Drenched to the skin, blinded by the deluge of torrential rain, thoroughly confused beyond all recognition of his whereabouts in the tangle of bush through which he was thrusting his way, all his senses dazed by the fierce overhead detonations, and the streams of blazing fire splitting the black vault above, Big Brother Bill beat his way along the path of least resistance by sheer physical might.

All idea of direction had left him. Up hill or down hill had become one and the same to him. He felt he must keep moving, must press on, and, in the end, he would reach his destination.

At last, almost wearied out by his efforts, he came to a definite halt in a bush that seemed to afford no outlet whatsoever. Even the way he had entered it was lost, for the heavy foliaged boughs had closed in behind him in the darkness, utterly cutting off his retreat.

For a moment he stood like an infuriated steer at bay, caught in the narrow branding “pinch.” He waited for a revealing flash of lightning in the hope that it would show him a way out. He should have realized the futility of his hope, but, if he were soaked by the downpour, his spirit of optimism was as yet by no means drowned.

The flash he awaited came. The whole valley seemed to be lit from end to end. Then it was gone as swiftly as it had come, leaving a pitchy blackness behind it. But in that brief flash Bill told himself he had seen the trail just beyond the clump of bush in the midst of which he stood. Summoning all his strength he hurled himself to thrust his way toward it. He fought the resisting boughs with all his great strength, backed by every ounce of his buoyant spirits. Then, in a moment, Fate stepped in, and – released him.

His sensations were brief but tumultuous. He had a feeling that an earthquake had opened the ground at his feet. With all his might he sought to save himself from the yawning chasm. But the sudden jolt of his great weight was more than his muscles could withstand. His hands relaxed their grip upon the foliage and he fell with a great splash – into the river.

He had driven his way through the overhanging foliage of the river.

Big Brother Bill was not easily disconcerted by any physical catastrophe to himself. Nor did his sudden immersion now add one single pulse beat. The obvious thing, being a strong swimmer, was to strike out and get clear of the dripping trees, which he promptly proceeded to do, and, reaching the middle of the stream, and discovering that the rain had ceased, he philosophically consoled himself with the thought that, at least, he knew where he was.

Five minutes later he climbed up the opposite bank out of the water. His first object at once became the ascertaining of his bearings. With a serious effort of argument he finally concluded he was on the wrong side of the river, which meant, of course, that the matter must be put right without delay. Seeing that the water was cold, in spite of the warmth of the summer evening, he was reminded of the footbridge opposite the Setons’ house. Consequently, the further problem became the whereabouts of that bridge.

Glancing up at the sky, possibilities presented themselves. The clouds were breaking almost as rapidly as they had gathered, and, with great decision, he concluded that the best thing to do would be to await the return of the moonlight, and occupy the interim by wringing some of the uncomfortable moisture out of his clothes.

Ten minutes later his patience was rewarded. The moon shone out upon the stream at his feet, and there, less than one hundred yards to the west of him, the ghostly outline of the bridge loomed up. He really felt that Fate, at last, was doing her best.

He set off at once at as swinging a gait as his damp condition would permit, and he even found it possible to whistle an air as he moved along, to the accompanying squelch of his water-logged boots.

But, as the footbridge was approached, his purpose received a setback. The home of the Setons loomed up in the moonlight and promptly absorbed his attention. The moon was at its full once more, and the last clouds of the summer storm had passed away, leaving the wonderful, velvety night sky a-shimmer with twinkling diamonds.

The front of the house was in full light, so pale, so distinct, that no detail of it escaped his interested eyes. There was the door with its rain-water barrel, there was the shingle roof. The lateral logs of its walls were most picturesque. The only thing that struck him as ordinary was, perhaps, the window – . Hallo! What was that at the window?

He paused abruptly, and stared hard.

He started. It was a woman! A woman sitting on the sill of the open window! Of all the – . Well, if that wasn’t luck he felt he would like to know what was. He wondered which of the sisters it was – Kate or Helen. He was confident it was one of them. He would soon find out.

With a tumultuously beating heart he promptly diverged from his course, and set off straight for the house. It was always his way to act on impulse. Rarely did he give things a second thought where his inclinations were concerned.

