Half a mile down the turbulent outlet of Star Pond, — where a great sheet of green water pours thirty feet into the tossing foam below, — and spinning, dipping, diving, bobbing up like a lost log after the drive, the body of Senor Sanchez danced all alone in the wilderness, spilling from soggy pockets diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, into crystal caves where only the shadows of slim trout stirred.
* * * * *
Very far away to the eastward Quintana stood listening, clutching Sard by one sleeve to silence him.
Presently he said: "My frien', somebody is hunting with houn's in this fores'.
"Maybe they are not hunting us. … Maybe. … But, for me, I shall seek running water. Go you your own way! Houp! Vamose!"
He turned westward; but he had taken scarcely a dozen strides when Sard came panting after him:
"Don't leave me!" gasped the terrified diamond broker. "I don't know where to go——"
Quintana faced him abruptly — with a terrifying smile and glimmer of white teeth — and shoved a pistol into the fold of fat beneath Sard's double chin.
"You hear those dogs? Yes? Ver' well; I also. Run, now. I say to you run ver' damn quick. He! Houp! Allez vous en! Beat eer!"
He struck Sard a stinging blow on his fleshy ear with the pistol barrel, ad Sard gave a muffled shriek which was more like the squeak of a frightened animal.