matic, then, as though annoyed by Leverett's
deafening shriek, shrugged, hesitated, pocket both pistol and packet,
and turned on his heel.

By the birch sapling he paused and picked up Leverett's rifle.
Something left a red smear on his palm as he worked the ejector. It was
blood.

Quintana gazed curiously at his soiled hand. Then he stopped 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 tamarracks, 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 Hal Smith fiercely, shaking Leverett till his
haws 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----"

Bu 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
an he was fumbling at the twine which bound a flat, paper-wrappe