As he drew near, Kate Seton’s deep voice greeted him. Its tone was velvety in its richness, nor was there the least inflection of astonishment in its tone.

“That you, Mr. Bryant?” she said, without stirring from her attitude of luxurious enjoyment.

Bill came up hurriedly.

“I s’pose it is,” he said with a laugh. “All that the river hasn’t washed away. Say,” he went on, with amiable inconsequence, “there’s just two things puzzling my fool head, Miss Seton: Why Fate takes a particular delight in handing me so many pleasant moments with so many unpleasant kicks? And what wild streak of good luck finds you sitting in the moonlight this hour of the night? It surely was a scurvy trick of Fate dumping me in the creek, when there’s a bridge to walk over, just to land me right here, where you’re handing up fancy dreams to a very chilly but beautiful moon. Guess I’m kind of spoiling the picture for you though. I may be some picture to look at, but I wouldn’t say it’s worth framing – would you?”

Kate smiled up at him. His dripping condition was obvious enough. Nor could she help her amusement. Knowing something of the man, he became doubly grotesque in her eyes.

“It needs courage to put things nicely under such adverse conditions,” she said, with a laugh. “And I like courage.” Then she went on in her easy, pleasant way: “It was the storm fetched me out of bed. I never can resist a storm. So I just had to dress and come right out here to watch it. Why are you around, anyway? Tell me about – about the river, and how you got into it.”

Bill laughed joyously.

“Guess that’s an easy one,” he said lightly. “I was on my way home when I met that policeman, Fyles. He put me wise to the storm coming up – which I guessed was bright and friendly of him. You see, I hadn’t located it. It was up to me to make Charlie’s place quick, so I got busy on a short cut. Say, did you ever take a short cut – in a hurry? Don’t ever do it. ’Tisn’t worth it – if you’re in a hurry. Of course, I lost myself in the storm, and Fate began handing me one or two. Fate’s always tricky. She likes to wait till she gets you by the back of the neck, so you can’t do a thing, and then passes you all that’s coming to you. Guess she’s had me by the neck quite awhile now, what with one thing and another. However, I mustn’t blame her too much. You see, I lost myself, and it was she who found me, though I don’t think anything of the way she did it. I was boosting through what I thought was a reasonable sort of bush, and found it wasn’t. It was the overhang of the river, and when I dropped through I found myself in the water. Still, I knew that water was the river, and I knew where the river was. I’m grateful, in a way, but I can’t help feeling Fate’s got a dirty side to her nature, and bridges are fool things anyway, for always being where they aren’t wanted.”

Kate’s laugh was one of whole-hearted amusement. Big Brother Bill’s whimsical manner appealed to her.

“Maybe Fate thought you were out later than you ought to be,” she said. “You – a stranger.”

But the girl’s remark had a different effect upon Bill than might have been expected. His smile died out, and all his lightness vanished. Once more he was feeling that atmosphere of mystery closing about him. It had oppressed him before, and now again it was oppressing him.

For a moment he made no answer. He was debating with himself in his blundering way. Finally, with a quick, reckless plunge, he made up his mind.

“I – was looking for Charlie,” he said. “I’ve been trying to find him ever since I left here.”

The girl’s smile had passed, too. A growing trouble was in her eyes.

“Charlie – is still out?” she demanded sharply. “And Fyles – where did you meet Inspector Fyles?”

The dark eyes were full of anxiety now. Kate’s voice had lost its softness. Nor could Bill help noticing the wonderful strength that seemed to lie behind it.

“I can’t say where Charlie is now,” the man went on, a little helplessly. “I saw Fyles close by that big pine tree.”

“Close by the pine tree?” Kate repeated the words after him, and her repetition of them suddenly endowed them with a strange significance for Bill.

With an air of having suddenly abandoned all prudence, all caution, Bill flung out his arms.

“Say, Miss Seton,” he said, in a sort of desperation, “I’m troubled – troubled to death. I can’t tell the top-side from the bottom-side of anything, it seems to me. There’s things I can’t understand hereabouts, a sort of mystery that gets me by the neck and nearly chokes me. Maybe you can help me. It seems different, too, talking to you. I don’t seem to be opening my mouth too wide – as I’ve been warned not to.”

“Who warned you?”

The question came sharp and direct.

