ge the subject.

"Where are you going, Charlie?" he inquired. "We're going on over the
river. Kate's there. You coming?"

Just for a moment a look of hesitation crept into his brother's eyes.
He glanced across the river as though he were yearning to accept the
invitation. But, a moment later, his eyes came back to his brother
with a look of almost cold decision.

"I'm afraid I can't," he said. Then he added, "I've got something to
see to--in the village."

Bill made no attempt to question him further, and Helen had no desire
to. She felt that she had somehow blundered, and her busy mind was
speculating as to how.

They parted. And as Charlie moved on he called back to Bill.

"I'll be back soon. Will you be home?"

"I can be. In an hour?"

Charlie nodded and went on.

The moment they were out of earshot Helen turned to her lover.

"Say, Bill," she exclaimed. "What have I done wrong?"

The laughter had gone out of her eyes and left them full of anxiety.

Bill shrugged gloomily.

"Nothing," he said. "It's me--again." Then he added, still more
gloomily, "Pete's one of the whisky gang, and--I'm Charlie's brother.
Say," he finished up with a ponderous sigh. "I've mussed
things--surely."

* * * * *

"I'm sorry for that scrap, Bill."

Charlie Bryant was leaning against a veranda post with his hands in
his pockets, and his gaze, as usual, fixed on the far side of the
valley. Bill completely filled a chair, where he basked in the evening
sunlight.

"So am I--now, Charlie."

The big man's agreement brought the other's eyes to his battered face.

"Why?" he demanded quickly.

Bill looked up into the dark eyes above him, and his own were full of
concern.

"Why? Is there need to ask that?"

A shadowy smile spread slowly over the other's face.

"No, I don't guess _you_ need to ask why."

There was just the slightest emphasis on the pronoun.

"You've remembered he's one of the gang--my gang. You sort of feel
there's danger ahead--in consequence. Yes, there is danger. That's why
I'm sorry. But--somehow I wouldn't have had you act different--even
though there's danger. I'm glad it was you, and not me, though. You
could hammer him with your two big fists. I couldn't. I should have
shot him--dead."

Bill stared incredulously at the other's boyish face. His brother's
tone had carried such cold conviction.

"Charlie," he cried, "you get me beat every time. I wouldn't have
gu