The Max Brand Megapack (311 page)

But she had already reverted to another thing.

“Do you think he worships the sun?”

“I don’t think. Try to figure out a fellow like that and you get to be just as much of a nut as he is. Go on toward the house and I’ll follow you in a minute. I want to talk to big Joe.”

He turned aside into the trees briskly, and the moment he was out of sight of the girl he called softly: “Joseph!”

He repeated the call after a trifling wait before he saw the big man coming unconcernedly through the trees toward him. Joseph came close before he stopped—very close, as a man will do when he wishes to make another aware of his size, and from this point of vantage, he looked over Connor from head to foot with a glance of lingering and insolent criticism. The gambler was somewhat amused and a little alarmed by that attitude.

“Now, Joseph,” he said, “tell me frankly why you’re dodging me about the valley. Waiting for a chance to throw stones?”

His smile remained without a reflection on the stolid face of the servant.

“Benjamin,” answered the deep, solemn voice, “I know all!”

It made Connor peer into those broad features as into a dim light. Then a moment of reflection assured him that Joseph could not have learned the secret.

“Haneemar, whom you know,” continued Joseph, “has told me about you.”

“And where,” asked Connor, completely at sea, “did you learn of Haneemar?”

“From Abraham. And I know that this is the head of Haneemar.”

He brought out in his palm the little watch-charm of carved ivory.

“Of course,” nodded Connor, feeling his way. “And what is it that you know from Haneemar?”

“That you are evil, Benjamin, and that you have come here for evil. You entered by a trick; and you will stay here for evil purposes until the end.”

“You follow around to pick up a little dope, eh?” chuckled Connor. “You trail me to find out what I intend to do? Why don’t you go to David and warn him?”

“Have I forgotten the whip?” asked Joseph, his nostrils trembling with anger. “But the good Haneemar now gives me power and in the end he will betray you into my hands. That is why I follow you. Wherever you go I follow; I am even able to know what you think! But hearken to me, Benjamin. Take back the head of Haneemar and the bad luck that lives in it. Take it back, and I shall no longer follow you. I shall forget the whip. I shall be ready to do you a service.”

He extended the little piece of ivory eagerly, but Connor drew back. His superstitions were under the surface of his mind, but, still, they were there, and the fear which Joseph showed was contagious.

“Why don’t you throw it away if you’re afraid of it, Joseph?”

“You know as I know,” returned Joseph, glowering, “that it cannot be thrown away. It must be given and freely accepted, as I—oh fool—accepted it from you.”

There was such a profound conviction in this that Connor was affected in spite of himself. That little trinket had been the entering wedge through which he had worked his way into the Garden and started on the road to fortune. He would rather have cut off his hand, now, than take it back.

“Find some one else to take it,” he suggested cheerily. “I don’t want the thing.”

“Then all that Abraham told me is true!” muttered Joseph, closing his hand over the trinket. “But I shall follow you, Benjamin. When you think you are alone you shall find me by turning your head. Every day by sunrise and every day by the dark I beg Haneemar to put his curse on you. I have done you no wrong, and you have had me shamed.”

“And now you’re going to have me bewitched, eh?” asked Connor.

“You shall see.”

The gambler drew back another pace and through the shadows he saw the beginning of a smile of animal-cunning on the face of Joseph.

“The devil take you and Haneemar together,” he growled. “Remember this, Joseph. I’ve had you whipped once. The next time I’ll have you flayed alive.”

Instead of answering, Joseph merely grinned more openly, and the gambler, to forget the ape-face, wheeled and hurried out from the trees. The touch of nightmare dread did not leave him until he rejoined Ruth on the higher terrace.

They found the patio glowing with light, the table near the fountain, and three chairs around it. David came out of the shadow of the arcade to meet them, and he was as uneasy as a boy who had a surprise for grown-ups. He had not even time for a greeting.

“You have not seen your room?” he said to Ruth. “I have made it ready for you. Come!”

He led the way half a pace in front, glancing back at them as though to reprove their slowness, until he reached a door at which he turned and faced her, laughing with excitement. She could hardly believe that this man with his childish gayety was the same whose fury had terrified the servants that same afternoon.

