ned and faced Clinch.

"What's the idea?" he asked without a quaver.

"Was you in Roosia?"

"Yes."

"Was you an officer?"

"I was."

"Then you're spyin'. You're a cop."

"You're mistaken."

"Ah, don't had me none like that. You're a State Trooper or a Secret
Service guy, or a plain, dirty cop. And I'm a-going to croak you."

"I'm not in any service, now."

"Wasn't you an army officer?"

"Yes. Can't an officer go wrong?"

"Soft stuff. Don't feed it to me. I told you too much anyway. I was
babblin' drunk. I'm drunk now, but I got sense. D'you think I'll run
chances of sittin' in State's Prison for the next ten years and leave
Eve out here alone? No. I gotta shoot you, Smith. And I'm a-going to
do it. G'wan and say what you want ... if you think there's some kind
o' god you can square before you croak."

"If you go to the chair for murder, what good will it do Eve?" asked
Smith. His lips were crackling dry; he moistened them.

"Sink holes don't talk," said Clinch. "G'wan and square yourself, if
you're the church kind."

"Clinch," said Smith unsteadily, "if you kill me now you're as good as
dead yourself. Quintana is here."

"Say, don't hand me that," retorted Clinch. "Do you square yourself or
no?"

"I tell you Quintana's gang were at the dance to-night -- Picquet,
Salzar, Georgiades, Sard, Beck, Jose Sanchez -- the one who looks like a
French priest. Maybe he had a beard when you saw him in that cafe
wash-room----"

"What!" shouted Clinch in sudden fury. "What yeh talkin' about, you
poor dumb dingo! Yeh fixin' to scare me? What do _you_ know about
Quintana? Are you one of Quintana's gang, too? Is that what you're up
to, hidin' out at Star Pond. Come on, out with it! I'll have it all
out of you now, Hal Smith, before I plug you----"

He came lurching forward, swinging his heavy pistol as though he meant
to brain his victim, but he halted after the first step or two and stood
there, a shadowy bulk, growling, enraged, undecided.

And, as Smith looked at him, two shadows detached themselves from the
trees behind Clinch -- silently -- silently glided behind -- struck in
utter silence.

Down crashed Clinch, black-jacked, his face in the ooze. His pistol
flew from his hand, struck Smith's leg; and Smith had it at the same
instance and turned it like lightning on the murderous shadows.

"Hands up! Quick!" he cried, at bay now, and his back to the sink-hole.

Pistol levell