from the
barn. He was smaller, much smaller, and very slight. His face and hair
were undistinguishable beneath his prairie hat, but his dark jacket,
and loose riding breeches were plain enough to the onlooker. In a
moment Bill's heart sank. Even in that dim light he knew he was gazing
upon the figure he had seen the night before at the old pine. There
could be no mistake. Though he could not see the man's face, his
figure was sufficient. He felt convinced that it was his brother. Kate
was wrong, and everybody else was right. Charlie was indeed the
whisky-runner whom the police were after.

Any purpose he had had before was promptly abandoned. He hurried away,
sick at heart, and hastily returned to the ranch to find
Charlie--still out.

After what he had witnessed he had no desire to meet Charlie that
night, so he went straight to bed, but not to sleep. For a long time
he lay awake thinking, thinking of his discovery. Then at last,
thoroughly weary with thinking, he fell into a troubled sleep and
dreamed that Inspector Fyles and his men were pursuing him over a
plain, upon which there was no cover, and over which he made no
progress whatsoever.

Now, as he sat at the door of the barn, brooding over all he had seen
and discovered, he felt that there were but two courses open to him.
He must either, in his own phraseology, "get out or go on." And by
that he meant he must either renounce all his affection for his erring
brother, and leave him to his fate, or, like Kate, he must stand by to
help him in the time of trouble, and do all in his power to save him
from himself. There was not much doubt as to which direction his
inclinations took, but he felt it was no time for permitting his
feelings to rule him. He must think a big "think," and adopt its
verdict.

But the "think" would not come. Only would his inclinations obtrude.
There was nothing mean or petty in this big creature. He loved his
brother frankly and freely, and his absurd heart would not permit him
to thrust those feelings aside.

Groping and struggling, and undecided, yet convinced, he finally rose
from his seat and stretched and shook himself like some great dog.
Then he looked about rather helplessly. At that moment his eyes came
to rest on the distant house of the Setons', and, as he beheld a woman
emerge from its door, a great inspiration came to him.

In a moment his dilemma disentangled itself. He laughed in very
triumph as the idea swept throug