to the rescue,
snatched the reins and held on till he had dragged the plunging bronchos
to a halt.

The rage which had been boiling in Duff, and which with difficulty had
been held within bounds, suddenly burst all bonds of control. With
a fierce oath he picked up the gun which he had thrown aside in his
struggle with the horses, and levelled it at the speeding motor car.

"For God's sake, Stewart, stop!" shouted Bayne, springing toward his
friend.

Barry was nearer and quicker. The shot went off, but his hand had
knocked up the gun.

"My God, Stewart! Are you clean crazy!" said Bayne, gripping him by the
arm. "Do you know what you are doing? You are not fit to carry a gun!"

"I'd have bust his blanked tires for him, anyway!" blustered Duff,
though his face and voice showed that he had received a shock.

"Yes, and you might have been a murderer by this time, and heading for
the pen, but for Dunbar here. You owe him more than you can ever pay,
you blanked fool!"

Duff made no reply, but busied himself with his horses. Nor did he speak
again till everything was in readiness for the road.

"Get in," he then said gruffly, and that was his last word until they
drove into the village.

At the store he drew up.

"Thank you for the lift," said Barry. "I should have had a tough job to
get back in time."

Duff grunted at him, and passed on into the store.

"I am very glad to have met you," said Bayne, shaking hands warmly with
him. "You have done us both a great service. He is my friend, you know."

"I am afraid I have offended him, all the same. But you see I couldn't
help it, could I?"

Bayne looked at his young, earnest face for a moment or two as if
studying him, then said with a curious smile, "No, I don't believe you
could have helped it." And with that he passed into the store.

"What sort of a chap is that preacher of yours?" he asked of the
storekeeper.

"I don't know; he ain't my church. Ask Innes there. He's a pillar."

Bayne turned to a long, lean, hard-faced man leaning against the
counter.

"My name is Bayne, from Red Pine, Mr. Innes. I am interested in knowing
what sort of a chap your preacher is. He comes out to our section, but I
never met him till to-day."

"Oh, he's no that bad," said Innes cautiously.

"Not worth a cent," said a little, red headed man standing near. "He
can't preach for sour apples."

"I wadna just say that, Mr. Hayes," said Innes.

"How do you know, Innes?" reto