y? You're
a-going to hop off. An' first you gotta hear why. 'Tain't for the
stuff. Naw! I hooked it off'n you; you hooked it off'n me; now I got
it again. _That's_ all square. ... No, 'tain't _that_ grudge, you
green-livered whelp of a cross-bred, still-born slut! No! It's becuz
you laid the heft o' your dirty little finger onto my girlie. 'N' now
you gotta hop!"

Quintana's sinister laughter was his retort. Then: "You damfool
Clinch," he said. "I got in my pocket what you rob of me. Now I kill
you, and then I feel ver' well. I go home, live like some kings; yes.
But you," he sneered, "you shall not go home never no more. No. You
shall remain in thees damn wood like ver' dead old rat that is all
wormy. ... He! I got a million dollaire -- five million franc in my
pocket. You shall learn what it cost to rob Jose Quintana!
Understan'?"

"You liar," said Clinch contemptuously, "I got them jools in my pants
pocket.----"

Quintana's derisive laugh cu him short: "I give you thee Flaming Jewel
if you show me you got my gems in you pants pocket!"

"I'll show you. Lay down your rifle so's I see the stock."

"First you, my frien' Mike," said Quintana cautiously.

Clinch took his rifle by the muzzle and shoved the stock into view so
that Quintana could see it without moving.

To his surprise, Quintana did the same, then coolly stepped a pace
outside the shelter of his hemlock stump.

"You show me now!" he called across the swamp.

Clinch stepped into view, dug into his pocket, and, cupping both hands,
displayed a glittering heap of gems.

"I wanted you should know who's gottem" he said, "before you hop. It'll
give you something to think over in hell."

Quintana's eyes had become slits again. Neither man stirred. Then:

"So you are a buzzard, eh, Clinch? You feed on dead man's pockets, eh?
You find Sard somewhere an' you feed." He held up the morocco case,
emblazoned with the arms of the Grand Duchess of Esthonia, and shook it
at Clinch.

"In there is my share. ... Not all. Ver' quick, now, I take yours,
too----"

Clinch vanished and so did his rifle; and Quintana's first bullet struck
the moss where the stock had rested.

"You black crow!" jeered Clinch, laughing, "-- I need that empty case of
yours. And I'm going after it. ... But it's because your filthy claw
touched my girlie that you gotta hop!"

Twilight lay over the phantom wood, touching with pallid tints the
flooded forest.