Part 52 (1/2)

”Well, Lord,” he concluded, in his wordless way, ”my girlie has gotta have a chance if I gotta go to h.e.l.l for it. That's sure as shootin'....

Amen.”

At that instant he saw Quintana.

Recognition was instant and mutual. Neither man stirred. Quintana was standing beside a giant hemlock. His pack lay at his feet.

Clinch had halted--always the mechanics!--close to a great ironwood tree.

Probably both men knew that they could cover themselves before the other moved a muscle. Clinch's small, light eyes were blazing; Quintana's black eyes had become two slits.

Finally: ”You--dirty--skunk,” drawled Clinch in his agreeably misleading voice, ”by Jesus Christ I got you now.”

”Ah--h,” said Quintana, ”thees has happen ver' nice like I expec'....

Always I say myse'f, yet a little patience, Jose, an' one day you shall meet thees fellow Clinch, who has rob you.... I am ver' thankful to the good G.o.d----”

He had made the slightest of movements: instantly both men were behind their trees. Clinch, in the ferocious pride of woodcraft, laughed exultingly--filled the dim and spectral forest with his roar of laughter.

”Quintana,” he called out, ”you're a-going to cash in. Savvy? You're a-going to hop off. An' first you gotta hear why. 'Tain't for the stuff.

Naw! I hooked it off'n you; you hooked it off'n me; now I got it again.

_That's_ all square.... No, 'tain't _that_ grudge, you green-livered whelp of a cross-bred, still-born s.l.u.t! No! It's becuz you laid the heft o' your dirty little finger onto my girlie. 'N' now you gotta hop!”

Quintana's sinister laughter was his retort. Then: ”You damfool Clinch,”

he said, ”I got in my pocket what you rob of me. Now I kill you, and then I feel ver' well. I go home, live like some kings; yes. But you,”

he sneered, ”you shall not go home never no more. No. You shall remain in thees d.a.m.n wood like ver' dead old rat that is all wormy.... He! I got a million dollaire--five million franc in my pocket. You shall learn what it cost to rob Jose Quintana! Unnerstan'?”

”You liar,” said Clinch contemptuously, ”I got them jools in my pants pocket----”

Quintana's derisive laugh cut him short: ”I give you thee Flaming Jewel if you show me you got my gems in you pants pocket!”

”I'll show you. Lay down your rifle so's I see the stock.”

”First you, my frien' Mike,” said Quintana cautiously.

Clinch took his rifle by the muzzle and shoved the stock into view so that Quintana could see it without moving.

To his surprise, Quintana did the same, then coolly stepped a pace outside the shelter of his hemlock stump.

”You show me now!” he called across the swamp.

Clinch stepped into view, dug into his pocket, and, cupping both hands, displayed a glittering heap of gems.

”I wanted you should know who's gottem,” he said, ”before you hop. It'll give you something to think over in h.e.l.l.”

Quintana's eyes had become slits again. Neither man stirred. Then: