"Is that my packet?"
"Yes. It was all in fun; I wan't a-going to steal it----"
Quintana unbuttoned the grey wool shirt, thrust in his hand and drew forth the packet for which Jake Kloon had died within the hour.
Suddenly Leverett's knees gave way and he dropped to the ground, grovelling at Quintana's feet in an agony of fright: "Don't hurt me," he screamed, "-- I didn't mean no harm! Jake, he wanted me to steal it. I told him I was honest. I fired a shot to scare him, an' he tuk an' run off! I wan't a-goin' to steal it off you, so help me God! I was lookin' for you -- as God is my witness----"
He got Quintana by one foot. Quintana kicked him aside and backed away.
"Swine," he sad, calmly inspecting the whimpering creature who had started to crawl toward him.
He hesitate, lifted his automatic, then, as though annoyed by Leverett's deafening shriek, shrugged, hesitated, pocket both pistol and packet, and turned on his heel.
By the birch sapling he paused and picked up Leverett's rifle. Something left a red smear on his palm as he worked the ejector. It was blood.
Quintana gazed curiously at his soiled hand. Then he stopped and picked up the empty cartridge case which had been ejected. And, as he stooped, he noticed more blood on a fallen leaf.
With one foot, daintily as a game-cock scratches, he brushed away the fallen leaves, revealing the mess underneath.
After he had contemplated the crimson traces of murder for a few moments, he turned and looked at Leverett with faint curiosity.
"So," he said in his leisurely, emotionless way, "you have fight with my frien' Jake for thee packet. Yes? Ver' amusing." he shrugged his indifference, tossed the rifle to his shoulder and, without another glance at the cringing creature on the ground, walked away toward Drowned Valley, unhurriedly.