"He kills Harrod's deer. That's certain. I mean Harrod's nephew's deer. Harrod's dead. Darragh's the young nephew's name. He's never been here--he was in the army--in Russia--I don't know what became of him--but he keeps up the Harrod preserve--game-wardens, patrols, watchers, trespass signs and all." Lannis finished his second cigarette, got back into his stirrups and, gathering bridle, began leisurely to divide curb and snaffle. "That's the layout, Jack," he said. "Yonder lies the Red Light district of the North Woods. Mike Clinch is the brains of all the dirty work that goes on. A floating population of crooks and bums--game violators, boot-leggers, market hunters, pelt 'collectors,' rum-runners, hootch makers, do his dirty work--and I guess there are some who'll stick you up by starlight for a quarter and others who'll knock your block off for a dollar.... And there's the girl, Eve Strayer. I don't get her at all, except that she's loyal to Clinch.... And now you know what you ought to know about this movie called 'Hell in the Woods.' And it's up to us to keep a calm, impartial eye on the picture and try to follow the plot they're acting out--if there is any." Stormont said: "Thanks, Bill; I'm posted.... And I'm getting hungry, too." "I believe," said Lannis, "that you want to see that girl." "I do," returned the other, laughing. "Well, you'll see her. She's good to look at. But I don't get her at all." "Why?" "Because she _looks_ right and yet she lives at Clinch's with him and his bunch of bums. Would you think a straight girl could stand it?" "No man can tell what a straight girl can stand." "Straight or crooked she stands for Mike Clinch," said Lannis, "and he's a ratty customer." "Maybe the girl is fond of him. It's natural." "I guess it's that. But I don't see how any young girl can stomach the life at Clinch's." "It's a wonder what a decent woman will stand," observed Stormont. "Ninety-nine per cent. of all wives ought to receive the D. S. O." "Do you think we're so rotten?" inquired Lannis, smiling. "Not so rotten. No. But any man knows what men are. And it's a wonder women stick to us when they learn." They laughed. Lannis glanced at his watch again. "Well," he said, "I don't believe anybody has tipped off our man. It's noon. Come on to dinner, Jack." They cantered forward into the sunlit clearing. Star Pond lay ahead. On its edge stood Clinch's. III Clinch, in his shirt sleeves, came out on the veranda. He had little light grey eyes, close-clipped grey hair, and was clean shaven. "How are you, Clinch," inquired Lannis affably. "All right," replied Clinch; "you're the same, I hope." "Trooper Stormont, Mr. Clinch," said Lannis in his genial way. "Pleased to know you," said Clinch, level-eyed, unstirring. The troopers dismounted. Both shook hands with Clinch. Then Lannis led the way to the barn. "We'll eat well," he remarked to his comrade. "Clinch cooks."