ctuate him,
he rose from his seat on the log and stumbled across the clearing,
floundering among the fallen logs with a desperate energy that cost
him many more bruises than were necessary, even in the profound
darkness of the, as yet, moonless night.

Finally, however, he reached the track which led up to the house and
hurried on.

A few minutes later he was wandering through the house searching in
the darkened rooms for his brother. It was characteristic of him that
he did not confine his search to the house, but sought the missing man
in every unlikely spot his vigorous and errant imagination could
suggest. He visited the corrals, he visited the barn, he visited the
hog pens and the chicken roosts. Then he brought up to a final halt
upon the veranda and sought to solve the problem by thought.

There was, of course, an obvious solution which did not occur to
him. He might reasonably have sought his bed, and waited until
morning--since Charlie had survived five years of life in the valley.
That was not his way, however. Instead, a great inspiration came to
him. It was an inspiration which he viewed with profound admiration.
Of course, he ought to have gone at once to the village, as he had
intended, and have visited O'Brien's saloon.

Forthwith he once more set out, and this time, his purpose being
really definite, after much unnecessary wandering he finally achieved
it.

He reached the saloon as O'Brien was in the act of turning out the two
swing lamps. Already one of them was turned low, and the saloonkeeper,
with distended cheeks, was in the act of putting an end to its
flickering life when Bill flung open the door.

O'Brien turned abruptly. He turned with that air which is never far
from his class, living on the fringe of civilization. His whole look,
his attitude, was a truculent demand, and had it found its equivalent
in words he would have asked sharply: "What in hell d'you want here?"

But the significance of his attitude quite passed Big Brother Bill by.
Had he understood it, it would have made no difference to him
whatever. But that was his way. He never saw much more than a single
purpose ahead of him, and possessed an indestructible conviction of
his ability to carry it out, even in the face of superlative or even
overwhelming odds.

He walked into the meanly lighted saloon, while O'Brien reluctantly
turned up the light again. For a moment the saloonkeeper's shrewd eyes
surveyed the newcomer, and