almost priceless gem.

* * * * *

Toward evening Hal Smith shot two dear near Owl Marsh. To poach on his
own property appealed to his sense of humour. And Clinch, never
dreaming that Hal Smith was the James Darragh who had inherited Harrod's
vast preserve, damned all millionaires for every buck brought in, and
became friendlier to Smith.

* * * * *

II

Clinch's dump was the disposal plant in which collected the human sewage
of the wilderness.

It being Saturday, the scum of the North Woods was gathering at the Star
Pond resort. A venison and chicken supper was promised -- and a dance
if any women appeared.

Jake Kloon had run in some Canadian hooch; Darragh, alias Hal Smith,
contributed two fat deer and Clinch cooked them. By ten o'clock that
morning many of the men were growing noise; some were already drunk by
noon. Shortly after midday dinner the first fight started --
extinguished only after Clinch had beaten several of the backwoods
aristocracy insensible.

Towering amid the wreck of the battle, his light grey eyes a-glitter,
Clinch dominated, swinging his iron fists.

When the combat ended and the fallen lay starkly where they fell, Clinch
sad in his pleasant, level voice:

"Take them out and stick their heads in the pond. And don't go for to
get me mad, boys, or I'm liable to act up rough."

They bore forth the sleepers for immersion in Star Pond. Clinch
relighted his cigar and repeated the rulings which had caused the
fracas:

"You gotta play square cards here or you don' play none in my house. No
living thumb-nail can nick no cards in my place and get away with it.
Three kings and two trays is better than three chickens and two eggs.
If you don't like it, g'wan home."

He went out in his shirt sleeves to see how the knock-outs were
reviving, and met Hal Smith returning from the pond, who reported
progress toward consciousness. They walked back to the "hotel"
together.

"Say, young fella," said Clinch in his soft, agreeable way, "you want to
keep your eye peeled to-night."

"Why?" inquired Smith.

"Well, there'll be a lot o' folks here. There'll be strangers, too. ...
Don't forget the State Troopers are looking for you."

"Do the State Troopers ever play detective?" asked Smith, smiling.

"Sure. They've been in here rigged out like peddlers and lumber-jacks
and timber lookers."

"Did they ever get anything on you?"

"Not a thing."

"Can you always spot them, Mike?"