walk along the trail.

Charlie Bryant had no alternative. He came up. He felt a desperate
desire to curse their evident happiness in each other's society. Why
should these two know nothing but the joys of life, while he--he was
forbidden even a shadow of the happiness for which he yearned?

But Helen gave him little enough chance to further castigate himself
with self-pity. She was full of her desire to impart her news, and her
desire promptly set her tongue rattling out her story.

"Oh, Charlie," she cried, "I've had such a shock. Say, did you ever
have a cyclone strike you when--when there wasn't a cyclone within a
hundred miles of you?" Then she laughed. "That surely don't sound
right, does it? It's--it's kind of mixed metaphor. Anyway, you know
what I mean. I had that to-day. Bill's nearly killed one of our
boys--Pete Clancy. Say, I once saw a dog fight. It was a terrier, and
one of those heavy, slow British bulldogs. Well, I guess when he
starts the bully is greased lightning. Bill's that bully. That's all.
Pete tried to kiss me. He was drunk. They're always drunk when they
get gay like that. Bill guessed he wasn't going to succeed, and now I
sort of fancy he's sitting back there by our barn trying to sort out
his face. My, Bill nearly killed him!"

But the girl's dancing-eyed enjoyment found no reflection in Bill's
brother. In a moment Charlie's whole manner underwent a change, and
his dark eyes stared incredulously up into Bill's face, which, surely
enough, still bore the marks of his encounter.

"You--thrashed Pete?" he inquired slowly, in the manner of a man
painfully digesting unpleasant facts.

But Bill was in no mood to accept any sort of chiding on the point.

"I wish I'd--killed him," he retorted fiercely.

Charlie's eyes turned slowly from the contemplation of his brother's
war-scarred features.

"I guess he deserved it--all right," he said thoughtfully.

Helen protested indignantly.

"Deserved it? My word, he deserved--anything," she cried. Then her
indignation merged again into her usual laughter. "Say," she went on.
"I--I don't believe you're a bit glad, a bit thankful to Bill. I--I
don't believe you mind that--that I was insulted. Oh, but if you'd
only seen it you'd have been proud of Big Brother Bill. He--he was
just greased lightning. I don't think I'd be scared of anything with
him around."

But her praise was too much for the modest Bill. He flushed as he
clumsily endeavored to chan