"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——"