"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're toughs mostly--pretty bad 'uns, too." Then he laughed audibly. "Makes me laugh," he went on. "I've been tracking the fellow for quite a piece. And all the time he's your brother. You're sure?"

Bill nodded. He was still feeling uncomfortable.

"I'm glad you saw him," Fyles went on at once. "It's put us wise. We don't need to waste any more time. It's lucky, with a storm coming on.

Guess we'll get right back, McBain," he added, turning to his companion.

Fyles had no more difficulty in fooling the guileless Bill than O'Brien had.

"Going home?" Bill inquired of the officer as the latter turned to his horse.

"Sure."

"Me, too."

Fyles leaped into the saddle. McBain, too, had mounted.

"Best hurry," said Fyles, with another quick glance at the sky. "We get sharpish storms hereabouts in summer. You'll be drowned else. So long."

Bill moved away.

"So long," he cried, relieved at the parting. "I haven't far to go, but since you reckon a storm's getting busy I'll take a cut through the bush. It'll be quicker that way."

As he thrust his way into the bush he glanced back at the two policemen. They were both in the saddle watching him. Neither made any attempt at the hasty departure the Inspector had suggested.

However, their att.i.tudes gave him no uneasiness. Truth to tell, he did not realize any significance. The one thing that did concern him and trouble him was that he somehow felt convinced that he had committed the very indiscretion O'Brien had warned him against.

The whole thing was very disquieting. An air of mystery seemed to have suddenly surrounded him, and he hated mystery. Why should there be any mystery? If there was one thing he delighted in more than another, it was the thought that his life was all in the open. The broad daylight could search the innermost corners of his every action. He had nothing in the world to hide. Why then should he suddenly find himself actively concerned with this atmosphere of mystery which had suddenly closed about him?

But Bill had not done with the mistakes of the evening. He made another one now--in leaving the trail.

Within five minutes of leaving the two police officers he found himself blindly floundering his way through an inky forest. The sky was jet black. The moon had long since switched off her light. The last star had concealed its twinkle behind the banking clouds of the summer storm. Now great warm splashes of rain had begun to fall.

CHAPTER XVI

FURTHER ADVENTURES

Half an hour later tragedy befell.

Drenched to the skin, blinded by the deluge of torrential rain, thoroughly confused beyond all recognition of his whereabouts in the tangle of bush through which he was thrusting his way, all his senses dazed by the fierce overhead detonations, and the streams of blazing fire splitting the black vault above, Big Brother Bill beat his way along the path of least resistance by sheer physical might.

All idea of direction had left him. Up hill or down hill had become one and the same to him. He felt he must keep moving, must press on, and, in the end, he would reach his destination.

At last, almost wearied out by his efforts, he came to a definite halt in a bush that seemed to afford no outlet whatsoever. Even the way he had entered it was lost, for the heavy foliaged boughs had closed in behind him in the darkness, utterly cutting off his retreat.

For a moment he stood like an infuriated steer at bay, caught in the narrow branding "pinch." He waited for a revealing flash of lightning in the hope that it would show him a way out. He should have realized the futility of his hope, but, if he were soaked by the downpour, his spirit of optimism was as yet by no means drowned.

The flash he awaited came. The whole valley seemed to be lit from end to end. Then it was gone as swiftly as it had come, leaving a pitchy blackness behind it. But in that brief flash Bill told himself he had seen the trail just beyond the clump of bush in the midst of which he stood. Summoning all his strength he hurled himself to thrust his way toward it. He fought the resisting boughs with all his great strength, backed by every ounce of his buoyant spirits. Then, in a moment, Fate stepped in, and--released him.

His sensations were brief but tumultuous. He had a feeling that an earthquake had opened the ground at his feet. With all his might he sought to save himself from the yawning chasm. But the sudden jolt of his great weight was more than his muscles could withstand. His hands relaxed their grip upon the foliage and he fell with a great splash--into the river.

He had driven his way through the overhanging foliage of the river.

Big Brother Bill was not easily disconcerted by any physical catastrophe to himself. Nor did his sudden immersion now add one single pulse beat. The obvious thing, being a strong swimmer, was to strike out and get clear of the dripping trees, which he promptly proceeded to do, and, reaching the middle of the stream, and discovering that the rain had ceased, he philosophically consoled himself with the thought that, at least, he knew where he was.

Five minutes later he climbed up the opposite bank out of the water.

His first object at once became the ascertaining of his bearings. With a serious effort of argument he finally concluded he was on the wrong side of the river, which meant, of course, that the matter must be put right without delay. Seeing that the water was cold, in spite of the warmth of the summer evening, he was reminded of the footbridge opposite the Setons' house. Consequently, the further problem became the whereabouts of that bridge.

Glancing up at the sky, possibilities presented themselves. The clouds were breaking almost as rapidly as they had gathered, and, with great decision, he concluded that the best thing to do would be to await the return of the moonlight, and occupy the interim by wringing some of the uncomfortable moisture out of his clothes.

Ten minutes later his patience was rewarded. The moon shone out upon the stream at his feet, and there, less than one hundred yards to the west of him, the ghostly outline of the bridge loomed up. He really felt that Fate, at last, was doing her best.

He set off at once at as swinging a gait as his damp condition would permit, and he even found it possible to whistle an air as he moved along, to the accompanying squelch of his water-logged boots.

But, as the footbridge was approached, his purpose received a setback.

The home of the Setons loomed up in the moonlight and promptly absorbed his attention. The moon was at its full once more, and the last clouds of the summer storm had pa.s.sed away, leaving the wonderful, velvety night sky a-shimmer with twinkling diamonds.

The front of the house was in full light, so pale, so distinct, that no detail of it escaped his interested eyes. There was the door with its rain-water barrel, there was the shingle roof. The lateral logs of its walls were most picturesque. The only thing that struck him as ordinary was, perhaps, the window----. Hallo! What was that at the window?

He paused abruptly, and stared hard.

He started. It was a woman! A woman sitting on the sill of the open window! Of all the----. Well, if that wasn't luck he felt he would like to know what was. He wondered which of the sisters it was--Kate or Helen. He was confident it was one of them. He would soon find out.