It was well past six o’clock in the evening when the two brothers completed the discussion of their future plans. It had been a great day for Bill. A day such as one may look forward to in long anticipatory moments of dreaming, but the ultimate realization of which often falls so desperately short of the anticipation. In the present instance, however, no such calamity had befallen. He felt that his weary journeyings, with their many discomforts and trials, had not proved vain. Many of his hopes had been fully realized.

The unselfishness of the man was supreme. He wanted nothing for himself, but the delight of sharing in the life of his less fortunate brother, and changing the course of that fortune into the happier channels wherein his own lay. And Charlie seemed to accept the position. He certainly offered no opposition, and, if his manner of acceptance was undemonstrative, even to an excess of reserve, at least it was sufficiently cordial to satisfy the unsuspicious mind of Big Brother Bill.

Had the big man’s wide, blue eyes been less ready to accept all they beheld, had his mind been more versed in the study of human nature, and those shadowy, inexpressible feelings glancing furtively out of eyes intended only to express carefully controlled thoughts, then Bill must have detected reluctance in his brother. There were moments, too, when only a half-heartedness found vent in the man’s verbal acceptance of his brother’s proposals, which should have been significant, and certainly invited investigation.

But even if he observed these things Bill undoubtedly misread them. He had no reason to doubt that his presence, and all his enthusiastic plans were welcome, and so he was left blinded to any other feelings on the part of his brother than those which he verbally expressed. That Charlie delighted in his presence there could be no doubt, but as to those other things, well, a close observer might well have been forgiven had he felt sorry for the bigger man’s single-minded generosity. To the end Bill felt confident, and remained quite undisturbed.

There were still fully two hours of daylight left when Charlie finally rose from his seat upon the veranda.

He smiled down at the big figure of the brother he so affectionately regarded.

“We’ll need to set about getting your baggage sent through from Moosemin to-morrow,” he said. Then he added with a quizzical gleam in his eyes: “Guess you’ve got the checks all right?”

Bill nodded with profound gravity, and dived into one of his pockets.

“Sure,” he replied, dragging forth a bunch of metal discs on a strap. “Five pieces.”

“Good.” Charlie nodded. His brother’s unconsciousness amused him. Then, after a moment, his gaze drifted across the valley, and came to rest on the little home of the Setons, and he went on reflectively, “I need to get around a piece before dark,” he said. Then with an unmistakable question in his dark eyes: “Maybe you’ll fancy a walk around—meantime?”

Bill’s eyes lit good humoredly.

“Which means I’m not wanted,” he said with a laugh.

Then he, too, rose. He stretched himself like some great contented dog.

“I’ve a notion to get a peek at the village,” he said. “I’ll call along down at the saloon and hunt Fyles up. Guess I owe him a drink for—finding me.”

At the mention of Fyles’s name a curious look changed the expression of his brother’s regard. A short laugh that had no mirth in it was the prompt reply.

“You can’t buy Fyles a drink in Rocky Springs,” Charlie exclaimed. “Maybe you can buy all the drink you want. But there’s not a saloonkeeper in the Northwest Territories would hand you one for Fyles. This is prohibition territory, and I guess Fyles is hated to death—hereabouts.”

For a moment Bill’s eyes looked absurdly serious.

“I see,” he demurred. “You—hate him—too?”

Charlie nodded.

“For—that?” suggested Bill.

Charlie shrugged. “I certainly have no use for Inspector Fyles,” he declared. “Maybe it’s for his work, maybe it isn’t. It don’t matter either way.”

The manner of Charlie’s reply reminded his brother that his question had been unnecessarily pointed, and he hastened to make amends.

“I’m kind of sorry, Charlie,” he said, his face flushing with contrition. “I didn’t think. You see, I hadn’t——”

But the other waved his regret aside.

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “Guess you can’t hurt me that way. I was thinking on other lines. What does matter, and matters pretty badly, is that some day, if you stop around Rocky Springs, you’ll find it up to you to take sides between Fyles and——”

“And?” Bill’s interest had become suddenly absorbed as his brother paused, his gaze once more drifting away beyond the river. Finally, Charlie turned back to him.

“Me,” he said quietly. And the two stood facing each other, eye to eye.

It was some moments before Bill’s slow-moving wit came to his aid. He was so startled that it was even slower than usual.

“You and—Fyles?” he said at last, his eyes full of absurd wonder. “I don’t understand. You—you are not against the law?”

Bill’s wonder had changed to apprehension, and the sight of it distracted his brother’s more serious mood.

“Does a fellow always need to be against the law to get up against a police officer?” he inquired, with a smile of amusement. Then his smile died out, and he went on enigmatically. “Men can scrap about most anything,” he said slowly. “Men who are men. I may be a poor example, but——Say, when Fyles takes hold of things in Rocky Springs, I guess he isn’t likely to feel kindly disposed my way. That being so, you’ll surely be fixed one way or the other. Get me, Bill?”

Bill nodded dubiously.

“I get that, but—I don’t understand——” he began.

But Charlie gave him no time to finish.

“Don’t worry to,” he said quickly. Then he gripped the other’s muscular arm affectionately. “See you later,” he added, smiling whimsically up into the troubled blue eyes as he moved off the veranda.

Bill was left puzzled. He was thinking very hard and very slowly as he looked after the departing man. He watched him till he reached the barn and disappeared within it to get his horse. Then he, too, moved away, but it was in the direction of the trail which led ultimately to the village.

Bill’s nature was too recklessly happy to long remain a prey to disquieting thoughts. Once the avenue of spruce trees swallowed him up he abandoned all further contemplation of his disquietude, and gave himself up to the full enjoyment of his new surroundings.

It was in the gayest possible mood and highest spirits that Helen, with her “two-book” excuse tucked under her arm, set out for Charlie Bryant’s ranch.

When she appeared at supper time Kate’s dark eyes shone with admiration and a lurking mischief. At the sight of Helen she clapped her hands delightedly. The younger girl’s smart, tailored suit had made way for the daintiest of summer frocks, diaphanous, seductive, and wholly fascinating.

“A vision of fluffy whiteness,” cried Kate delightedly, as Helen sat down at the table. “Helen,” she went on, mischievously, “as a man hunter you are just too dreadful. Poor Big Brother Bill, why, he hasn’t the chance of a rat in a corner. He surely is as good as engaged, married, and—done for.”Helen’s eyebrows went up in lofty resentment.

“Katherine Seton, I—don’t understand you—thank goodness. If I did I should want to box your ears,” she added, in mild scorn. “You’re a perfectly ridiculous woman, and of no account at all.”

Kate’s amusement was good to see.

“Oh, Hel——” she cried.

But her sister cut her short.

“Don’t use bad language, please. My name’s ‘Helen’—unless you’ve got something pleasant to say.”

Kate poured out the coffee, and helped herself to cold meat. The supper was the characteristic evening meal of the village. Cakes, and sweets, and cold meat.

“How could I have anything but something pleasant to say, with you looking such a vision?” Kate went on, quite undisturbed. “Why, I hadn’t a notion you had such a pretty frock.”

Helen’s attitude modified, as she helped herself to home-made scones and butter.

“I’ve been saving it up,” she deigned to explain. “Do I look all right? How’s my hair?”

She beamed on her sister, waiting for an expected compliment.

“Lovely!” exclaimed Kate. Then with added mischief: “And your hair is simply as fluffy as—as a feather duster.”

Helen laughed. Her eyes were dancing with that merriment she could never long restrain.

“I—I simply hate you, Kate,” she cried. “I’m so upset I can’t eat a thing. Feather duster indeed. Well, it’s better than the mop Pete swabs up the floors with. If you’d said that, I’d sure have gone straight off into a trance, and—and got buried alive. But your appetite’s awful, Kate, and I can’t sit here forever. I’d say food’s mighty important, but it’s nothing beside a man waiting for you somewhere, and you don’t know where. Guess I’ll have something to eat before I go to bed. Please, Kate—please may I go?”

The humility of the final request was quite too much for Kate, who laughed immoderately while she gave the required permission.

“Yes, off with you, bless your heart,” she cried joyously. “And don’t you dare come back here without bringing your future husband with you. Remember, I want to see him, too, and—and if you’re not mighty good, and nice to me, I’ll see what I can do cutting you out. Remember, too, I’m not quite on the shelf yet—in spite of what folks may say. Off with you!”

Helen needed no second bidding. She snatched up her books, took a swift glance at herself in the small mirror on the wall, and hastened out of the house.

“So long, Kitty,” she cried lightly; “my nets are spread for the big fish, my dear. He’s there, slumbering peacefully in the shady pool, waiting to be caught. Do you think he’s ever been fished before? I hope he’s not wily. You see, I’m so out of practice. That’s the worst of living in a place where men have to get drunk before they have the courage to become attentive. And, Kitty, dear——”

“Off with you, you man hunter,” cried Kate, from her place at the table, “and don’t you dare ever to call me ‘Kitty’ again. I——”

But the door was closed, and further expostulation was useless. The next moment Kate beheld a waving hand through the window. She responded, and, a moment later, as her sister passed from view, the smile died out of her eyes.

She sat on at the table, although her meal was finished. And somehow all her gaiety had dropped like a mask from her face, leaving her handsome eyes strangely thoughtful and something hard.

Meanwhile Helen crossed the river by the quaint log footbridge which had been one of the first efforts at construction upon which Kate had embarked on arrival at Rocky Springs. It was stout, and, from a distance, picturesque. Close to it was a trap for the unwary. For the two sisters, and their hired men, it was a simple matter for negotiation. They were used to its pitfalls, which increased with every spring flood.

Beyond this the track wound through the bush on its way to the village main trail, but Helen had no thought of adopting such a circuitous route when the bush offered her a far more direct one. She vanished into the wood like a flitting shadow, nor did she reappear until half the slope up to Charlie Bryant’s house had been negotiated.

Her reappearance was in the midst of a small clearing, whence she had an uninterrupted view of Charlie’s house, and a less clear view of the winding track leading up to it.

Somehow, by the time she reached this spot, a marked change had come over her. Her pretty, even brows were slightly drawn together in an odd, thoughtful pucker. Her usually merry eyes were watchful and sober. It may have been the gradient of the hills, but somehow her gait had lost something of its buoyancy. Her steps were lagging, even hesitating, and, when she finally halted, it was almost with an air of relief.

There were several fallen tree trunks about, and, though they must have been sufficiently inviting if she were weary with her effort, she quite ignored them. She stood quite still, looking first ahead at her goal, and then back over the valley toward the little house where her sister was probably still watching her. Her eyes slowly became expressive of doubt and indecision. It seemed as though she found it hard to make up her mind about something.

After a moment or two she removed the two books from under her arm, and idly read their titles. She knew them quite well, and promptly returned them to their place with an impatient sigh.

Again her look had changed. Now her cheeks suddenly flushed a burning, shamefaced crimson. Then they paled, and something like a panic grew in her eyes. But this, too, passed, all but the panic, and, with a little vicious stamp of her foot, she half determinedly faced the ranch house on the hill. Her determination, however, was evidently insufficient, for she did not move on, and, presently, she laughed a short mirthless laugh. It was her belated sense of humor mocking her. Her courage, she knew, had failed her. She could not live up to her boasted claims as a man hunter.

But her laugh died almost at its birth. Something moving down the hill among the trees caught her troubled eyes. Then, too, the sound of a whistle reached her. Some one was approaching from the direction of Charlie’s house, whistling a tune which somehow seemed familiar. She promptly warned herself it could not be Charlie. She never remembered to have heard Charlie whistling so blithe an air.

Now she distinctly heard the sound of heavy, rapid footsteps drawing nearer. The panic in her eyes deepened. They were staring intently at the surrounding bush, searching for a definite sight of the intruder. Nor had she to wait long. The path was just beyond the clearing, and she had fixed her gaze upon a narrow gap in the foliage. She felt almost safe in doing so, for the stranger must pass that way if he were on the path, and the gap was so narrow that it would probably escape his notice.

The whistling came nearer, so, too, the rapid footsteps. Then followed realization. A figure passed the gap. She saw it quite plainly. The big, broad-shouldered figure of a man with fair hair and blue eyes. It was Big Brother Bill. Instinctively she drew back, entirely forgetful of the fallen tree trunks. Then tragedy came upon her.

How it happened she didn’t know. She afterward felt she never wanted to know. Something seemed to hit her sharply at the back of the knees. She remembered that they bent under her. Then, in a second, she found herself sitting upon the ground with her feet sticking up in the air in a perfectly ridiculous manner, and, by some horribly mysterious means, with the support of a fallen sapling pine holding them there.

At the moment of impact she was too paralyzed with fear to move, then as a sharp exclamation in a man’s deep voice reached her, a wild terror seized upon her, and, with a violent effort she rolled herself clear of the log, scrambled to her feet, her dainty frock stained and torn with her tumble, and fled for dear life down the hill.

Faster and faster she ran, breaking her way through all obstructing foliage utterly regardless of the rents she was making in the soft material of her frock. She felt she dared not pause for anything with that man behind her. She felt that she hated him worse than anybody in the world. To think that he must have witnessed her discomfiture, and worse than all her two absurd feet sticking up in the air like—like signposts. It was too awful to contemplate.

She did not pause for breath until she reached the footbridge. Then a fresh panic set in. She had left the books behind. They were at the place where she had fallen.

Oh dear, oh dear! He would find them. He would find her name in them. He would take them back to Charlie, and her last hope would be gone. She would undoubtedly be recognized!

She wanted to burst into tears, then and there, but something inside her would not permit her such relief. Instead a whimsical humor came to her aid and she laughed.

At first her laugh was pathetically near to tears, but the moment of doubt passed, and the whole humor of the situation took hold of her. She hurried on home, laughing as she went; and, desperately near hysterics, she at last burst into her sister’s presence.

Kate was on her feet in an instant.

“Oh, Kate,” she cried, with a wild sort of laughter. “Behold the man hunter—hunted!” Then she flung herself into a chair, gasping for breath.

Kate’s anxious eyes took in something of the situation at a glance.

“Stop that laughing,” she cried severely.

Helen’s laugh died out, and she sighed deeply. The next moment she stood up, and began to smooth out her tattered frock.

“I’m—all right now—Kate,” she said almost humbly. “But——”

Again Kate took charge of the situation.

“Go and change your frock before you tell me anything,” she said decidedly.

Helen was about to protest, but the quiet command of her sister had its effect. She moved toward the door, and Kate’s serious tones further composed her.

“Take your time,” she said. “You can tell me later.”

Helen left the room, and Kate remained gazing after her at the closed door.

But it was only for a few moments. The sound of footsteps approaching the house startled her. She remembered the torn condition of her sister’s dress. The poor girl had been on the verge of hysterics. “The man hunter hunted!” she had cried.

Kate glanced at her revolvers hanging on the wall. Then, with a shrug, she flung open the door.

Big Brother Bill was standing outside it. He had removed his hat, and the evening light was shining on his good-looking fair head. His wide blue eyes were smiling their most persuasive smile as he held two books out toward her.

“I’m fearfully sorry to trouble you, but I was just coming along down from up there,” he pointed back across the river, “and saw a—a lady suddenly jump up as though she was scared some, and run on down the hill toward this house. I guessed it must have been a—a rattler or—or maybe a bear, or something had scared her, so I jumped in to—to find it. I was too late, however. Couldn’t find it. Only found these two books instead. I just followed the lady on down here, and—well, I brought ’em along.”

The man’s manner was so frankly ingenuous, and his whole air so hopelessly that of a tenderfoot that Kate recognized him at once. Instantly she held out her hand with a smile.

“Thanks, Mr. Bryant. They’re my sister’s. She was taking them up to your brother. It’s very kind of you to take so much trouble. Won’t you come in, and let her thank you herself? You see, we’re great friends of your brother’s. I am Kate Seton, and—the lady you so gallantly sought to help is my sister—Helen.”