For some moments the two men faced each other in a sort of grim silence. It was already daylight. Sunday morning was breaking under a cloudless sky.

At last McBain rose from his seat at the deal table which served him for a desk. He reached out and turned out the lamp. Its light was no longer needed. Then he stretched himself and yawned.

“Had enough of it?” inquired Fyles, catching the infection and stifling a yawn.

“Just what you might notice, sir.” A shadowy smile played about the Scot’s hard mouth, but it was gone in a moment.

Fyles nodded.

“So have I,” he agreed. “But we’ve broke the back of things. And—you’ll be kept busy all day to—I was going to say to-morrow. I mean to-day.”

McBain sat down again.

“Yes, sir. A couple of hours’ sleep’ll do me, though. We daren’t spare ourselves. It’s sort of life and death to us.”

Fyles shot a keen look into the other’s face.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if it were literally so.”“You think, sir——?”

McBain’s voice was sharply questioning.

But Fyles only laughed. There was no mirth in his expression, and McBain understood.

“Never mind,” the officer went on, with a careless shrug. “Best turn in. We’ll know all about it when the time comes.”

He rose from his seat, and McBain, with a brief “Good night, sir,” disappeared into the inner room.

But Fyles did not follow his example for a few moments. He went to the door and flung it open. Then he stood for awhile gazing out at the wonderful morning daylight, and drinking in the pure prairie air. While he stood thus his thoughts were busy, and a half smile was in his eyes. He was thinking of the irony of the fact that Kate Seton’s superstition had completely taken possession of him.

Two hours after sunrise McBain and his superior were at work again. They had snatched their brief sleep, but it was sufficient for these hardy riders of the plains. The camp was full of activity. Each man of the patrol had to be interviewed, and given minute instructions, also instructions for the arising of unforeseen circumstances, where individual initiative would require to be displayed. Then there were rations to be served out, and, finally, messengers must be sent to the supernumerary camp higher up the valley. But there was no undue bustle or haste. It was simply activity.

At ten o’clock Stanley Fyles left the camp. McBain would continue the work, which, by this time, had returned to conditions of ordinary routine.

Peter ambled gently down the valley. His rider seemed in no hurry. There was no need for hurry. The village was five miles away, and he had no desire to reach it until just before eleven. So he could take his leisure, sparing both himself and his horse for the great effort of the morrow.

Just for one brief moment he contemplated a divergence from his course. It was at the moment when he left the cattle track which led to his camp and joined the old Indian trail to the village. He reached the branching cattle track on the other side of it which would have led him to the mysterious corral, which was possessed of so much interest and suspicion. But he remembered that a visit thither would violate the conditions of his wager with Kate. The place belonged to Charlie Bryant. So he pushed on.

As he rode he thought of Kate Seton’s determination to absent herself during the critical events about to happen in the village. On the whole he was pleased with her decision. Somehow he felt he understood her feelings. The grip of her superstition had left him more understanding of her desire to get away.

Then, too, he would rather she were away when his own big effort came. Should he fail again, which now he believed impossible, he would rather she were not there to witness that failure. He knew, only too well, from bitter experience, how easy it was for the most complete plans to go awry when made against the genius of crime. No, he did not want her to witness his failure. Nor would he care to flaunt the success he anticipated, and consequently the error she had fallen into, before her distressed eyes. He felt very tender toward her. She was so loyal, so courageous in her beliefs, such a great little sportswoman. No, he must spare her all he could when he had won that wager. He would not demand his pound of flesh. He would release her from her debt, and just appeal to her through his love. And, somehow, when he had caught this man, Bryant, and so proved how utterly unworthy he was of her regard, he felt that possibly he would not have to appeal in vain.

He reached the old Meeting House as the earliest of the village folk were gathering for service. He did not ride up, but left Peter, much to that creature’s disquiet, tied in the bush some fifty yards from the place.

His interest became at once absorbed. He chatted pleasantly for a few moments with Mr. Blundell, the traveling Methodist minister, and greeted those of the villagers whom he had come to know personally. But all the while his eyes and ears were fully alert for the things concerning his purpose. He noted carefully all those who were present, but the absentees were his greatest interest. Not one of those who constituted the gang of smugglers was present, and particularly he noted Charlie Bryant’s absence.

Among the last to arrive were Big Brother Bill and Helen, and Fyles smiled as he beheld the careful toilet of the big city man. Helen, as usual, was clad in her best tailored suit, and looked particularly bright and smart when he greeted her.

“Miss Kate not at—service?” he inquired, as they paused at the door of the building.

Helen shook her head, and her face fell.

“No. She’s preparing for her journey to Myrtle,” said the girl. “How she can do with that noisy old creature Mrs. Radley I—I—well, she gets me beat every time. But Kate’s just as obstinate as a fifty-year-old mule. She’s crazy to get away from here, and—and I left her about to dope the wheels of the wretched old wagon she’s going to drive this afternoon. Oh, dear! But come along, Bill, they’re beginning service.”

