Eve. A lady isn't supposed to have a crook for a father."
Clinch's grey eyes blazed for a moment, then their menacing glare dulled, died out into wintry fixity.
"I wan't born a crook," he said. "I ain't got no choice. And don't worry, young fella; they ain't a-going to get me."
"You can't go on beating the game forever, Clinch."
"I'm beating it – " he hesitated – "and it won't be so long, neither, before I turn over enough to let Eve live in the city like any lady, with her autymobile and her own butler and all her swell friends, in a big house like she is educated for – "
He broke off abruptly as a procession approached from the lake, escorting the battered gentry who now were able to wabble about a little.
One of them, a fox-faced trap thief named Earl Leverett, slunk hastily by as though expecting another kick from Clinch.
"G'wan inside, Earl, and act up right," said Clinch pleasantly. "You oughter have more sense than to start a fight in my place – you and Sid Hone and Harvey Chase. G'wan in and behave."
He and Smith followed the procession of damaged ones into the house.
The big unpainted room where a bar had once been was blue with cheap cigar smoke; the air reeked with the stench of beer and spirits. A score or more shambling forest louts in their dingy Saturday finery were gathered there playing cards, shooting craps, lolling around tables and tilting slopping glasses at one another.
Heavy pleasantries were exchanged with the