e if this bit of
evidence should turn out to be the thing he had suspected. He had not,
however, hoped to have from the lips of the man himself a confession
that conditions were not right at the lumber mill of which Barry
Houston now formed the executive head; to receive the certain statement
that somewhere, somehow, something was wrong, something which was
working against the best interests of himself and the stern necessities
of the future. But now--

Thayer had turned away and evidently sought a chair at the other side
of the room. Barry remained perfectly still. Five minutes passed.
Ten. There came no sound from the chair; instinctively the man on the
bed knew that Thayer was watching him, waiting for the first flicker of
an eyelid, the first evidence of returning consciousness. Five minutes
more and Barry rewarded the vigil. He drew his breath in a shivering
sigh. He turned and groaned,--quite naturally with the pain from his
splintered arm. His eyes opened slowly, and he stared about him, as
though in non-understanding wonderment, finally to center upon the
window ahead and retain his gaze there, oblivious of the sudden tensity
of the thin-faced Thayer. Barry Houston was playing for time, playing
a game of identities. In the same room was a man he felt sure to be an
enemy, a man who had in his care everything Barry Houston possessed in
the world, every hope, every dream, every chance for the wiping out of
a thing that had formed a black blot in the life of the young man for
two grim years, and a man who, Barry Houston now felt certain, had not
held true to his trust. Still steadily staring, he pretended not to
notice the tall, angular form of Fred Thayer as that person crossed the
brightness of the window and turned toward the bed. And when at last
he did look up into the narrow, sunken face, it was with eyes which
carried in them no light of friendship, nor even the faintest air of
recognition. Thayer put forth a gnarled, frost-twisted hand.

"Hello, kid," he announced, his thin lips twisting into a cynical smile
that in days gone by had passed as an affectation. Barry looked
blankly at him.

"Hello."

"How'd you get hurt?"

"I don't know."

"Old Man Renaud here says you fell over the side of Two Mile Hill. He
picked you up about six o'clock this morning. Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?" The blank look still remained. Thayer moved closer
to the bed and bending, stared at him.