the likeness before?" Goatry said to himself.
"But, gosh! what a difference in the men. Foyle's going to double cinch
him this time, I guess."

He followed them inside the hall of the Happy Land. When they stepped into
the sitting-room, he stood at the door waiting. The hotel was entirely
empty, the roisterers at the Prairie Home having drawn off the idlers and
spectators. The barman was nodding behind the bar, the proprietor was
moving about in the backyard inspecting a horse. There was a cheerful
warmth everywhere; the air was like an elixir; the pungent smell of a
pine-tree at the door gave a kind of medicament to the indrawn breath. And
to Billy Goat, who sometimes sang in the choir of a church not a hundred
miles away--for the people agreed to forget his occasional sprees--there
came, he knew not why, the words of a hymn he had sung only the preceding
Sunday:

"As pants the hart for cooling streams,
When heated in the chase--"

The words kept ringing in his ears as he listened to the conversation
inside the room--the partition was thin, the door thinner, and he heard
much. Foyle had asked him not to intervene, but only to stand by and await
the issue of this final conference. He meant, however, to take a hand in
if he thought he was needed, and he kept his ear glued to the door. If he
thought Foyle needed him--his fingers were on the handle of the door.

"Now, hurry up! What do you want with me?" asked Halbeck of his brother.

"Take your time," said ex-Sergeant Foyle, as he drew the blind
three-quarters down, so that they could not be seen from the street.

"I'm in a hurry, I tell you. I've got my plans. I'm going South. I've only
just time to catch the Canadian Pacific three days from now, riding
hard."

"You're not going South, Dorl."

"Where am I going, then?" was the sneering reply.

"Not farther than the Happy Land."

"What the devil's all this? You don't mean you're trying to arrest me
again, after letting me go?"

"You don't need to ask. You're my prisoner. You're my prisoner," he said,
in a louder voice--"_until you free yourself_."

"I'll do that damn quick, then," said the other, his hand flying to his
hip.

"Sit down," was the sharp rejoinder, and a pistol was in his face before
he could draw his own weapon.

"Put your gun on the table," Foyle said, quietly. Halbeck did so. There
was no other way.

Foyle drew it over to himself. His brother made a mot