He crept closer, and when the skulker stood in the gloom above the shantyboat, Storit was trying with all his senses to discover what there was about this stranger to make him seem so interesting—perhaps familiar.
The door of the cabin-boat opened, and the light flooded out into the dark. Storit saw the man's body clearly outlined against the light, rifle, head, body, and all. Then he recognized him.
"He hit me. He stoled my diamonds!" Storit thought, hotly. "Hit's that slick White Collar Dan—I'll git 'im!"
He sprang at the bush-whacker, who turned his face to look over his shoulder. Storit landed upon his head with the piece of railroad iron which he carried in his hand. He followed the blow with other blows, and having broken the victim down, Storit caught the fellow by the collar, picked up his rifle, and dragged him back through the dark woods down the river bank to the gasolene launch which Gost had moored there.
Storit dragged the body on board, cast off the lines, and pulled out into the current. He fumbled around with the motor, till he had started it—he had stolen motorboats in his time—and drove up the river to his own poverty-struck craft, which he towed out and down the river, at full speed, seeking a hiding place.
When he had made a few miles he rifled the dead
