Had the big man's wide, blue eyes been less ready to accept all they beheld, had his mind been more versed in the study of human nature, and those shadowy, inexpressible feelings glancing furtively out of eyes intended only to express carefully controlled thoughts, then Bill must have detected reluctance in his brother. There were moments, too, when only a half-heartedness found vent in the man's verbal acceptance of his brother's proposals, which should have been significant, and certainly invited investigation.

But even if he observed these things Bill undoubtedly misread them. He had no reason to doubt that his presence, and all his enthusiastic plans were welcome, and so he was left blinded to any other feelings on the part of his brother than those which he verbally expressed.

That Charlie delighted in his presence there could be no doubt, but as to those other things, well, a close observer might well have been forgiven had he felt sorry for the bigger man's single-minded generosity. To the end Bill felt confident, and remained quite undisturbed.

There were still fully two hours of daylight left when Charlie finally rose from his seat upon the veranda.

He smiled down at the big figure of the brother he so affectionately regarded.

"We'll need to set about getting your baggage sent through from Moosemin to-morrow," he said. Then he added with a quizzical gleam in his eyes: "Guess you've got the checks all right?"

Bill nodded with profound gravity, and dived into one of his pockets.

"Sure," he replied, dragging forth a bunch of metal discs on a strap.

"Five pieces."

"Good." Charlie nodded. His brother's unconsciousness amused him.

Then, after a moment, his gaze drifted across the valley, and came to rest on the little home of the Setons, and he went on reflectively, "I need to get around a piece before dark," he said. Then with an unmistakable question in his dark eyes: "Maybe you'll fancy a walk around--meantime?"

Bill's eyes lit good humoredly.

"Which means I'm not wanted," he said with a laugh.

Then he, too, rose. He stretched himself like some great contented dog.

"I've a notion to get a peek at the village," he said. "I'll call along down at the saloon and hunt Fyles up. Guess I owe him a drink for--finding me."

At the mention of Fyles's name a curious look changed the expression of his brother's regard. A short laugh that had no mirth in it was the prompt reply.

"You can't buy Fyles a drink in Rocky Springs," Charlie exclaimed.

"Maybe you can buy all the drink _you_ want. But there's not a saloonkeeper in the Northwest Territories would hand you one for Fyles. This is prohibition territory, and I guess Fyles is hated to death--hereabouts."

For a moment Bill's eyes looked absurdly serious.

"I see," he demurred. "You--hate him--too?"

Charlie nodded.

"For--that?" suggested Bill.

Charlie shrugged. "I certainly have no use for Inspector Fyles," he declared. "Maybe it's for his work, maybe it isn't. It don't matter either way."

The manner of Charlie's reply reminded his brother that his question had been unnecessarily pointed, and he hastened to make amends.

"I'm kind of sorry, Charlie," he said, his face flushing with contrition. "I didn't think. You see, I hadn't----"

But the other waved his regret aside.

"Don't worry," he said quickly. "Guess you can't hurt me that way. I was thinking on other lines. What does matter, and matters pretty badly, is that some day, if you stop around Rocky Springs, you'll find it up to you to take sides between Fyles and----"

"And?" Bill's interest had become suddenly absorbed as his brother paused, his gaze once more drifting away beyond the river. Finally, Charlie turned back to him.

"Me," he said quietly. And the two stood facing each other, eye to eye.

It was some moments before Bill's slow-moving wit came to his aid. He was so startled that it was even slower than usual.

"You and--Fyles?" he said at last, his eyes full of absurd wonder. "I don't understand. You--you are not against the law?"

Bill's wonder had changed to apprehension, and the sight of it distracted his brother's more serious mood.

"Does a fellow always need to be against the law to get up against a police officer?" he inquired, with a smile of amus.e.m.e.nt. Then his smile died out, and he went on enigmatically. "Men can sc.r.a.p about most anything," he said slowly. "Men who _are_ men. I may be a poor example, but----Say, when Fyles takes hold of things in Rocky Springs, I guess he isn't likely to feel kindly disposed my way. That being so, you'll surely be fixed one way or the other. Get me, Bill?"

Bill nodded dubiously.

"I get that, but--I don't understand----" he began.

But Charlie gave him no time to finish.

"Don't worry to," he said quickly. Then he gripped the other's muscular arm affectionately. "See you later," he added, smiling whimsically up into the troubled blue eyes as he moved off the veranda.

Bill was left puzzled. He was thinking very hard and very slowly as he looked after the departing man. He watched him till he reached the barn and disappeared within it to get his horse. Then he, too, moved away, but it was in the direction of the trail which led ultimately to the village.

Bill's nature was too recklessly happy to long remain a prey to disquieting thoughts. Once the avenue of spruce trees swallowed him up he abandoned all further contemplation of his disquietude, and gave himself up to the full enjoyment of his new surroundings.

It was in the gayest possible mood and highest spirits that Helen, with her "two-book" excuse tucked under her arm, set out for Charlie Bryant's ranch.

When she appeared at supper time Kate's dark eyes shone with admiration and a lurking mischief. At the sight of Helen she clapped her hands delightedly. The younger girl's smart, tailored suit had made way for the daintiest of summer frocks, diaphanous, seductive, and wholly fascinating.

"A vision of fluffy whiteness," cried Kate delightedly, as Helen sat down at the table. "Helen," she went on, mischievously, "as a man hunter you are just too dreadful. Poor Big Brother Bill, why, he hasn't the chance of a rat in a corner. He surely is as good as engaged, married, and--done for."

Helen's eyebrows went up in lofty resentment.

"Katherine Seton, I--don't understand you--thank goodness. If I did I should want to box your ears," she added, in mild scorn. "You're a perfectly ridiculous woman, and of no account at all."

Kate's amus.e.m.e.nt was good to see.

"Oh, Hel----" she cried.

But her sister cut her short.

"Don't use bad language, please. My name's 'Helen'--unless you've got something pleasant to say."

Kate poured out the coffee, and helped herself to cold meat. The supper was the characteristic evening meal of the village. Cakes, and sweets, and cold meat.

"How could I have anything but something pleasant to say, with you looking such a vision?" Kate went on, quite undisturbed. "Why, I hadn't a notion you had such a pretty frock."

Helen's att.i.tude modified, as she helped herself to home-made scones and b.u.t.ter.