A moment later the police officer was left alone outside the building.

It was not his way to take long arriving at a decision. He walked briskly away, and vanished amid the bush. A minute later he was once more in the saddle, heading for the bridge in front of Kate’s house.

Kate was still at her wagon when Fyles arrived. At the sound of his approach she straightened herself up with a smiling, half-embarrassed welcome shining in her eyes.

“Don’t you come too near,” she exclaimed. “I’m all over axle dope. It truly is the messiest job ever. But what are you to do when the boys clear out, and—and play you such a scurvy trick? I’ve been relying on Nick to drive me out and bring the wagon back. Now I’ll have to drive myself, and keep the wagon there, unless I can hire some one to bring it back, so Charlie can haul his last hay to-morrow.”

The policeman ran his eyes over the wagon. At the mention of Charlie Bryant’s name, his manner seemed to freeze up. He recognized the vehicle at once.

“It’s Bryant’s wagon?” he said shortly.

Kate nodded.

“Sure. He always lends it me when I want one. I haven’t one of my own.”

“I see.”

Fyles’s manner became more easy. Then he went on.

“Where are your boys? Where’s Pete?”

Kate’s eyes widened.

“Gracious goodness only knows,” she said, in sheer exasperation. “I only hope Nick turns up to drive me. I surely will have to get rid of them both. I’ve had enough of Pete since he got drunk and insulted Helen. Still, he got his med’cine from Bill all right. And he got the rough side of my tongue, too. Yes, I shall certainly get rid of both. Charlie’s always urging me to.” She wiped her hands on a cloth. “There, thank goodness I’ve finished that messy job.”

She released the jack under the axle, and the wheel dropped to the ground.

“Now I can load up my grips,” she exclaimed.

Fyles looked up from the brown study into which he had fallen.

“This Bill—this Big Brother Bill hammered master Pete to a—pulp?” he inquired, with a smile of interest.

“He certainly did,” laughed Kate. “And when he’d done with him I’m afraid my tongue completed the—good work. That’s why this has happened.” She indicated the wagon with a humorous look of dismay.

Fyles laughed. Then he sobered almost at once.

“I came here for two reasons,” he said curiously. “I came to—well—because I couldn’t stay away, for one thing. You see, I’m not nearly so much of a police officer as I am a mere human creature. So I came to see you before you went away. You see, so many things may happen on—Monday. The other reason was to tell you I’ve had a wonderful slice of—hateful good luck.”

“Hateful good luck?”

Kate raised a pair of wondering eyes to his face.

“Yes, hateful.” The man’s emphasis left no sort of doubt as to his feelings. “Of course,” he went on, “it’s ridiculous that sort of attitude in a policeman, but I can admire a loyal crook. Yes, I could have a friendly feeling for him. A traitor turns me sick in the stomach. One of the gang has turned traitor. He’s told me that detail you couldn’t give me. I’ve got their complete plan of campaign.”

The wonder in Kate’s eyes had become one steady look of inquiry.

“Their complete plan of campaign?” she echoed. Then in a moment a great excitement seemed to rise up in her. It found expression in the rapidity of her words.

“Then you know that—Charlie is innocent? You know now how wrong you were? You know that I have been right all the way through, and that you have been wrong? Tell me! Tell me!” she cried.

Stanley Fyles shook his head.

“I’m sorry. The man had the grace to refuse me the leader’s identity. I only got their plan—but it’s more than enough.”

Kate breathed a sigh as of regret.

“That’s too bad,” she cried. “If he’d only told you that, it might—it might have cleared up everything. We should have had no more of this wretched suspicion of an innocent man. It might have altered your whole plan of campaign. As it is——”

“It leaves me more than ever convinced I am on a red-hot scent which must now inevitably lead me to success.”

For a few moments Kate looked into the man’s face as though waiting for him to continue. Then, at last, she smiled, and the man thought he had never beheld so alluring a picture of feminine persuasion.

“Am I to—know any more?” she pleaded.

The appeal became irresistible.

“There can be no harm in telling you,” he said. “You gave me the first help. It is to you I shall largely owe my success. Yes, you may as well know, and I know I can rely on your discretion. You were able to tell me of the coming of the liquor, but you could not tell me exactly how it was coming. The man could tell me that—and did. It is coming in down the river in a small boat. One man will bring it—the man who runs the gang. While this is being done a load of hay, accompanied by the whole gang, will come into the town as a blind. It is obvious to me they will come in on the run, hoping to draw us. Then, when caught, they rely on our search of the wagon to delay us—while the boat slips through. It’s pretty smart, and,” he added ruefully, “would probably have been successful—had I not been warned. Now it is different. Our first attention will be that boat.”

Kate’s eyes were alight with the warmest interest. She became further excited.

“It’s smart,” she cried enthusiastically. “They’re—they’re a clever set of rascals.” Then, for a moment, she thought. “Of course, you must get that boat. What a sell for them when you let the wagon go free. Say, it’s—it’s the greatest fun ever.”

Fyles smilingly agreed. This woman’s delight in the upsetting of the “runners” plans was very pleasant to him. There could be no doubt as to her sympathies being with him. If only she weren’t concerned for Bryant he could have enjoyed the situation to the full.

Suddenly she looked up into his face with just a shade of anxiety.

“But this—informer,” she said earnestly. “They’ll—kill him.”

Fyles laughed.

“He’ll be over the border before they’re wise, and they’ll be held safe—anyway.”

Kate agreed.

“I’d forgotten that,” she said thoughtfully. Then she gave a shiver of disgust. “I—I loathe an informer.”

“Everybody with any sense of honor—must,” agreed Fyles. “Informer? I’d sooner shake hands with a murderer. And yet we have to deal and bargain with them—in our work.”

“I was just wondering,” said Kate, after another pause, “who he could be. I—I’m not going to ask his name. But—do I know him?”

The policeman laughingly shook his head.

“I must play the game, even—with an informer. Say, there’s an old saw in our force, ‘No names, no pack-drill.’ It fits the case now. When the feller’s skipped the border, maybe you’ll know who he is by his absence from the village.”

Suddenly Kate turned to her wagon. She gazed at it for some moments. Then she turned about, and, with a pathetic smile, gave vent to her feelings.

“Oh, dear,” she cried. “I—I wish it was after dinner. I should be away then. I feel as if I never—never wanted to see this valley again—ever. It all seems wrong. It all seems like a nightmare now. I feel as if at any moment the ground might open up, and—and swallow me right up. I—I feel like a dizzy creature standing at the edge of a precipice. I—I feel as if I must fall, as if I wanted to fall. I shall be so glad to get away.”

“But you’ll come back,” the man cried urgently. “It’s—only till after Monday.” Then he steadied himself, and smiled whimsically. “Remember, we have our wager. Remember, in the end you either have to—laugh at me, or—marry me. It’s a big stake for us both. For me especially. Your mocking laughter would be hard to bear in conjunction with losing you. Oh, Kate, we entered on this in a spirit of antagonism, but—but I sort of think it’ll break my heart to—lose. You see, if I lose, I lose you. You, I suppose, will feel glad—if you win. It’s hard.” His eyes grew dark with the contemplation of his possible failure. “If I could only hope it would be otherwise. If I could only feel that you cared, in however slight a degree. It would not seem so bad. If I win I have only won you. I have not won your love. The whole thing is absurd, utterly ridiculous, and mad. I want your love, not—not—just you.”

Kate made no answer, and the man went on.

“Do you know, Kate, as the days go on in this place, as the moment of crisis approaches, I am growing less and less of a policeman. I’m even beginning to repent of my wager with you, and but for the chance of winning you, I should be glad to abandon it. Love has been a hidden chapter in the book of life to me up till now, and now, reading it, it quite overwhelms me. Do you know I’ve always despised people who’ve put true love before all other considerations? I thought them weak imbeciles, and quite unfit. Now I am realizing how much I had to learn all the while, and have since learned.”

He paused, and, after a moment’s thought, went on again.

“Do you know a curious thought, desire, has grown up in me since our compact. I know it’s utterly—utterly mad, but I can’t help it. Believing now, as I do, that Bryant is no more to you than you say, I feel that when I get him—I feel I cannot, dare not keep him. I feel a crazy longing to let him go free. Do you know what that means to me? It means giving up all I have struggled for all these years. Do you know why I want to do it? Because I believe it would make you happy.”

Kate’s eyes were turned from him. They were full of a great burning joy and love. And the love was all for this man, so recklessly desirous of her happiness.

She shook her head without turning to him.“You must not,” she said, in deep thrilling tones. “You must not forego the duty you owe yourself. If you capture Charlie he must pay the price. No thought of me must influence you. And I—I am ready to pay the forfeit. I made the wager with my eyes wide open—wide, wide.”

Fyles stirred uneasily. He meant every word he had said, and somehow he felt he was still beyond the barrier, still outside the citadel he was striving to reduce.

“Yes, I know,” he said almost bitterly. “It is just a wager—a wager between us. It is a wager whereby we can force our convictions upon each other.”

Kate nodded, and the warm light of her eyes had changed to a look of anxiety.

“There is a whole day and more before the—settlement, a day and night which may be fraught with a world of disaster. Let us leave it at that—for the present.” Then, with an effort, she banished the seriousness from her manner. “But I am delaying. I must pack my grip, and harness my team. You see, I must leave directly after dinner.”

Fyles accepted his dismissal. He turned to his horse and prepared to mount. Kate followed his every movement with a forlorn little smile. She would have given anything if he could have stayed. But——.

“Good luck,” she cried, in a low tone.

“Good luck? Do you know what that means?” Fyles turned abruptly. “It means my winning the wager, Kate.”

“Does it?” Kate smiled tenderly across at him. “Well, good luck anyway.”