“Close your eyes—close them fast. You will not look until I say?”

She obeyed, setting her teeth to keep from smiling.

“Now come forward—step high for the doorway. So! You are in. Now wait—now open your eyes and look!”

She obeyed again and saw first David standing back with an anxious smile and the gesture of one who reveals, but is not quite sure of its effect. Then she heard a soft, startled exclamation from Connor behind her. Last of all she saw the room.

It was as if the walls had been broken down and a garden let inside—it gave an effect of open air, sunlight and wind. Purple flowers like warm shadows banked the farther corners, and out of them rose a great vine draping the window. It had been torn bodily from the earth, and now the roots were packed with damp moss, yellow-green. It bore in clusters and single flowers and abundant bloom, each blossom as large as the mallow, and a dark gold so rich that Ruth well-nigh listened for the murmur of bees working this mine of pollen. From above, the great flowers hung down against the dull red of the sunset sky; and from below the distant treetops on the terrace pointed up with glimmers of the lake between. There was only the reflected light of the evening, now, but the cuplike blossoms were filled to the brim with a glow of their own.

She looked away.

A dapple deerskin covered the bed like the shadow under a tree in mid-day, and the yellow of the flowers was repeated dimly on the floor by a great, tawny hide of a mountain-lion. She took up some of the purple flowers, and letting the velvet petals trail over her finger tips, she turned to David with a smile. But what Connor saw, and saw with a thrill of alarm, was that her eyes were filling with tears.

“See!” said David gloomily. “I have done this to make you happy, and now you are sad!”

“Because it is so beautiful.”

“Yes,” said David slowly. “I think I understand.”

But Connor took one of the flowers from her hand. She cried out, but too late to keep him from ripping the blossom to pieces, and now he held up a single petal, long, graceful, red-purple at the broader end and deep yellow at the narrow.

“Think of that a million times bigger,” said Connor, “and made out of velvet. That’d be a design for a cloak, eh? Cost about a thousand bucks to imitate this petal, but it’d be worth it to see you in it, eh?”

She looked to David with a smile of apology for Connor, but her hand accepted the petal, and her second smile was for Connor himself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

When they went
out into the patio again, David had lost a large part of his buoyancy of spirits, as though in some subtle manner Connor had overcast the triumph of the room; he left them with word that the evening meal would soon be ready and hurried off calling orders to Zacharias.

“Why did you do it?” she asked Connor as soon as they were alone.

“Because it made me mad to see a stargazer like that turning your head.”

“But didn’t you think the room was beautiful?”

“Sure. Like a riot in a florist’s shop. But don’t let this David take you off guard with his rooms full of flowers and full of silence.”

“Silence?”

“Haven’t I told you about his Room of Silence? That’s one of his queer dodges. That room; you see? When anything bothers him he goes over and sits down in there, because—do you know what he thinks sits with him?”

“Well?”

“God!”

She was between a smile and a gasp.

“Yep, that’s David,” grinned Connor. “Just plain nut.”

“What’s inside?”

“I don’t know. Maybe flowers.”

“Let’s find out.”

He caught her arm quickly.

“Not in a thousand years!” He changed color at the thought and glanced guiltily around. “That would be the smash of everything. Why, he turned over the whole Garden of Eden to me. I can go anywhere, but not a step inside that room. It’s his Holy Ground, you see! Maybe it’s where he keeps his jack. And I’ve a hunch that he has a slough of it tucked away somewhere.”

She raised her hand as an idea came to her half way through this speech.

“Listen! I have an idea that the clew to all of David’s mystery is in that room!”

“Drop that idea, Ruth,” he ordered gruffly. “You’ve seen David on one rampage, but it’s nothing to what would happen if you so much as peeked into that place. When the servants pass that door they take off their hats—watch ’em the next time you have a chance. You won’t make a slip about that room?”

“No.” But she added: “I’d give my soul—for one look!”

