When she sighted the men below she called to Blommers and Dick Berry: "Dad says you're to stop Star Peak trail by Owl Marsh." Jimmy Hastings sat on a log, crying and looking down at his dead brother, over whose head somebody had spread a coat. Blommers had made a tourniquet for Jimmy out of a bandanna and a peeled stick. The girl examined it, loosened it for a moment, twisted it again, and bade Harvey Chase take him on his back and start for Clinch's. The boy began to sob that he didn't want his brother to be left out there all alone; but Chase promised to come back and bring him in before night. Sid Hone came up, haggard from pain and loss of blood, resting his mangled hand in the sling of his cartridge-belt. Berry and Blommers were already starting across toward Owl Marsh; and the latter, passing by, asked Eve where Mike was. "He went into Drowned Valley by the upper outlet," she said. "He'll never find no one in them logans an' sinks," muttered Chase, squatting to hoist Jimmy Hastings to his broad back. "I guess he'll be over Star Peak side by sundown," nodded Blommers. Eve watched him slouching off into the woods, followed sullenly by Berry. Then she looked down at the dead man in silence. "Be you ready, Eve?" grunted Chase. She turned with a heavy heart to the home trail; but her mind was passionately with Clinch in the spectral forests of Drowned Valley. * * * * * II And Clinch's mind was on her. All else -- his watchfulness, his stealthy advance -- all the alertness of eye and ear, all the subtlety, the cunning, the infinite caution -- were purely instinctive mechanics. Somewhere in this flooded twilight of gigantic trees was Jose Quintana. Knowing that, he dismissed that fact from his mind and turned his thoughts to Eve. Sometimes his lips moved. They usually did when he was arguing with God or calling his Creator's attention to the justice of his case. His _two_ cases -- each, to him, a cause celebre; the matter of Harrod; the affair of Quintana. Many a time he had pleaded these two causes before the Most High. But now his thoughts were chiefly concerned with Eve -- with the problem of her future -- his master passion -- this daughter of the dead wife he had loved. He sighed unconsciously; halted. "Well, Lord," he concluded, in his wordless way, "my girlie has gotta have a chance if I gotta go to hell 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."