Part 17 (1/2)

”Look at you now--my G.o.d, look at you there, all peaked an' scairt an'

bleedin'--plum tuckered out, 'n' all ragged 'n' dirty----”

A blaze of fury flared in his small pale eyes: ”--And he hit you, too, did he?--that skunk! Quintana done that to my little girlie, did he?”

”I don't know if it was Quintana. I don't know who he was, dad,” she murmured drowsily.

”Masked, wa'n't he?”

”Yes.”

Clinch's iron visage twitched and quivered. He gnawed his thin lips into control:

”Girlie, I gotta go out a spell. But I ain't a-leavin' you alone here.

I'll git somebody to set up with you. You jest lie snug and don't think about nothin' till I come back.”

”Yes, dad,” she sighed, closing her eyes.

Clinch stood looking at her for a moment, then he went downstairs heavily, and out to the veranda where State Trooper Stormont still sat his saddle, talking to Hal Smith. On the porch a sullen crowd of backwoods riff-raff lounged in silence, awaiting events.

Clinch called across to Smith: ”Hey, Hal, g'wan up and set with Eve a spell while she's nappin'. Take a gun.”

Smith said to Stormont in a low voice: ”Do me a favour, Jack?”

”You bet.”

”That girl of Clinch's is in real danger if left here alone. But I've got another job on my hands. Can you keep a watch on her till I return?”

”Can't you tell me a little more, Jim?”

”I will, later. Do you mind helping me out now?”

”All right.”

Trooper Stormont swung out of his saddle and led his horse away toward the stable.

Hal Smith went into the bar where Clinch stood, oiling a rifle.

”G'wan upstairs,” he muttered. ”I got a private war on. It's me or Quintana, now.”

”You're going after Quintana?” inquired Smith, carelessly.

”I be. And I want you should git your gun and set up by Evie. And I want you should kill any living human son of a s.l.u.t that comes botherin'

around this here hotel.”

”I'm going after Quintana with you, Mike.”

”B'gosh, you ain't. You're a-goin' to keep watch here.”