Hell died in his pale eyes as she came to him, rested silently in his gentle embrace, returned his kiss, laid her flushed, sweet cheek against his unshaven face. "Dad, darling?" "Yes, my baby---" "You're watching to kill Quintana. But there's no use watching any longer." "Have the boys below got him?" he demanded. "They got one of his gang. Byron Hastings is dead. Jim is badly hurt: Sid Hone, too, -- not so badly----" "Where's Quintana?" "Dad, he's gone. ... But it don't matter. See here!----" She dug her slender hand into her breeches pocket and pulled out a little fistful of gems. Clinch, his powerful arm closing her shoulders, looked dully at the jewels. "You see, dad, there's no use killing Quintana. These are the things he robbed you of." "'Tain't them that matter. ... I'm glad you got 'em. I allus wanted you should be a great lady, girlie. Them's the ticket of admission. You put them in your pants. I gotta stay here a spell---" "Dad! Take them!" He took them, smiled, shoved them into his pocket. "What is it, girlie?" he asked absently, his pale eyes searching the woods ahead. "I've just told you," she said, "that the boys went in as far as Quintana's shanty. There was a dead man there, too; but Quintana has gone." Clinch said, -- not removing his eyes from the forest: "If any o' them boys has let Quintana crawl through I'll kill _him,_ too. ... G'wan home, girlie. I gotta mosey -- I gotta kinda loaf around f'r a spell----" "Dad, I want you to come back with me---" "You go home; you hear me, Eve? Tell Corny and Dick Berry to hook it for Owl Marsh and stop the Star Peak trails -- both on 'em. ... Can Sid and Jimmy walk?" "Jim can't---" "Well, let Harve take him on his back. You go too. You help fix Jimmy up at the house. He's a little fella, Jimmy Hastings is. Harve can tote him. And you go along----" "Dad, Quintana says he means to kill you! What is the use of hurting him? You have what he took----" "I gotta have more'n he took. But even that ain't enough. He couldn't pay for all he ever done to me, girlie. ... I'm aimin' to draw him on sight---" Clinch's set visage relaxed into an alarming smile which flickered, faded, died in the wintry ferocity of his eyes. "Dad----" "G'wan home!" he interrupted harshly. "You want that Hastings boy to bleed to death?" She came up to him, not uttering a word, yet asking him with all the tenderness and eloquence of her eyes to leave this blood-trail where it lay and hunt no more. He kissed her mouth, infinitely tender, smiled; then, again prim and scowling: "G'wan home, you little scut, an' do what I told ye, or, by God, I'll cut a switch that'll learn ye good! Never a word, now! On yer way! G'wan!" * * * * * Twice she turned to look back. The second time, Clinch was slowly walking into the woods straight ahead of him. She waited; saw him go in; waited. After a while she continued on her way.