He went away toward the ice-house with the trout. Eve Strayer, doing chamber work, watched the young man from an upper room.
The girl's instinct was to like Smith, -- but that very instinct aroused her distrust. What was a man of his breeding and education doing at Clinch's dump? Why was he content to hang around and do chores? A man of his type who had gone crooked enough to stick up a tourist in an automobile nourishes higher- though probably perverted -- ambitions than a dollar a day and board.
She heard Clinch's light step on the uncarpeted stair; went on making up Smith's bed; and smiled as her step-father came into the room, still carrying his rifle.
He had something else in his hand, too, -- a flat, thin packet wrapped in heavy paper and sealed all over with black wax.
"Girlie," he said, "I want you should do a little errand for me this morning. If you're spry it won't take long -- time to go there and get back to help with noon dinner."
"Very well, dad."
"Go git your pants on, girlie."
"You want me to go into the woods?"
"I want you to go to the hole in the rocks under Star Peak and lay this packet under the hootch cache."
She nodded, tucked in the sheets, smoothed blanket and pillow with deft hands, went out to her own room. Clinch seated himself and turned a blank face to the window.
It was a sudden decision. He realised now that he couldn't keep the jewels in his house. War was on with Quintana. The "hotel" would be the goal for Quintana and his gang. And for smith, too, if ever temptation over-powered him. The house was liable to an attempt at robbery any night, now; -- any day, perhaps. It was no place for the packet he had taken from Jose Quintana.
Eve came in wearing grey shirt, breeches, and puttees. Clinch gave her the packet.
"What's in it, dad?" she asked smilingly.
"Don't you get nosey, girlie. Come here."
She went to him. He put his left arm around her.
"You like me some, don't you, girlie?"
"You know it, dad."
"All right. You're all that matters to me. ... since your mother went and died. ... after a year. ... That was crool, girlie. Only a year. Well, I ain't cared none for nobody since -- only you, girlie."
He touched the packet with his forefinger: "If I step out, that's yours. But I ain't a-going to step out. Put it with the hootch. You know how to move that keystone?"