"Quintana's," said Smith, laughing. A wild exhilaration possessed him. His flanks and rear were protected by the sink-hole. He had Quintana's gang--two of them--over his pistol. "Turn your backs and sit down," he said. As the shadowy forms hesitated, he picked up a stick and hurled it at them. They sat down hastily, hands up, backs toward him. "You'll both die where you sit," remarked Smith, "if you yell for help." Clinch sighed heavily, stirred, groped on the damp leaves with his hands. "I say," began the voice which Smith identified as Harry Beck's, "if you'll come in with us on this it will pay you, young man." "No," drawled Smith, "I'll go it alone." "It can't be done, old dear. You'll see if you try it on." "Who'll stop me? Quintana?" "Come," urged Beck, "and be a good pal. You can't manage it alone. We've got all night to make Clinch talk. We know how, too. You'll get your share----" "Oh, stow it," said Smith, watching Clinch, who was reviving. He sat up presently, and put both hands over his head. Smith touched him silently on the shoulder and he turned his heavy, square head in a dazed way. Blood striped his visage. He gazed dully at Smith for a little while, then, seeming to recollect, the old glare began to light his pale eyes. The next instant, however, Beck spoke again, and Clinch turned in astonishment and saw the two figures sitting there with backs toward Smith and hands up. Clinch stared at the squatting forms, then slowly moved his head and looked at Smith and his levelled pistol. "We know how to make a man squeal," said Harry Beck suddenly. "He'll talk. We can make Clinch talk, no fear! Leave it to us, old pal. Are you with us?" He started to look around over his shoulder and Smith hurled another stick and hit him in the face. "Quiet there, Harry," he said. "What's my share if I go in with you?" "One sixth, same's we all get." "What's it worth?" asked Smith, with a motion of caution toward Clinch. "If I say a million you'll tell me I lie. But it's nearer three--or you can have my share. Is it a go?" "You'll not hurt Clinch when he comes to?" "We'll make him talk, that's all. It may hurt him some." "You won't kill him?" "I swear by God----" "Wait! Isn't it better to shoot him after he squeals? Here's a lovely sink-hole handy." "Right-o! We'll make him talk first and then shove him in. Are you with us?" "If you turn your head I'll blow the face off you, Harry," said Smith, cautioning Clinch to silence with a gesture. "All right. Only you better make up your mind. That cove is likely to wake up now at any time," grumbled Beck. Clinch looked at Smith. The latter smiled, leaned over, and whispered: "Can you walk all right?" Clinch nodded.