y ought to be lynched plumb out of hand."

Fyles smiled as he drew his horse up at the point where the trail
merged into the main road of the village.

"Maybe it's not--their fault," he said dryly.

But Bill's indignation was sweeping him on.

"Then I'd like to know whose it is."

Fyles laughed aloud.

"Maybe she's particular. Maybe she knows them. They surely do need
lynching--most of 'em--but not for that. When you know 'em better
you'll understand."

He shrugged his shoulders and pointed down the trail, away from the
village.

"That's your way," he went on, "along west. Just keep right along the
trail for nearly half a mile till you come to a cattle track on the
right, going up the hill again."

Then he shifted the direction of his pointing finger to a distant
house on the hillside, which stood in full view.

"The track'll take you to that shanty there, with the veranda facing
this way. That's Charlie Bryant's place, and, unless I'm mistaken,
that's your brother standing right there on the veranda looking out
this way. For a rancher--he don't seem busy. Guess I'm going right on
down to the saloon. I'll see you again some time. So long."

The police officer swung his horse round, and set off at a sharp
canter before Bill could give expression to any of the dozen questions
which leaped to his lips. The truth was Fyles had anticipated them,
and wished to avoid them.

* * * * *

Charlie Bryant was standing on the veranda of his little house up on
the hillside. He was watching with eyes of anxious longing for the
sight of a familiar figure emerging from a house, almost as diminutive
as his own, standing across the river on the far side of the valley.

There was never any question as to the longing in his dark eyes when
they were turned upon the house of Kate Seton, but the anxiety in them
now was less understandable.

It was his almost constant habit to watch for her appearance leaving
her home each morning. But to-day she had remained invisible. He
wondered why. It was her custom to be abroad early, and here it was
long past mid-day, and, so far, there had been no sign of her going.

He wondered was she ill. Helen had long since made her appearance. He
knew well enough that the new church building, and the many other
small activities of the village, usually claimed Helen's morning. That
was the difference, one of the many differences between the sisters.
Helen must alwa