“Why, O’Brien. You see, I went down to the saloon after I’d searched the ranch for Charlie, and asked if he had been there. O’Brien was shutting up. He said he had been there, but had gone. Then he told me where I’d be likely to find him, but warned me not to open my mouth wide – till I’d found him. Said I’d likely find him somewhere around that pine. Said he’d likely be collecting some money around there.

“Well, I set out to make the pine, and I didn’t wonder at things for awhile. It wasn’t till I got near it, and I saw the moon get up, and, in its light, saw Charlie in the distance near the pine, that this mystery thing got hold of me. It came on me when I hollered to him, and, as a result of it, saw him vanish like a ghost. But – ”

“You called to him?”

The girl’s question again came sharply, but this time with an air of deep contemplation.

“Yes. But I didn’t get time to think about it. Just as I’d shouted two horsemen scrambled out of the bush beside me. One of ’em was Fyles. The other I didn’t know. He’d got three stripes on his arm.”

“Sergeant McBain,” put in the woman quietly.

“You know him?”

Kate shrugged.

“We all know him about here.”

Bill nodded.

“Fyles cursed me for a fool for hollering out. Said he’d been watching that ‘tough,’ and didn’t want to lose sight of him. I got riled. I told him a few things, and said I’d a right to hail my brother any old time. Then he changed around and said he was sorry, and asked me if I was sure it was my brother. When I told him ‘yes,’ he thanked me for putting him wise, and said I’d saved him a deal of unnecessary trouble. Said there was no more need to watch him – seeing he was my brother. That’s when he told me about the storm, and I hit my short cut, and, finally, reached – the river. Now, what was he watching for, and who did he mistake Charlie for? What’s the meaning of the whole thing? Why did O’Brien warn me? These are the things that get me puzzled to death. Maybe you can tell me – can help me out?”

He waited, confidently expecting an explanation that would clear up all the mystery, but none was forthcoming. Instead, when Kate finally replied, there was an almost peevish complaint in her tone.

“I wish you had taken O’Brien’s warning more to heart,” she said. “Maybe you’ve done a lot of harm to-night. I can’t tell – not yet.”

“Harm?” Bill stood aghast.

“Yes – harm, man, harm.” Kate’s whole manner had suddenly undergone a change. She seemed to be laboring under an apprehension that almost unnerved her. “Don’t you know who Fyles is after? He’s after whisky-runners. Don’t you know why O’Brien warned you? Because he believes, as pretty nearly everybody believes – Fyles, too – that your brother Charlie is the head of a big gang of them. Mystery? Mystery? There is no mystery at all – only danger, danger for your brother, Charlie, while Fyles is on his track. You don’t know Fyles. We, in this valley, do. It is his whole career to bring whisky-runners under the hammer of the law. If he can fix this thing on Charlie he will do it.”

The girl sprang from her seat in her agitation, and began to pace the wet ground.

“Charlie? Though he’s your brother, I tell you Charlie’s the most impossible creature alive. Everything he does, or is, somehow fosters the conviction that he is against the law. He drinks. Oh, how he drinks! And at night he’s always on the prowl. His associates are known whisky-runners, men whom the police, everybody, knows have not the wit to inspire the schemes that are carried out under the very noses of the authorities. What is the result? The police look for the brain behind them. Charlie is clever, unusually clever; he drinks, his movements are suspicious. He’s asking for trouble, and God knows he’s going to find it.”

A sudden panic was swiftly overwhelming Big Brother Bill. Though he knew no fear for himself it was altogether a different matter where his brother was concerned. He ran the great fingers of one hand through his wet, fair hair, an action that expressed to the full his utter helplessness.

“Say,” he cried desperately, “Charlie’s no crook. By God, I’ll swear it! He’s just a weak, helpless babe, with a heart as big as a house. Charlie a crook? Say, Miss Seton, you don’t believe it, do you?”

Kate shook her head.

“I know he’s not,” she said gently. Then in a moment all her fierce agitation returned. “But what’s the use? Tell the folks in the valley he isn’t, and they’ll laugh at you. Tell that to Fyles.” She laughed wildly. “Man, man, there’s only one thing can save Charlie from this stigma, from Fyles. Let him leave the valley. It’s the only way.” She sighed and then went on, her manner becoming suddenly subdued and rather hopeless. “But nothing on earth could move him from here, unless it were a police escort taking him to the penitentiary.”

