‘how did you play us that trick, Barris?’
‘Trick?’ said Barris contemptuously.
I looked at Pierpont, and my heart sank. If this was not a trick, what was it? Pierpont returned my glance and colored, but all he said was, ‘It’s devilish queer,’ and Barris answered, ‘Yes, devilish’. Then Barris asked me again to tell my story, and I did, beginning from the time I met David in the spinney to the moment when I sprang into the darkening thicket where that yellow mask had grinned like a phantom skull.
‘Shall we try to find the fountain?’ I asked after a pause.
‘Yes – and – er – the lady,’ suggested Pierpont vaguely.
‘Don’t be an ass,’ I said a little impatiently, ‘you need not come, you know.’
‘Oh, I’ll come,’ said Pierpont, ‘unless you think I am indiscreet—’
‘Shut up, Pierpont,’ said Barris, ‘this thing is serious; I never heard of such a glade or such a fountain, but it’s true that nobody knows this forest thoroughly. It’s worthwhile trying for; Roy, can you find your way back to it?’
‘Easily,’ I answered; ‘when shall we go?’
‘It will knock our snipe shooting on the head,’ said Pierpont, ‘but when one has the opportunity of finding a live dream-lady—’
I rose, deeply offended, but Pierpont was not very penitent and his laughter was irresistible.
‘The lady’s yours by right of discovery,’ he said, ‘I’ll promise not to infringe on your dreams – I’ll dream about other ladies—’
‘Come, come,’ said I, ‘I’ll have Howlett put you to bed in a minute. Barris, if you are ready – we can get back to dinner—’
Barris had risen and was gazing at me earnestly.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked nervously, for I saw that his eyes were fixed on my forehead, and I thought of Ysonde and the white crescent scar.
‘Is that a birthmark?’ said Barris.
‘Yes – why, Barris?’
‘Nothing – an interesting coincidence—’
‘What! – for Heaven’s sake!’
‘The scar – or rather the birthmark. It is the print of the dragon’s claw – the crescent symbol of Yue-Laou—’
‘And who the devil is Yue-Laou?’ I said crossly.
‘Yue-Laou – the Moon Maker, Dzil-Nbu of the Kuen-Yuin – it’s Chinese Mythology, but it is believed that Yue-Laou has returned to rule the Kuen-Yuin—’
‘The conversation,’ interrupted Pierpont, ‘smacks of peacocks’ feathers and yellow-jackets. The chicken pox has left its card on Roy, and Barris is guying us. Come on, you fellows, and make your call on the dream-lady. Barris, I hear galloping; here come your men.’
Two mud-splashed riders clattered up to the porch and dismounted at a motion from Barris. I noticed that both of them carried repeating rifles and heavy Colt revolvers.
They followed Barris, deferentially, into the dining room, and presently we heard the tinkle of plates and bottles and the low hum of Barris’ musical voice.
Half an hour later they came out again, saluted Pierpont and me, and galloped away in the direction of the Canadian frontier. Ten minutes passed, and, as Barris did not appear, we rose and went into the house, to find him. He was sitting silently before the table, watching the small golden globe, now glowing with scarlet and orange fire, brilliant as a live coal. Howlett, mouth ajar, and eyes starting from the sockets, stood petrified behind him.
‘Are you coming,’ asked Pierpont, a little startled. Barris did not answer. The globe slowly turned to pale gold again – but the face that Barris raised to ours was white as a sheet. Then he stood up, and smiled with an effort which was painful to us all.
‘Give me a pencil and a bit of paper,’ he said.
Howlett brought it. Barris went to the window and wrote rapidly. He folded the paper, placed it in the top drawer of his desk, locked the drawer, handed me the key, and motioned us to precede him.
When we again stood under the maples, he turned to me with an impenetrable expression. ‘You will know when to use the key,’ he said; ‘Come, Pierpont, we must try to find Roy’s fountain.’
VI
At two o’clock that afternoon, at Barris’ suggestion, we gave up the search for the fountain in the glade and cut across the forest to the spinney where David and Howlett were waiting with our guns and the three dogs.
Pierpont guyed me unmercifully about the ‘dream-lady’ as he called her, and, but for the significant coincidence of Ysonde’s and Barris’ questions concerning the white scar on my forehead, I should long ago have been perfectly persuaded that I had dreamed the whole thing. As it was, I had no explanation to offer. We had not been able to find the glade although fifty times I came to landmarks which convinced me that we were just about to enter it. Barris was quiet, scarcely uttering a word to either of us during the entire search. I had never before seen him depressed in spirits. However, when we came in sight of the spinney where a cold bit of grouse and a bottle of Burgundy awaited each, Barris seemed to recover his habitual good humor.
‘Here’s to the dream-lady!’ said Pierpont, raising his glass and standing up.
I did not like it. Even if she was only a dream, it irritated me to hear Pierpont’s mocking voice. Perhaps Barris understood – I don’t know, but he bade Pierpont drink his wine without further noise, and that young man obeyed with a childlike confidence which almost made Barris smile.
‘What about the snipe, David,’ I asked; ‘the meadows should be in good condition.’
‘There is not a snipe on the meadows, sir,’ said David solemnly.
‘Impossible,’ exclaimed Barris, ‘they can’t have left.’
‘They have, sir,’ said David in a sepulchral voice which I hardly recognized.
We all three looked at the old man curiously, waiting for his explanation of this disappointing but sensational report.
David looked at Howlett and Howlett examined the sky.
‘I was going,’ began the old man, with his eyes fastened on Howlett, ‘I was going along by the spinney with the dogs when I heard a noise in the covert and I seen Howlett come walkin’ very fast toward me. In fact,’ continued David, ‘I may say he was runnin’. Was you runnin’, Howlett?’
Howlett said ‘Yes’, with a decorous cough.
‘I beg pardon,’ said David, ‘but I’d rather Howlett told the rest. He saw things which I did not.’
‘Go on, Howlett,’ commanded Pierpont, much interested.
