The moon silvered the forest. There was no mist, but a night-wind blew mournfully through palm and cypress, carrying with it the strange, disturbing pungency of the jungle—wild, unfamiliar perfumes,—the acrid aroma of swamp and rotting mould. “What about snakes?” muttered Recklow, knee deep in wild phlox. But there was a deadlier snake to find and destroy, somewhere in the blotched shadows of the forest. The first sentinel trees were very near, now; and Tressa was running across a ghostly tangle, where once had been an orange grove, and where aged and dying citrus stumps rose stark amid the riot of encroaching jungle. “She’s circling to get the wind at our backs,” breathed Recklow, running forward beside Cleves. “That’s our only chance to kill the dirty rat—catch him with the wind at our backs!” Once, traversing a dry hammock where streaks of moonlight alternated with velvet-black shadow a rattlesnake sprang his goblin alarm. They could not locate the reptile. They shrank together and moved warily, chilled with fear. Once, too, clear in the moonlight, the Grey Death reared up from bloated folds and stood swaying rhythmically in a horrible shadow dance before them. And Cleves threw one arm around his wife and crept past, giving death a wide berth there in the checkered moonlight. Now, under foot, the dry hammock lay everywhere and the night wind blew on their backs. Then Tressa turned and halted the two men with a gesture. And went to her husband where he stood in the palm forest, and laid her hands on his shoulders, looking him very wistfully in the eyes. Under her searching gaze he seemed oddly to comprehend her appeal. “You are going to use—to use your _knowledge_,” he said mechanically. “You are going to find the man in white.” “Yes.” “You are going to find him in a way we don’t understand,” he continued, dully. “Yes.... You will not hold me in—in horror—will you?” Recklow came up, making no sound on the spongy palm litter underfoot. “Can you find this devil?” he whispered. “I—think so.” “Does your super-instinct—finer sense—knowledge—whatever it is—give you any inkling as to his whereabouts, Mrs. Cleves?” “I think he is here in this hammock. Only——” she turned again, with swift impulse, to her husband, “—only if you—if _you_ do not hold me in—in horror—because of what I do——” There was a silence; then: “What are you about to do?” he asked hoarsely. “Slay this man.” “We’ll do that,” said Cleves with a shudder. “Only show him to us and we’ll shoot the dirty reptile to slivers——” “Suppose we hit the jar of gas,” said Recklow. After a silence, Tressa said: “I have got to give him back to Satan. There is no other way. I understood that from the first. He can not die by your pistols, though you shoot very fast and straight. No!” After another silence, Recklow said: “You had better find him before the wind changes. We hunt down wind or—we die here together.” She looked at her husband.