She returned to her seat in the window, and when she spoke again her whole manner had undergone a further change. It was full of that womanly gentleness which fitted her so well.

“Mr. Bryant,” she said, with a pathetic smile lighting her handsome features, and softening them to an almost maternal tenderness, “I’m fonder of Charlie than any creature in the world – except Helen. Don’t make any mistake. I’m not in love with him. He’s just a dear, dear, erring, ailing brother to me. He can’t, or won’t help himself. What can we do to save him? Oh, I’m glad you’ve come here. It’s taken a load from my heart. What – what can we do?”

Again the big fingers raked through the man’s wet hair.

“I – wish I knew,” Bill lamented helplessly. But a moment later a quick, bright look lit his big blue eyes. “I know,” he almost shouted. “Let’s hunt this gang down – ourselves.”

Kate’s gaze had been steadily fixed upon the far side of the valley, where Charlie Bryant’s house stood. Now, in response to the man’s wild suggestion, it came slowly back to his face.

“I hadn’t thought of – that,” she said, after a pause.

In a wild burst of enthusiasm Bill warmed to his inspiration.

“No,” he cried. “Of course not. That’s because you aren’t used to scrapping.” He laughed. “But why not? I’ll do the scrapping, and you – you just do the thinking. See? We’ll share up. It’s dead easy.”

“Yes – it would be dead easy,” Kate demurred.

“Easy? Of course it’s easy. I’m pretty hot when it comes to a scrap,” Bill ran on with added confidence. “And a bunch of whisky-runners don’t amount to a heap anyway.”

Suddenly Kate rose from her seat. She moved a step toward him and laid one brown hand gently on his arm. She was smiling as she had smiled at the thought of her regard for this man’s brother. There was something almost motherly now in her whole attitude.

“You’re a big, brave soul, and like all brave souls you’re ready at all times to act – act first and think afterwards,” she said very gently. “You said I was to think. Let me think now. You see, I know this place. I know this class of man. It’s the life of the police to deal with these whisky-runners, and they – they can do nothing against them. Then what are we, you, with your brave inexperience, I, with my woman’s helplessness, going to do against them? Believe me, the men who carry on this traffic are absolutely desperate creatures who would give their lives at any moment rather than go to the penitentiary. Life to them, their own and their enemy’s, means nothing. They set no value on it whatsoever. The trade is profitable, and” – she sighed – “against the law. Those engaged in it live for the excitement of fighting the law. That’s one of the reasons which makes it impossible that Charlie could be one of them. No, Mr. Bryant, I guess it’s not for us to do this thing. We just couldn’t do a thing. But we must think of Charlie, and, when we’ve thought, and the time comes, why, then – we’ll act. Fyles is a brave man, and a just man,” she went on, with a slight warmth. “He’s a man of unusual capacity, and worth admiration. But he is a police officer,” she added regretfully. “In saving Charlie from him we shall prevent one good man wronging another, and I guess that should be good service. Let’s content ourselves with that. Will you help?”

Big Brother Bill had no hesitation at any time. He was carried away by the enthusiasm Kate’s words inspired. He thrust out one great hand and crushed the woman’s in its palm.

“Sure I’ll help. I’ve just got two hands and a straight eye, and when fight’s around I don’t care if it snows. My head’s the weak spot. But, anyway, what you say goes. We’ll save Charlie, or – or – Say, a real bright woman’s just about the grandest thing God ever made.”

Kate winced under the crushing force of his handshake, but she smiled bravely and thankfully up into his face as she bade him “good night.”

CHAPTER XVII
BILL PEEPS UNDER THE SURFACE

The surprises of the night were not yet over for Big Brother Bill. It almost seemed as if a lifetime of surprises were to be crowded into his first night in the valley of Leaping Creek.

Still thoroughly moist, he finally reached home to find his brother there, waiting for him.

Of course, the big man promptly blundered.

Charlie was in the living room, sitting in a dilapidated rocking chair. An unopen book was in his lap, and his dark, clever face was turned toward the single window the room possessed, as the heavy tread of Bill sounded on the veranda.