Dinner that night under the stars with the whispering of the fountain beside them was a ceremony which Connor never forgot. The moon rose late and in the meantime the sky was heavy and dark with sheeted patchwork of clouds, with the stars showing here and there. The wind blew in gusts. A wave began with a whisper on the hill, came with a light rushing across the patio, and then diminished quickly among the trees down the terraces. Rough, iron-framed lanterns gave the light and showed the arcade stepping away on either side and growing dim toward the entrance. That uncertain illumination made the crude pillars seem to have only the irregularity of vast antiquity, stable masses of stone. Where the circle of lantern-light overlapped rose the fountain, a pale spray forever dissolving in the upper shadow. Connor himself was more or less used to these things, but he became newly aware of them as the girl sent quick, eager glances here and there.

She had placed a single one of the great yellow blossoms in her hair and it changed her shrewdly. It brought out the delicate coloring of her skin, and to the darkness of her eyes it lent a tint of violet. Plainly she enjoyed the scene with its newness. David, of course, was the spice to everything, and his capitulation was complete; he kept the girl always on an uneasy balance between happiness and laughter. And Connor trembled for fear the mirth would show through. But each change of her expression appeared to delight David more than the last.

Under his deft knife the choicest white meat came away from the breast of a chicken and he heaped it at once on the plate of Ruth. Then he dropped his chin upon his great brown fist and watched with silent delight while she ate. It embarrassed her; but her flush had a tinge of pleasure in it, as Connor very well knew.

“Look!” said David, speaking softly as though Ruth would not hear him. “How pleasant it is, to be three together. When we were two, one talked and the other grew weary—was it not so? But now we are complete. One speaks, one listens, and the other judges. I have been alone. The Garden of Eden has been to me a prison, at many times. And now there is nothing wanting. And why? There were many men before. We were not lacking in numbers. Yet there was an emptiness, and now comes one small creature, as delicate as a colt of three months, this being of smiles and curious glances, this small voice, this woman—and at once the gap is filled. Is it not strange?”

He cast himself back in his chair, as though he wished to throw her into perspective with her surroundings, and all the time he was staring as though she were an image, a picture, and not a thing of flesh and blood. Connor himself was on the verge of a smile, but when he saw the face of Ruth Manning his mirth disappeared in a chill of terror. She was struggling and struggling in vain against a rising tide of laughter, laughter in the face of David Eden and his sensitive pride.

It came, it broke through all bonds, and now it was bubbling from her lips. As one who awaits the falling of a blow, Connor glanced furtively at the host, and again he was startled.

There was not a shade of evil temper in the face of David. He leaned forward, indeed, with a surge of the great shoulders, but it was as one who listens to an entrancing music. And when she ceased, abruptly, he sighed.

“Speak to me,” he commanded.

She murmured a faint reply.

“Again,” said David, half closing his eyes. And Connor nodded a frantic encouragement to her.

“But what shall I say?”

“For the meaning of what you say,” said David, “I have no care, but only for the sound. Have you heard dripping in a well, a sound like water filling a bottle and never reaching the top? It keeps you listening for an hour, perhaps, always a soft sound, but always rising toward a climax? Or a drowsy day when the wind hardly moves and the whistling of a bird comes now and then out of the trees, cool and contented? Or you pass a meadow of flowers in the warm sun and hear the ground murmur of the bees, and you think at once of the wax films of the honeycomb, and the clear golden honey? All those things I heard and saw when you spoke.”

“Plain nut!” said Connor, framing the words with silent lips.

But though her eyes rested on him, apparently she did not see his face. She looked back at Connor with a wistful little half-smile.

At once David cast out both his hands toward hers.

“Ah, you are strange, new, delightful!” He stopped abruptly. Then: “Does it make you happy to hear me say these things?”

“Why do you ask me that?” she said curiously.

“Because it fills me with unspeakable happiness to say them. If I am silent and only think then I am not so pleased. When I see Glani standing on the hilltop I feel his speed in the slope of his muscles, the flaunt of his tail, the pride of his head; but when I gallop him, and the wind of his galloping strikes my face—ha, that is a joy! So it is speaking with you. When I see you I say within: ‘She is beautiful!’ But when I speak it aloud your lips tremble a little toward a smile, your eyes darken with pleasure, and then my heart rises into my throat and I wish to speak again and again and again to find new things to say, to say old things in new words. So that I may watch the changes in your face. Do you understand? But now you blush. Is that a sign of anger?”