Smith, always trying to keep Clinch and Quintana's men in view, took no part in the discussion; but Berry thought he was detaining Lily Chase and pushed him aside. "Hold on, young man!" exclaimed Smith sharply. "Keep your hands to yourself. If your girl don't want to dance with you she doesn't have to." Some of Quintana's gang came up to listen. Berry glared at Smith. "Say," he said, "I seen you before somewhere. Wasn't you in Russia?" "What are you talking about?" "Yes, you was. You was an officer! What you doing at Clinch's?" "What's that?" growled Clinch, shoving his way forward and shouldering the crowd aside. "Who's this man, Mike?" demanded Berry. "Well, who do you think he is?" asked Clinch thickly. "I think he's gettin' the goods on you, that's what I think," yelled Berry. "G'wan home, Charlie," returned Clinch. "G'wan, all o' you. The dance is over. Go peaceable, every one. Stop that fiddle!" The music ceased. The dance was ended; they all understood that; but there was grumbling and demands for drinks. Clinch, drunk but impassive, herded them through the door out into the starlight. There was scuffling, horse-play, but no fighting. The big Englishman, Harry Beck, asked for accommodations for his party over night. "Naw," said Clinch, "g'wan back to the Inn. I can't bother with you folks to-night." And as the others, Salzar, Georgiades, Picquet and Sanchez gathered about to insist, Clinch pushed them all out of doors in a mass. "Get the hell out o' here!" he growled; and slammed the door. He stood for a moment with head lowered, drunk, but apparently capable of reflection. Eve came from the melodeon and laid one slim hand on his arm. "Go to bed, girlie," he said, not looking at her. "You also, dad." "No.... I got business with Hal Smith." Passing Smith, the girl whispered: "You look out for him and undress him." Smith nodded, gravely preoccupied with coming events, and nerving himself to meet them. He had no gun. Clinch's big automatic bulged under his armpit. When the girl had ascended the creaking stairs and her door, above, closed, Clinch walked unsteadily to the door, opened it, fished out his pistol. "Come on out," he said without turning. "Where?" enquired Smith. Clinched turned, lifted his square head; and the deadly glare in his eyes left Smith silent. "You comin'?" "Sure," said Smith quietly. But Clinch gave him no chance to close in: it was death even to swerve. Smith walked slowly out into the starlight, ahead of Clinch--slowly forward in the luminous darkness. "Keep going," came Clinch's quiet voice behind him. And, after they had entered the woods,--"Bear to the right." Smith knew now. The low woods were full of sink-holes. They were headed for the nearest one. * * * * * On the edge of the thing they halted. Smith turned and faced Clinch. "What's the idea?" he asked without a quaver. "Was you in Roosia?" "Yes." "Was you an officer?" "I was."