"Hal?"
"What?"
"If they get me, — but no matter; they ain't a-going to get me."
"Were you going to tell me where those jewels are hidden, Mike?" enquired the young man, still busy with his fish. He did not look around when he spoke. Clinch's murderous gaze was fastened on the back of his head.
"Don't go to gettin' too damn nosey, Hal," he said in his always agreeable voice.
Smith soused all the fish in water again: "You'd better tell somebody if you go gunning for Quintana."
"Did I ask your advice?"
"You did not," said the young man, smiling.
"All right. Mind your business."
Smith got up from the water's edge with his pan of trout: