Half an hour later tragedy befell.

Drenched to the skin, blinded by the deluge of torrential rain, thoroughly confused beyond all recognition of his whereabouts in the tangle of bush through which he was thrusting his way, all his senses dazed by the fierce overhead detonations, and the streams of blazing fire splitting the black vault above, Big Brother Bill beat his way along the path of least resistance by sheer physical might.

All idea of direction had left him. Up hill or down hill had become one and the same to him. He felt he must keep moving, must press on, and, in the end, he would reach his destination.

At last, almost wearied out by his efforts, he came to a definite halt in a bush that seemed to afford no outlet whatsoever. Even the way he had entered it was lost, for the heavy foliaged boughs had closed in behind him in the darkness, utterly cutting off his retreat.

For a moment he stood like an infuriated steer at bay, caught in the narrow branding “pinch.” He waited for a revealing flash of lightning in the hope that it would show him a way out. He should have realized the futility of his hope, but, if he were soaked by the downpour, his spirit of optimism was as yet by no means drowned.

The flash he awaited came. The whole valley seemed to be lit from end to end. Then it was gone as swiftly as it had come, leaving a pitchy blackness behind it. But in that brief flash Bill told himself he had seen the trail just beyond the clump of bush in the midst of which he stood. Summoning all his strength he hurled himself to thrust his way toward it. He fought the resisting boughs with all his great strength, backed by every ounce of his buoyant spirits. Then, in a moment, Fate stepped in, and—released him.

His sensations were brief but tumultuous. He had a feeling that an earthquake had opened the ground at his feet. With all his might he sought to save himself from the yawning chasm. But the sudden jolt of his great weight was more than his muscles could withstand. His hands relaxed their grip upon the foliage and he fell with a great splash—into the river.

He had driven his way through the overhanging foliage of the river.

Big Brother Bill was not easily disconcerted by any physical catastrophe to himself. Nor did his sudden immersion now add one single pulse beat. The obvious thing, being a strong swimmer, was to strike out and get clear of the dripping trees, which he promptly proceeded to do, and, reaching the middle of the stream, and discovering that the rain had ceased, he philosophically consoled himself with the thought that, at least, he knew where he was.

Five minutes later he climbed up the opposite bank out of the water. His first object at once became the ascertaining of his bearings. With a serious effort of argument he finally concluded he was on the wrong side of the river, which meant, of course, that the matter must be put right without delay. Seeing that the water was cold, in spite of the warmth of the summer evening, he was reminded of the footbridge opposite the Setons’ house. Consequently, the further problem became the whereabouts of that bridge.

Glancing up at the sky, possibilities presented themselves. The clouds were breaking almost as rapidly as they had gathered, and, with great decision, he concluded that the best thing to do would be to await the return of the moonlight, and occupy the interim by wringing some of the uncomfortable moisture out of his clothes.

Ten minutes later his patience was rewarded. The moon shone out upon the stream at his feet, and there, less than one hundred yards to the west of him, the ghostly outline of the bridge loomed up. He really felt that Fate, at last, was doing her best.

He set off at once at as swinging a gait as his damp condition would permit, and he even found it possible to whistle an air as he moved along, to the accompanying squelch of his water-logged boots.

But, as the footbridge was approached, his purpose received a setback. The home of the Setons loomed up in the moonlight and promptly absorbed his attention. The moon was at its full once more, and the last clouds of the summer storm had passed away, leaving the wonderful, velvety night sky a-shimmer with twinkling diamonds.

The front of the house was in full light, so pale, so distinct, that no detail of it escaped his interested eyes. There was the door with its rain-water barrel, there was the shingle roof. The lateral logs of its walls were most picturesque. The only thing that struck him as ordinary was, perhaps, the window——. Hallo! What was that at the window?

He paused abruptly, and stared hard.

He started. It was a woman! A woman sitting on the sill of the open window! Of all the——. Well, if that wasn’t luck he felt he would like to know what was. He wondered which of the sisters it was—Kate or Helen. He was confident it was one of them. He would soon find out.

With a tumultuously beating heart he promptly diverged from his course, and set off straight for the house. It was always his way to act on impulse. Rarely did he give things a second thought where his inclinations were concerned.

As he drew near, Kate Seton’s deep voice greeted him. Its tone was velvety in its richness, nor was there the least inflection of astonishment in its tone.

“That you, Mr. Bryant?” she said, without stirring from her attitude of luxurious enjoyment.

Bill came up hurriedly.

“I s’pose it is,” he said with a laugh. “All that the river hasn’t washed away. Say,” he went on, with amiable inconsequence, “there’s just two things puzzling my fool head, Miss Seton: Why Fate takes a particular delight in handing me so many pleasant moments with so many unpleasant kicks? And what wild streak of good luck finds you sitting in the moonlight this hour of the night? It surely was a scurvy trick of Fate dumping me in the creek, when there’s a bridge to walk over, just to land me right here, where you’re handing up fancy dreams to a very chilly but beautiful moon. Guess I’m kind of spoiling the picture for you though. I may be some picture to look at, but I wouldn’t say it’s worth framing—would you?”

Kate smiled up at him. His dripping condition was obvious enough. Nor could she help her amusement. Knowing something of the man, he became doubly grotesque in her eyes.

“It needs courage to put things nicely under such adverse conditions,” she said, with a laugh. “And I like courage.” Then she went on in her easy, pleasant way: “It was the storm fetched me out of bed. I never can resist a storm. So I just had to dress and come right out here to watch it. Why are you around, anyway? Tell me about—about the river, and how you got into it.”

Bill laughed joyously.

“Guess that’s an easy one,” he said lightly. “I was on my way home when I met that policeman, Fyles. He put me wise to the storm coming up—which I guessed was bright and friendly of him. You see, I hadn’t located it. It was up to me to make Charlie’s place quick, so I got busy on a short cut. Say, did you ever take a short cut—in a hurry? Don’t ever do it. ’Tisn’t worth it—if you’re in a hurry. Of course, I lost myself in the storm, and Fate began handing me one or two. Fate’s always tricky. She likes to wait till she gets you by the back of the neck, so you can’t do a thing, and then passes you all that’s coming to you. Guess she’s had me by the neck quite awhile now, what with one thing and another. However, I mustn’t blame her too much. You see, I lost myself, and it was she who found me, though I don’t think anything of the way she did it. I was boosting through what I thought was a reasonable sort of bush, and found it wasn’t. It was the overhang of the river, and when I dropped through I found myself in the water. Still, I knew that water was the river, and I knew where the river was. I’m grateful, in a way, but I can’t help feeling Fate’s got a dirty side to her nature, and bridges are fool things anyway, for always being where they aren’t wanted.”

Kate’s laugh was one of whole-hearted amusement. Big Brother Bill’s whimsical manner appealed to her.

“Maybe Fate thought you were out later than you ought to be,” she said. “You—a stranger.”

But the girl’s remark had a different effect upon Bill than might have been expected. His smile died out, and all his lightness vanished. Once more he was feeling that atmosphere of mystery closing about him. It had oppressed him before, and now again it was oppressing him.

For a moment he made no answer. He was debating with himself in his blundering way. Finally, with a quick, reckless plunge, he made up his mind.

“I—was looking for Charlie,” he said. “I’ve been trying to find him ever since I left here.”

The girl’s smile had passed, too. A growing trouble was in her eyes.

“Charlie—is still out?” she demanded sharply. “And Fyles—where did you meet Inspector Fyles?”

The dark eyes were full of anxiety now. Kate’s voice had lost its softness. Nor could Bill help noticing the wonderful strength that seemed to lie behind it.

“I can’t say where Charlie is now,” the man went on, a little helplessly. “I saw Fyles close by that big pine tree.”

“Close by the pine tree?” Kate repeated the words after him, and her repetition of them suddenly endowed them with a strange significance for Bill.

With an air of having suddenly abandoned all prudence, all caution, Bill flung out his arms.

“Say, Miss Seton,” he said, in a sort of desperation, “I’m troubled—troubled to death. I can’t tell the top-side from the bottom-side of anything, it seems to me. There’s things I can’t understand hereabouts, a sort of mystery that gets me by the neck and nearly chokes me. Maybe you can help me. It seems different, too, talking to you. I don’t seem to be opening my mouth too wide—as I’ve been warned not to.”

“Who warned you?”

The question came sharp and direct.

“Why, O’Brien. You see, I went down to the saloon after I’d searched the ranch for Charlie, and asked if he had been there. O’Brien was shutting up. He said he had been there, but had gone. Then he told me where I’d be likely to find him, but warned me not to open my mouth wide—till I’d found him. Said I’d likely find him somewhere around that pine. Said he’d likely be collecting some money around there.

“Well, I set out to make the pine, and I didn’t wonder at things for awhile. It wasn’t till I got near it, and I saw the moon get up, and, in its light, saw Charlie in the distance near the pine, that this mystery thing got hold of me. It came on me when I hollered to him, and, as a result of it, saw him vanish like a ghost. But——”

“You called to him?”

The girl’s question again came sharply, but this time with an air of deep contemplation.

“Yes. But I didn’t get time to think about it. Just as I’d shouted two horsemen scrambled out of the bush beside me. One of ’em was Fyles. The other I didn’t know. He’d got three stripes on his arm.”

“Sergeant McBain,” put in the woman quietly.

“You know him?”

Kate shrugged.

“We all know him about here.”

Bill nodded.

“Fyles cursed me for a fool for hollering out. Said he’d been watching that ‘tough,’ and didn’t want to lose sight of him. I got riled. I told him a few things, and said I’d a right to hail my brother any old time. Then he changed around and said he was sorry, and asked me if I was sure it was my brother. When I told him ‘yes,’ he thanked me for putting him wise, and said I’d saved him a deal of unnecessary trouble. Said there was no more need to watch him—seeing he was my brother. That’s when he told me about the storm, and I hit my short cut, and, finally, reached—the river. Now, what was he watching for, and who did he mistake Charlie for? What’s the meaning of the whole thing? Why did O’Brien warn me? These are the things that get me puzzled to death. Maybe you can tell me—can help me out?”

He waited, confidently expecting an explanation that would clear up all the mystery, but none was forthcoming. Instead, when Kate finally replied, there was an almost peevish complaint in her tone.

“I wish you had taken O’Brien’s warning more to heart,” she said. “Maybe you’ve done a lot of harm to-night. I can’t tell—not yet.”

“Harm?” Bill stood aghast.

“Yes—harm, man, harm.” Kate’s whole manner had suddenly undergone a change. She seemed to be laboring under an apprehension that almost unnerved her. “Don’t you know who Fyles is after? He’s after whisky-runners. Don’t you know why O’Brien warned you? Because he believes, as pretty nearly everybody believes—Fyles, too—that your brother Charlie is the head of a big gang of them. Mystery? Mystery? There is no mystery at all—only danger, danger for your brother, Charlie, while Fyles is on his track. You don’t know Fyles. We, in this valley, do. It is his whole career to bring whisky-runners under the hammer of the law. If he can fix this thing on Charlie he will do it.”

The girl sprang from her seat in her agitation, and began to pace the wet ground.

“Charlie? Though he’s your brother, I tell you Charlie’s the most impossible creature alive. Everything he does, or is, somehow fosters the conviction that he is against the law. He drinks. Oh, how he drinks! And at night he’s always on the prowl. His associates are known whisky-runners, men whom the police, everybody, knows have not the wit to inspire the schemes that are carried out under the very noses of the authorities. What is the result? The police look for the brain behind them. Charlie is clever, unusually clever; he drinks, his movements are suspicious. He’s asking for trouble, and God knows he’s going to find it.”

A sudden panic was swiftly overwhelming Big Brother Bill. Though he knew no fear for himself it was altogether a different matter where his brother was concerned. He ran the great fingers of one hand through his wet, fair hair, an action that expressed to the full his utter helplessness.

“Say,” he cried desperately, “Charlie’s no crook. By God, I’ll swear it! He’s just a weak, helpless babe, with a heart as big as a house. Charlie a crook? Say, Miss Seton, you don’t believe it, do you?”

Kate shook her head.

“I know he’s not,” she said gently. Then in a moment all her fierce agitation returned. “But what’s the use? Tell the folks in the valley he isn’t, and they’ll laugh at you. Tell that to Fyles.” She laughed wildly. “Man, man, there’s only one thing can save Charlie from this stigma, from Fyles. Let him leave the valley. It’s the only way.” She sighed and then went on, her manner becoming suddenly subdued and rather hopeless. “But nothing on earth could move him from here, unless it were a police escort taking him to the penitentiary.”

She returned to her seat in the window, and when she spoke again her whole manner had undergone a further change. It was full of that womanly gentleness which fitted her so well.

“Mr. Bryant,” she said, with a pathetic smile lighting her handsome features, and softening them to an almost maternal tenderness, “I’m fonder of Charlie than any creature in the world—except Helen. Don’t make any mistake. I’m not in love with him. He’s just a dear, dear, erring, ailing brother to me. He can’t, or won’t help himself. What can we do to save him? Oh, I’m glad you’ve come here. It’s taken a load from my heart. What—what can we do?”

Again the big fingers raked through the man’s wet hair.

“I—wish I knew,” Bill lamented helplessly. But a moment later a quick, bright look lit his big blue eyes. “I know,” he almost shouted. “Let’s hunt this gang down—ourselves.”

Kate’s gaze had been steadily fixed upon the far side of the valley, where Charlie Bryant’s house stood. Now, in response to the man’s wild suggestion, it came slowly back to his face.

“I hadn’t thought of—that,” she said, after a pause.

In a wild burst of enthusiasm Bill warmed to his inspiration.

“No,” he cried. “Of course not. That’s because you aren’t used to scrapping.” He laughed. “But why not? I’ll do the scrapping, and you—you just do the thinking. See? We’ll share up. It’s dead easy.”

“Yes—it would be dead easy,” Kate demurred.

“Easy? Of course it’s easy. I’m pretty hot when it comes to a scrap,” Bill ran on with added confidence. “And a bunch of whisky-runners don’t amount to a heap anyway.”

Suddenly Kate rose from her seat. She moved a step toward him and laid one brown hand gently on his arm. She was smiling as she had smiled at the thought of her regard for this man’s brother. There was something almost motherly now in her whole attitude.

“You’re a big, brave soul, and like all brave souls you’re ready at all times to act—act first and think afterwards,” she said very gently. “You said I was to think. Let me think now. You see, I know this place. I know this class of man. It’s the life of the police to deal with these whisky-runners, and they—they can do nothing against them. Then what are we, you, with your brave inexperience, I, with my woman’s helplessness, going to do against them? Believe me, the men who carry on this traffic are absolutely desperate creatures who would give their lives at any moment rather than go to the penitentiary. Life to them, their own and their enemy’s, means nothing. They set no value on it whatsoever. The trade is profitable, and”—she sighed—“against the law. Those engaged in it live for the excitement of fighting the law. That’s one of the reasons which makes it impossible that Charlie could be one of them. No, Mr. Bryant, I guess it’s not for us to do this thing. We just couldn’t do a thing. But we must think of Charlie, and, when we’ve thought, and the time comes, why, then—we’ll act. Fyles is a brave man, and a just man,” she went on, with a slight warmth. “He’s a man of unusual capacity, and worth admiration. But he is a police officer,” she added regretfully. “In saving Charlie from him we shall prevent one good man wronging another, and I guess that should be good service. Let’s content ourselves with that. Will you help?”

Big Brother Bill had no hesitation at any time. He was carried away by the enthusiasm Kate’s words inspired. He thrust out one great hand and crushed the woman’s in its palm.

“Sure I’ll help. I’ve just got two hands and a straight eye, and when fight’s around I don’t care if it snows. My head’s the weak spot. But, anyway, what you say goes. We’ll save Charlie, or—or—Say, a real bright woman’s just about the grandest thing God ever made.”

Kate winced under the crushing force of his handshake, but she smiled bravely and thankfully up into his face as she bade him “good night.”