ropped in Betty's letter he guessed shrewdly at the truth
of the situation. He knew now that Richard and his young friend of the
mountain top were actuated by the same motives, and he understood at
last why Harry King would never accept his offer of help, nor would
ever call him father. Because he could not take the place of the son,
of whom, as he thought, he had robbed the man who so freely offered
him friendship--and more than friendship. At last Larry understood why
Peter Junior had never yielded to his advances. It was honor, and the
test had been severe.

"Put it off a little? I might--I'm tempted--just to get acquainted
with my father--but I might be arrested, and I would prefer not to be.
I know I've been wanted for three years and over--it has taken me that
long to learn that only the truth can make a man free,--and now I
would rather give myself up, than to be taken--"

"I'm knowing maybe more of the matter than you think--so we'll drop
it. We must have a long talk later--but tell me now in a few words
what you can."

Then, drawn by the older man's gentle, magnetic sympathy, Richard
unlocked his heart and told all of his life that could be crowded in
those few short minutes,--of his boyhood's longings for a father of
his own--of his young manhood's love, of his flight, and a little of
his later life. "We'd be great chums, now, father,--if--if it weren't
for this--that hangs over me."

Then Larry could stand it no longer. He sprang up and clapped Richard
on the shoulder. "Come, lad, come! We'll go to this trial together. Do
you know who's being tried? No. They'll have to get this off before
they can take another on. I'm thinking you'll find your case none so
bad as it seems to you now. First there's a thing I must do. My
brother-in-law's in trouble--but it is his own fault--still I'm a mind
to help him out. He's a fine hater, that brother-in-law of mine, but
he's tried to do a father's part in the past by you--and done it well,
while I've been soured. In the gladness of my heart I'll help him
out--I'd made up my mind to do it before I left my mountain. Your
father's a rich man, boy--with money in store for you--I say it in
modesty, but he who reared you has been my enemy. Now I'm going to his
bank, and there I'll make a deposit that will save it from ruin."

He stood a moment chuckling, with both hands thrust deep in his
pockets. "We'll go to that trial--it's over an affair of his, and he's
fair in the wr