She nodded, tucked in the sheets, smoothed blanket and pillow with deft hands, went out to her own room. Clinch seated himself and turned a blank face to the window.
It was a sudden decision. He realised now that he couldn't keep the jewels in his house. War was on with Quintana. The "hotel" would be the goal for Quintana and his gang. And for smith, too, if ever temptation over-powered him. The house was liable to an attempt at robbery any night, now; — any day, perhaps. It was no place for the packet he had taken from Jose Quintana.
Eve came in wearing grey shirt, breeches, and puttees. Clinch gave her the packet.
"What's in it, dad?" she asked smilingly.
"Don't you get nosey, girlie. Come here."
She went to him. He put his left arm around her.
"You like me some, don't you, girlie?"
"You know it, dad."
"All right. You're all that matters to me. … since your mother went and died. … after a year. … That was crool, girlie. Only a year. Well, I ain't cared none for nobody since — only you, girlie."
He touched the packet with his forefinger: