ic, and he was left at a loss to understand.

Then further astonishment came to him. There was a sharp rustling of
bush, and breaking of twigs close by, and the sound of heavy, plodding
hoofs. The next moment two horsemen broke from the dense cover about
him, and flung out of the saddle.

"Darnation take it, what in blazes are you shouting around for at this
hour of the night?"

Inspector Fyles stood confronting the astounded man. Beside him stood
another man in uniform, with three gold stripes on his arm. It was
Sergeant McBain.

In spite of his recognition of the Inspector, Bill's anger rose
swiftly, and his great muscles were set tingling at the man's words
and tone.

"'Struth!" he cried in exasperation. "This is a free country, isn't
it? If I need to shout it's none of your damn business. What in the
name of all that's holy has it got to do with you? I saw my brother
ahead, and was hailing him. Well?"

Bill's eyes were fiercely alight. He and Fyles stood eye to eye for a
moment. Then the latter's resentment seemed to suddenly die out.

"Say, I'm sorry, Mr. Bryant," he apologized. "I just didn't recognize
you in the darkness. Guess I thought you were some tough from the
saloon. That was your brother--ahead?"

Fyles's calm, clean-cut features were in strong contrast to his
subordinate's. He was smiling slightly, too. Sergeant McBain was
wholly grim.

Bill glanced from one to the other.

"Of course it was my brother," he said, promptly, mollified by the
officer's expression of regret. "I've been chasing him half the night.
You see, O'Brien told me he was up this way, and when I sighted him
yonder by the pine, I----"

He broke off. He had suddenly remembered O'Brien's warning. He had an
uncomfortable feeling that he had opened his mouth very wide. Far
wider than Providence had made necessary.

"You----?"

Fyles was distinctly smiling as he urged him.

But Bill had no intention of blundering further. He laughed, but
without his usual buoyancy.

"Say, what are _you_ doing up here?" he demanded, seeking to turn the
tables on the officer. "Rounding up 'strays'?"

At that moment a black cloud swept swiftly across the face of the
moon. And though Fyles's smile had broadened at the other's clumsy
attempt at subterfuge, it was quite lost upon Bill in the darkness.

Fyles glanced quickly at the sky.

"Storm," he said. Then he turned back to his questioner. "Why, I guess
I'm always chasing 'strays.' They'