one--a man who was cool,
cautious, and who knew all of the ins and outs of the game as well as
myself. And here--" He interrupted himself, and chuckled audibly, "here
you are asking permission to go after him alone! Why, man, it's the very
next thing to inviting yourself to commit suicide! Now, if I were to
send you, and along with you a good, level-headed man like Moody--"

"I have had enough of double-harness work, unless I am commanded to go,
Mr. MacGregor," interrupted Philip. "I realize that DeBar is a dangerous
man, but I believe that I can bring him down. Will you give me the
opportunity?"

MacGregor laid his cigar on the edge of the desk and leaned across
toward his companion, the long white fingers of his big hands clasped
in front of him. He always took this position, with a cigar smoldering
beside him, when about to say those things which he wished to be
indelibly impressed on the memory of his listener.

"Yes, I'm going to give you the opportunity," he said slowly, "and I am
also going to give you permission to change your mind after I have told
you something about DeBar, whom we know as the Seventh Brother. I repeat
that, if you go alone, it's just ten to one that you don't get him.
Since '99 four men have gone out after him, and none has come back.
There was Forbes, who went in that year; Bannock, who took up the
trial in 1902; Fleisham in 1904, and Gresham in 1907. Since the time of
Gresham's disappearance we have lost sight of DeBar, and only recently,
as you know, have we got trace of him again. He is somewhere up on the
edge of the Barren Lands. I have private information which leads me to
believe that the factor at Fond du Lac can take you directly to him."

MacGregor unclasped his hands to pick up a worn paper from a small pile
on the desk.

"He is the last of seven brothers," he added. "His father was hanged."

"A good beginning," interjected Philip.

"There's just the trouble," said the inspector quickly. "It wasn't a
good beginning. This is one of those peculiar cases of outlawry for
which the law itself is largely responsible, and I don't know of any one
I would say this to but you. The father was hanged, as I have said. Six
months later it was discovered, beyond a doubt, that the law had taken
the life of an innocent man, and that DeBar had been sent to the gallows
by a combination of evidence fabricated entirely by the perjury of
enemies. The law should have vindicated itself. But it di