It was obvious he was still laboring under the influence of the drink; it was also obvious, though less apparent, that he was laboring under an emotion, which unusually disturbed him. His eyes were shining with a gleaming light which might have expressed anger, excitement, or even simply the effect of his libations. Whatever it was, Bill recognized, without appreciating its meaning, a definite change from the man he had so cordially greeted earlier in the day; a recognition which made his blundering now, more hopelessly than ever, an expression of his utter lack of discretion.

“Say, Charlie, boy,” he cried, as he entered the little room, filling it almost to overflowing with his robust personality, “I’ve chased half over the valley looking for you. Then I saw you at the old pine and shouted, and you sort of faded away. I thought I’d ‘got’ ’em. What with that, and then falling into the river, and one or two minor, but more or less unpleasant accidents, I’ve had one awful time. Say, this valley’s got me beat to death.”

The simplicity of the man was monumental. No one else could have looked upon that slight figure, huddled down in the big old rocker, without having experienced a feeling of restraint; no one could have observed the drawn, frowning brows, and the hard lines about the still somewhat sensual mouth, without using an added caution in approaching him. There were fires stirring behind Charlie’s dark eyes which were certainly ominous.

Now, as he listened to his brother’s greeting, swift anger leaped into them. His words came sharply, and almost without restraint. Big Brother Bill was confronted by another side of his nature, a side of which he had no knowledge whatever.

“You always were a damned fool,” Charlie cried, starting heatedly forward in his chair. “I told you I was going out. If you had any sort of horse sense you’d have understood I wasn’t in need of a wet-nurse. What the devil do you want smelling out my trail as if you were one of the police?” Then he suddenly broke into an unpleasant laugh. “You came here in Fyles’s company. Maybe you caught the police infection from him.”

Bill stared in wide-eyed astonishment at the harsh injustice of the attack. For one second his blood ran hot, and a wild desire to retaliate leaped. But the moment passed. Though he was not fully aware of Charlie’s condition, something of it now forced itself upon him, and his big-hearted regret saved him from his more rampant feelings.

He sat himself on the edge of the table.

“Easy, Charlie,” he said quietly, “you’re kind of talking recklessly. I’m no wet-nurse to anybody. Certainly it’s not my wish to interfere with you. I’m – sorry if I’ve hurt you. I just looked around to tell you my adventures, I’m no – spy.”

Charlie rose from his seat. He stood swaying slightly. The sight of this outward sign of his drunken condition smote the good-natured Bill to the heart. It was nothing new to him in his erring brother. He had seen it all before, years ago, so many, many times. But through all these years apart he had hoped for that belated reforming which meant so much. He had hoped and believed it had set in. Now he knew, and his last hopes were dashed. Kate Seton had warned him, but her warning had not touched him as the exhibition he now beheld did. Why, why had Charlie done this thing, and done it to-night – their first night together in the new world? He could have cried out in his bitterness of disappointment.

As he looked upon the man’s unsteady poise he felt as though he could have picked him up in his two strong hands and shaken sober senses into him.

But Charlie’s mood had changed at the sound of the big man’s regrets. They had penetrated the mists of alcohol, and stirred a belated contrition.

“I don’t want any apologies from you, Bill,” he said thickly. “Guess I’m not worth it. You couldn’t spy on a soul. It’s not that – .” He broke off, and it became evident to the other that he was making a supreme effort at concentration. “You saw me at the pine?” he suddenly inquired.

Bill nodded. He had no desire to say anything more now. He felt sick with himself, with everything. He almost regretted his own coming to the valley at all. For a moment his optimism was utterly obscured. Added to what he now beheld, all that Kate Seton had said was revolving in his brain, an oppressive cloud depriving him of every joy the reunion with his brother had inspired. The two thoughts paramount, and all pervading, were suggested by the words “drunkard” and “crook.” Nor, in that moment of terrible disappointment, would they be denied.

Charlie sat down in his chair again, and, to the onlooker, his movement was almost involuntary.

“I was there,” he said, a moment later, passing one hand across his frowning brows as though to clear away the cobwebs impeding the machinery of his thought. “Why – why didn’t you come and speak to me? I was just – around.”

Again Bill’s eyes opened to their fullest extent.

“I hollered to you,” he said. “When you heard me you just – vanished.”

