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unstable in
the soft earth and needing only the furious blast of the crown fire to knock
them over. It had been this, then, which had struck her.
    â€œDid you get the
pictures?” she said, sitting up.
    â€œThe air shots are
down there some place,” said Johnny, jerking the cigarette to indicate the
bottom of the pool. “You dropped them when you went out. The camera is likewise
in the drink, the whole top knocked out of it.”
    â€œThe tree didn’t hit
you?”
    â€œMissed me—a whole
foot,” said Johnny.
    â€œThey’re all gone,”
wept Irish, unashamed. “They’re all gone. And they was such swell pictures.
Animals and the crown fire, and everything.”
    â€œCan’t you salvage
them?”
    Johnny didn’t even
bother to answer.
    â€œBut maybe just plain
water—”
    Irish moaned,
“Please.”
    Johnny touched his
cheek and looked at his bloody fingers in some surprise, deciding he had better
wash his face. He knelt down, dabbling in the water.
    â€œIt’s going to be a
hot walk,” he said, “and maybe a damned long one.”
    Irish recovered
himself. He took out a pocket knife and approached a dead deer sprawled on the
bank. The girl looked away, already too conscious of the smell of singed hair
and burnt meat which hung over the world about them. However, a little later,
when Irish finished roasting the steaks on a stump, she took her portion.
    Johnny was looking at
her critically as he ate.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?”
she said, acutely aware of her smudged face, torn clothes and wet hair.
    â€œLady,” he said
slowly, “I hereby christen you ‘Jinx’.”

    Jinx

Chapter
Five
    T WENTY tragic hours later, the
scorched, ragged, blackened, wretched, hungry, weary, dispirited, footsore and
homeless trio trudged into Coeur d’Alene’s best hotel, cast off by a Forest
Service truck. For a long, long time it had been raining and the soot had clung
to them, a black scum overlaid by gumbo .
    The clerk was startled
and then dismayed at the pools of black paint which were tracked across the
floor—and though he was not at all haughty about costume, he considered this a
shade too much for two men and a boy to so scandalously appear in his hotel. He
drew himself up behind his desk. “I am very sorry but we have—”
    â€œSkip it,” snarled
Johnny, flashing a wallet with his World News card before the fellow’s face.
“You’re giving us three connecting, your very best. Where’s your telephone?”
    The clerk amended his
first lack of hospitality. He called, “Front!” and a bellhop came forward, with
misgivings about any tip. “Mr. Brice of World News,” said the clerk, “will
occupy the governor’s suite. Here is the key. Will you go right up, sir? I
could have some food sent to you in your room. You can use the phone there, and
we have some haberdashers in Coeur d’Alene who are up to the minute. Were you
filming the fire? Was it as bad as they say?”
    â€œSend up the menu,
three portions of everything,” said Johnny.
    They got into the
elevator and were taken to the top floor. The boy was oblivious of their
footprints on the carpets. His eyes were roundly fixed on Johnny, and he fell
all over the rooms as he opened windows and made a pretense of checking the
towels.
    Johnny said, “Tell
them to put a dollar on the bill. And get me some Scotch.”
    â€œOh, no, sir. I mean
that’s all right about the dollar. I always wanted to be a cameraman. Do you
suppose—”
    â€œI said a bottle of
Scotch,” said Johnny.
    The boy, still
goggle-eyed, retreated.
    The girl sank
spiritlessly into a chair, pulling off the helmet. Her hair had been protected
and the bright honey-gold of it was in startling contrast to her black face.
    Irish walked straight
into one of the bathrooms and stepped under the shower without