Quintana gazed curiously at his soiled hand. Then he stooped and picked up the empty cartridge case which had been ejected. And, as he stooped, he noticed more blood on a fallen leaf. With one foot, daintily as a game-cock scratches, he brushed away the fallen leaves, revealing the mess underneath. After he had contemplated the crimson traces of murder for a few moments, he turned and looked at Leverett with faint curiosity. "So," he said in his leisurely, emotionless way, "you have fight with my frien' Jake for thee packet. Yes? Ver' amusing." He shrugged his indifference, tossed the rifle to his shoulder and, without another glance at the cringing creature on the ground, walked away toward Drowned Valley, unhurriedly. III When Quintana disappeared among the tamaracks, Leverett ventured to rise to his knees. As he crouched there, peering after Quintana, a man came swiftly out of the forest behind him and nearly stumbled over him. Recognition was instant and mutual as the man jerked the trap-robber to his feet, stifling the muffled yell in his throat. "I want that packet you picked up on Clinch's veranda," said Hal Smith. "M-my God," stammered Leverett, "Quintana just took it off me. He ain't been gone a minute----" "You lie!" "I ain't lyin'. Look at his foot-marks there in the mud!" "Quintana!" "Yaas, Quintana! He tuk my gun, too----" "Which way!" whispered Smith fiercely, shaking Leverett till his jaws wagged. "Drowned Valley.... Lemme loose!--I'm chokin'----" Smith pushed him aside. "You rat," he said, "if you're lying to me I'll come back and settle your affair. And Kloon's, too!" "Quintana shot Jake and stuck him into a sink-hole!" snivelled Leverett, breaking down and sobbing; "--oh, Gawd--Gawd--he's down under all that black mud with his brains spillin' out----" But Smith was already gone, running lightly along the string of footprints which led straight away across slime and sphagnum toward the head of Drowned Valley. In the first clump of hard-wood trees Smith saw Quintana. He had halted and he was fumbling at the twine which bound a flat, paper-wrapped packet. He did not start when Smith's sharp warning struck his ear: "Don't move! I've got you over my rifle, Quintana!" Quintana's fingers had instantly ceased operations. Then, warily, he lifted his head and looked into the muzzle of Smith's rifle. "Ah, bah!" he said tranquilly. "There were three of you, then." "Lay that packet on the ground." "My frien'----" "Drop it or I'll drop _you_!" Quintana carefully placed the packet on a bed of vivid moss. "Now your gun!" continued Smith. Quintana shrugged and laid Leverett's rifle beside the packet. "Kneel down with your hands up and your back toward me!" said Smith. "My frien'----" "Down with you!" Quintana dropped gracefully into the humiliating attitude popularly indicative of prayerful supplication. Smith walked slowly up behind him, relieved him of two automatics and a dirk.