two o'clock in the morning. How, I can't say."

Fyles's desperate eyes seemed literally to bore their way through her.

"That's--the truth?"

"True as--death."

CHAPTER XXIX

BILL'S FRESH BLUNDERING

The change in the man that rode away from Kate Seton's home as
compared with the man who had arrived there less than an hour earlier
was so remarkable as to be almost absurd in a man of Stanley Fyles's
reputation for stern discipline and uncompromising methods. There was
an almost boyish light of excited anticipation and hope in the usually
cold eyes that looked out down the valley as he rode away. There was
no doubt, no question. His look suggested the confidence of the
victor. And so Charlie Bryant read it as he passed him on the trail.

Charlie was in a discontented mood. He had seen Fyles approach Kate's
home from his eyrie on the valley slope, and that hopeless impulse
belonging to a weakly nature, that self-pitying desire to further
lacerate his own feelings, had sent him seeking to intercept the man
whom he felt in his inmost heart was his successful rival for all that
which he most desired on earth.

So he walked past Fyles, who was on the back of his faithful Peter,
and hungrily read the expression of his face, that he might further
assure himself of the truth of his convictions.

The men passed each other without the exchange of a word. Fyles eyed
the slight figure with contempt and dislike. Nor could he help such
feelings for one whom he knew possessed so much of Kate's warmest
sympathy and liking. Besides, was he not a man whose doings placed him
against the law, in the administration of which it was his duty to
share?

Charlie's eyes were full of an undisguised hatred. His interpretation
of the officer's expression left him no room for doubting. Delight,
victory, were hall-marked all over it. And victory for Fyles could
only mean defeat for him.

He passed on. His way took him along the main village trail, and,
presently, he encountered two people whom he would willingly have
avoided. Helen and his brother were returning toward the house across
the river.

Helen's quick eyes saw him at once, and she pointed him out to the big
man at her side.

"It's Charlie," she cried, "let's hurry, or he'll give us the slip. I
must tell him."

"Tell him what?"

But Helen deigned no answer. She hurried on, and called to the
dejected figure, which, to her imagination, seemed to shuffle rather
than