And now, from behind a pine, and startlingly near her, came Quintana, moving with confident grace yet holding his rifle ready for any emergency. Eve's horrified stare was natural; she had not realised that any man could wear so evil a smile. Quintana stopped short a dozen paces away. The dramatic in him demanded of the moment its full value. He swept off his hat with a flourish, bowed deeply where he stood. "Ah!" he cried gaily, "the happy encounter, Senorita. God is too good to us. And it was but a moment since my thoughts were of you! I swear it!----" It was not fear; it was a sort of slow horror of this man that began to creep over the girl. She stared at his brilliant eyes, at his thick mouth, too red--shuddered slightly. But the toe of her right foot touched the stock of her rifle under the pine needles. She held herself under control. "So it's you," she said unsteadily. "I thought our people had caught you." Quintana laughed: "Charming child," he said, "it is _I_ who have caught your people. And now, my God!--I catch _you_!... It is ver' funny. Is it not?" She looked straight into Quintana's black eyes, but the look he returned sent the shamed blood surging into her face. "By God," he said between his white, even teeth,--"by God!" Staring at her he slowly disengaged his pack, let it fall behind him on the pine needles; rested his rifle on it; slipped out of his mackinaw and laid that across his rifle--always keeping his brilliant eyes on her. His lips tightened, the muscles in his dark face grew tense; his eyes became a blazing insult. For an instant he stood there, unencumbered, a wiry, graceful shape in his woollen breeches, leggings, and grey shirt open at the throat. Then he took a step toward her. And the girl watched him, fascinated. One pace, two, a third, a fourth--the girl's involuntary cry echoed the stumbling crash of the man thrashing, clawing, scrambling in the clenched jaws of the bear-trap amid a whirl of flying pine needles. He screamed once, tried to rise, turned blindly to seize the jaws that clutched him; and suddenly crouched, loose-jointed, cringing like a trapped wolf--the true fatalist among our lesser brothers. Eve picked up her rifle. She was trembling violently. Then, mastering her emotion, she walked over to the pack, placed Quintana's rifle and mackinaw in it, coolly hoisted it to her shoulders and buckled it there. Over her shoulder she kept an eye on Quintana who crouched where he had fallen, unstirring, his deadly eyes watching her. She placed the muzzle of her rifle against his stomach, rested it so, holding it with one hand, and her finger at the trigger. At her brief order he turned out both breeches pockets. She herself stooped and drew the Spanish clasp-knife from its sheath at his belt, took a pistol from the holster, another out of his hip pocket. Reaching up and behind her, she dropped these into the pack.