what they think they're going to do?"

His manner became more excited, and his voice grew deeper and deeper.

"They think they're going to get a big haul of liquor. They think
they're going to get me. I tell you, Bill, that for men trained to
smelling things out, they're blunderers. Their methods are clumsy as
hell. I could almost laugh, if--if I didn't feel sick at their coming
around."

Bill stirred uneasily.

"If there were no whisky-running here they wouldn't be around," he
said pointedly.

Charlie eyed him curiously.

"No," he said. Then he added, "And if there were no whisky-running
there'd be no village here. If there were no village here we shouldn't
be here. Kate and her sister wouldn't be here. Nothing would be here,
but the old pine--that goes on forever. This village lives on the
prohibition law. Fyles may have a reputation, but he's clumsy--damned
clumsy. I'd like to see ahead--the next few days."

"He's smelling a cargo--coming in, isn't he?" Bill's tact was holding
him tight.

Again Charlie looked at him curiously before he replied.

"That's how they reckon," he said guardedly, at last.

Bill had turned away, vainly searching his unready wit for the best
means of carrying on the discussion. Suddenly his eyes lit, and he
pointed across at the Seton's house.

"Say, who's that--on that horse? Isn't it Fyles? He's talking to some
one. Looks like----"

He broke off. Charlie was staring out in the direction indicated, and,
in a moment, his excitement passed, swallowed up in a frowning,
brooding light that had suddenly taken possession of his dark eyes.

Bill finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

"It's--Fyles?" he said.

"Yes, it's Fyles," said Charlie, with a sudden suppressed fury. "It's
Fyles--curse him, and he's talking to--Kate."

At the sound of his brother's tone, even Bill realized his blundering.
He knew he had fired a train of passion that was to be deplored, even
dreaded in his brother. He blamed himself bitterly for his lack of
forethought, his absurd want of discretion.

But the mischief was done. Charlie had forgotten everything else.

Bill stirred again in his chair.

"What does he want down there?" he demanded, for lack of something
better to say.

"What does he want?" Charlie laughed. It was an unpleasant laugh, a
savage laugh. It was a laugh that spoke of sore heart, and feelings
crowding with bitterness. "I guess he wants something he'll never
get--while I'm aliv