Again Charlie smoothed his brow.

“Yes – I’d forgotten. It was you hollered, eh! You see, I didn’t know it was you.”

Bill sat swinging one leg thoughtfully. A sort of bewilderment was getting hold of him.

“You didn’t recognize my voice?” he asked. Then he added thoughtfully, “No – and it might have been Fyles, or the other policemen. They were there.”

Charlie suddenly sat up. His hands were grasping the arms of the rocker.

“The police were there – with you?” he demanded. “What – what were they doing there – with you?”

The sharp questions, flung at him so quickly, so soberly, suddenly lifted Bill out of his vain and moody regrets.

In spite of all Kate had told him, in spite of her assurance that Fyles, and all the valley, believed Charlie to be the head of the smuggling gang, the full significance of Fyles’s presence in the neighborhood of the pine had not penetrated to his slow understanding before. Now an added light was thrown upon the matter in a flash of greater understanding. Fyles was not watching any chance crook. He was watching Charlie, and he knew it was Charlie, and the assurance of Charlie’s identity extracted from him, Bill, had been a simple blind. What a fool he had made of himself. Kate was right. The harm he had done now became appalling.

He promptly became absorbed in a strongly restrained excitement. He leaned forward and talked rapidly. He had forgotten Charlie’s condition, he had forgotten everything but the danger threatening.

“Here, Charlie,” he cried, “I’ll tell you just all that happened after I left here, when you went out. Guess it’s a long yarn, but I think you need to know it for your own safety.”

Charlie leaned back in his chair and nodded.

“Go ahead,” he said. Then he closed his eyes as Bill rushed into his narrative.

The big man told it all as far as it concerned his first meeting with the Setons, his subsequent visit to the saloon, and, afterwards, his meeting with Fyles. The only thing he kept to himself was his final meeting with Kate Seton.

At the end of this story Charlie reopened his eyes, and, to any one more observant than Big Brother Bill, it was plain that his condition had improved. A keen light was shining in them, a light of interest and perfectly clear understanding.

“Thanks, Bill,” he said, “I’m glad you’ve told me all that.” Then he rose from his chair, and his movements had become more certain, more definite. “Guess I’ll get off to bed. It’s no use discussing all this. It can lead nowhere. Still, there is one thing I’d like to say before we quit. I’m glad, I’m so mighty glad you’ve come along out here to join me I can’t just say it all to you. I’m ready to tumble headlong into any schemes you’ve got in your head. But there’s things in my life I’ve got to work out in my own way. Things I can’t and don’t want to talk about. Maybe I’ll often be doing things that seem queer to you. But I want to do ’em, and intend to do ’em. Drink is not one of ’em. You’ll find I’m a night bird, too. But, again, my night wanderings are my own. You’ll hear folks say all sorts of things about me. You’ll see Fyles very busy. Well, it’s up to you to listen or not. All I say is don’t fight my battles. I can fight them in my own way. Two of us are liable to mess them all up. Get me? I live my life, and you can share as much in it as you like, except in that – well, that part of it I need to keep to myself. There’s just one thing I promise you, Fyles’ll never get me inside any penitentiary. I promise you that, sure, because I know from your manner that’s the trouble in the back of your silly old head. Good night.”

He passed out of the room without giving the astonished Bill any opportunity to do more than respond to his “good night.” Anyway, the latter had nothing else to say. He was too taken aback, too painfully startled at the tacit admission to all the charges he had been warned the people and police of Leaping Creek were making against his brother. What could he say? What could he do? Nothing – simply nothing.

He remained where he was against the table. He had forgotten his wet clothes. He had forgotten everything in the overwhelming nature of his painful feelings. His own beliefs, Kate’s loyally expressed convictions, had been utterly negatived. It was all true. All painfully, dreadfully true. Charlie was not only a drunkard still, but the “crook” he was supposed to be. He was a whisky-runner. He was against the law. His ultimate goal was the penitentiary. Good God, the thought was appalling! This was where drink had led him. This was the end of his spoiled and wayward brother’s career. What a cruel waste of a promising life. His good-natured, gentle-hearted brother. The boy he had always admired and loved in those early days. It was cruel, terrible. By his own admission he was against the law, a “crook,” and – the penitentiary was looming.