He had not intended to go openly into the lighted avenue.  From the moment he had plunged out into the night after Quade, his fighting blood was roused.  He had subdued it while with Joanne, but his determination to find Quade and have a settlement with him had grown no less.  He told himself that he was one of the few men along the line whom it would be difficult for Quade to harm in other than a physical way.  He had no business that could be destroyed by the other’s underground methods, and he had no job to lose.  Until he had seen Joanne enter the scoundrel’s red-and-white striped tent he had never hated a man as he now hated Quade.  He had loathed him before, and had evaded him because the sight of him was unpleasant; now he wanted to grip his fingers around his thick red throat.  He had meant to come up behind Quade’s tent, but changed his mind and walked into the lighted trail between the two rows of tents and shacks, his hands thrust carelessly into his trousers pockets.  The night carnival of the railroad builders was on.  Coarse laughter, snatches of song, the click of pool balls and the chink of glasses mingled with the thrumming of three or four musical instruments along the lighted way.  The phonograph in Quade’s place was going incessantly.  Half a dozen times Aldous paused to greet men whom he knew.  He noted that there was nothing new or different in their manner toward him.  If they had heard of his trouble with Quade, he was certain they would have spoken of it, or at least would have betrayed some sign.  For several minutes he stopped to talk with MacVeigh, a young Scotch surveyor.  MacVeigh hated Quade, but he made no mention of him.  Purposely he passed Quade’s tent and walked to the end of the street, nodding and looking closely at those whom he knew.  It was becoming more and more evident to him that Quade and his pals were keeping the affair of the afternoon as quiet as possible.  Stevens had heard of it.  He wondered how.

Aldous retraced his steps.  As though nothing had happened, he entered Quade’s place.  There were a dozen men inside, and among them he recognized three who had been there that afternoon.  He nodded to them.  Slim Barker was in Quade’s place behind the counter.  Barker was Quade’s right-hand man at Miette, and there was a glitter in his rat-like eyes as Aldous leaned over the glass case at one end of the counter and asked for cigars.  He fumbled a bit as he picked out half a dollar’s worth from the box.  His eyes met Slim’s.

“Where is Quade?” he asked casually.

Barker shrugged his shoulders.

“Busy to-night,” he answered shortly.  “Want to see him?”

“No, not particularly.  Only—­I don’t want him to hold a grudge.”

Barker replaced the box in the case and turned away.  After lighting a cigar Aldous went out.  He was sure that Quade had not returned from the river.  Was he lying in wait for him near the cabin?  The thought sent a sudden thrill through him.  In the same breath it was gone.  With half a dozen men ready to do his work, Aldous knew that Quade would not redden his own hands or place himself in any conspicuous risk.  During the next hour he visited the places where Quade was most frequently seen.  He had made up his mind to walk over to the engineers’ camp, when a small figure darted after him out of the gloom of the trees.