"Have the boys below got him?" he demanded.
"They got one of his gang. Byron Hastings is dead. Jim is badly hurt:
Sid Hone, too, — not so badly——"
"Where's Quintana?"
"Dad, he's gone. … But it don't matter. See here!——" She dug her slender hand into her breeches pocket and pulled out a little fistful of gems.
Clinch, his powerful arm closing her shoulders, looked dully at the jewels.
"You see, dad, there's no use killing Quintana. These are the things he robbed you of."
"'Tain't them that matter. … I'm glad you got 'em. I allus wanted you should be a great lady, girlie. Them's the ticket of admission. You put them in your pants. I gotta stay here a spell—-"
"Dad! Take them!"
He took them, smiled, shoved them into his pocket.
"What is it, girlie?" he asked absently, his pale eyes searching the woods ahead.