where they would be within five miles of the Metissic Inn,
and where they could dine and dance to their heart’s
content.
And then the silence and the beauty of this camp at night,
after all had presumably gone to bed. The stars! The
mystic, shadowy water, faintly rippling in a light wind, the
mystic, shadowy pines conferring in the light breezes, the
cries of night birds and owls—too disturbing to Clyde to be
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listened to with anything but inward distress. The wonder
and glory of all this—if only—if only he were not stalked
after, as by a skeleton, by the horror not only of what he
had done in connection with Roberta but the danger and
the power of the law that deemed him a murderer! And
then Sondra, the others having gone to bed—or off into the
shadow,—stealing out for a few last words and kisses
under the stars. And he whispering to her how happy he
was, how grateful for all her love and faith, and at one point
almost tempted to ask whether in case it should ever
appear that he was not as good as she now seemed to
imagine him, she would still love him a little—not hate him
entirely—yet refraining for fear that after that exhibition of
terror the preceding night she might connect his present
mood with that, or somehow with the horrible, destructive
secret that was gnawing at his vitals.
And then afterwards, lying in the four-cot tent with Baggott,
Harriet and Grant, listening nervously for hours for any
prowling steps that might mean—that might mean—God—
what might they not mean even up here?—the law! arrest!
exposure! Death. And waking twice in the night out of
dread, destructive dreams,—and feeling as though—and
fearing—that he had cried out in his sleep.
But then the glory of the morning once more—with its
rotund and yellow sun rising over the waters of the lake—
and in a cove across the lake wild ducks paddling about.
And after a time Grant and Stuart and Harley, half-clad and
with guns and a great show of fowling skill, foolishly setting
forth in canoes in the hope of bagging some of the game
with long distance shots, yet getting nothing, to the
merriment of all the others. And the boys and girls, stealing
out in bright-colored bathing suits and silken beach robes to
the water, there to plunge gayly in and shout and clatter
concerning the joy of it all. And breakfast at nine, with
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afterwards the gayety and beauty of the bright flotilla of
canoes making eastward along the southern lake shore,
banjos, guitars and mandolins strumming and voices raised
in song, jest, laughter.
“Whatever matter wissum sweet to-day? Face all dark.
Cantum be happy out here wis Sondra and all these nicey
good-baddies?”
And Clyde as instantly realizing that he must pretend to be
gay and care-free.
And then Harley Baggott and Grant and Harriet at about
noon announcing that there—just ahead—was the fine
beach they had in mind—the Ramshorn, a spit of land
commanding from its highest point all the length and
breadth of the lake. And with room on the shore below for
all the tents and paraphernalia of the company. And then,
throughout this warm, pleasant Sunday afternoon, the usual
program of activities—lunching, swimming, dancing,
walking, card-playing, music. And Clyde and Sondra, like
other couples, stealing off—Sondra with a mandolin—to a
concealed rock far to the east of the camp, where in the
shade of the pines they could lie—Sondra in Clyde’s arms—
and talk of the things they were certain to do later, even
though, as she now announced, Mrs. Finchley was
declaring that after this particular visit of Clyde’s her
daughter was to have nothing more to do with him in any
such intimate social way as this particular trip gave
opportunity for. He was too poor—too nondescript a relative
of the Griffiths. (It was so that Sondra, yet in a more veiled
way, described her mother as talking.) Yet adding: “How
ridiculous, sweetum! But don’t you mind. I just laughed and
agreed because I don’t want to aggravate her just now. But
I did ask her how I was to avoid meeting you here or
anywhere now since you are as popular as you are. My
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sweetum is so good-looking. Everybody thinks so—even
the boys.”
At this very hour, on the veranda of the Silver Inn at
Sharon, District Attorney Mason, with his assistant Burton
Burleigh, Coroner Heit and Earl Newcomb, and the
redoubtable Sheriff Slack, paunched and scowling, yet
genial enough in ordinary social intercourse, together with
three assistants—first, second and third deputies Kraut,
Sissel and Swenk—conferring as to the best and most
certain methods of immediate capture.
“He has gone to Bear Lake. We must follow and trap him
before news reaches him in any way that he is wanted.”
And so they set forth—this group—Burleigh and Earl
Newcomb about Sharon itself in order to gather such
additional data as they might in connection with Clyde’s
arrival and departure from here for the Cranstons’ on
Friday, talking with and subpoenaing any such individuals
as might throw any light on his movements; Heit to Three
Mile Bay on much the same errand, to see Captain Mooney
of the “Cygnus” and the three men and Mason, together
with the sheriff and his deputies, in a high-powered launch
chartered for the occasion, to follow the now known course
of the only recently-departed camping party, first to Little
Fish Inlet and from there, in case the trail proved sound, to
Bear Lake.
And on Monday morning, while those at Ramshorn Point
after breaking camp were already moving on toward Shelter
Beach fourteen miles east, Mason, together with Slack and
his three deputies, arriving at the camp deserted the
morning before. And there, the sheriff and Mason taking
counsel with each other and then dividing their forces so
that in canoes commandeered from lone residents of the
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region they now proceeded, Mason and First Deputy Kraut
along the south shore, Slack and Second Deputy Sissel
along the north shore, while young Swenk, blazing with a
desire to arrest and handcuff some one, yet posing for the
occasion as a lone young hunter or woodsman, paddled
directly east along the center of the lake in search of any
informing smoke or fires or tents or individuals idling along
the shores. And with great dreams of being the one to
capture the murderer—I arrest you, Clyde Griffiths, in the
name of the law!—yet because of instructions from Mason,
as well as Slack, grieving that instead, should he detect any
signs, being the furthermost outpost, he must, in order to
avoid frightening the prey or losing him, turn on his track
and from some point not so likely to be heard by the
criminal fire one single shot from his eight-chambered
repeater, where-upon whichever party chanced to be
nearest would fire one shot in reply and then proceed as
swiftly as possible in his direction. But under no
circumstances was he to attempt to take the criminal alone,
unless noting the departure by boat or on foot of a
suspicious person who answered the description of Clyde.
At this very hour, Clyde, with Harley Baggott, Bertine and
Sondra, in one of the canoes, paddling eastward along with
the remainder of the flotilla, looking back and wondering.
Supposing by now, some officer or some one had arrived at
Sharon and was following him up here? For would it be
hard to find where he had gone, supposing only that they
knew his name?
But they did not know his name. Had not the items in the
papers proved that? Why worry so always, especially on
this utterly wonderful trip and when at last he and Sondra
could be together again? And besides, was it not now
possible for him to wander off by himself into these thinly
populated woods along the shore to the eastward, toward
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that inn at the other end of the lake—and not return? Had
he not inquired most casually on Saturday afternoon of
Harley Baggott as well as others as to whether there was a
road south or east from the east end of the lake? And had
he not learned there was?
And at last, at noon, Monday, reaching Shelter Beach, the
third spot of beauty contemplated by the planners of this
outing, where he helped to pitch the tents again while the
girls played about.
Yet at the same hour, at the Ramshorn site, because of the
ashes from their fires left upon the shore, young Swenk,
most eagerly and enthusiastically, like some seeking
animal, approaching and examining the same and then
going on—swiftly. And but one hour later, Mason and Kraut,
reconnoitering the same spot, but without either devoting
more than a cursory glance, since it was obvious that the
prey had moved farther on.