all
odds--or ultimately sacrifice his position.

He was standing beside the superintendent, and both men were bending
over one of those secret official charts of the district surrounding
Rocky Springs. They were alone in Jason's bare, even mean office.
Fyles's long, firm forefinger was pointing along a trail, and his
sharp, incisive words were explaining something of his convictions as
his finger moved. The other was listening without interruption. At
last, as the quiet, confident tones ceased, the superintendent
straightened himself up, and his small, quick-moving, dark eyes shot
their gleam of cold authority into his companion's.

"It's up to you," he said, with a callous upraising of his shoulders.
"You've talked a good deal to me here, and you've made your talk sound
right. But talk doesn't put these men in the penitentiary. You've made
a mess of this job so far. Guess it's up to you to make good. You've
got your chance now. See you don't miss it. The authorities don't
stand for two mistakes on one job, not even when they're made by
Inspector Fyles. You get me? You've _got_ to make good."

Fyles left the office fully aware that sentence had been passed on
him, just as surely as though he had stood before the Commissioner, a
prisoner.

Thus, at the outset of his journey, his feelings had been scarcely
pleasant, but, as the distance between him and headquarters increased,
his confidence and sense of responsibility returned, and the shadow of
threat retreated into the background. His plans were carefully laid,
and all the support he could need was arranged for. This time the work
before him was no mere capture of whisky-runners, but to make all
whisky-running, as associated with Rocky Springs, impossible, and to
break up the gang who had for so long defied the law. Yes, he felt
confident in the result, and, as the long miles were put behind him,
his thoughts wandered into more pleasant channels.

Rocky Springs certainly offered him inducement. And curiously enough
he found himself wondering how much he was influenced by that
inducement in accepting the odds against him in cleaning up the place,
and dusting the cobwebs of crime from its corners.

Kate Seton. He had not seen her for something running into weeks. The
thought that he was to renew an acquaintance, which, though almost
slight, still had extraordinary power to hold him, was a delightful
one. Sometimes he had found himself wondering at the phenomenon o