THE BROTHERS
The valley of Leaping Creek gaped at Bill Bryant's feet and the man's
ready delight bubbled over.
"Say," he demanded of his guide, "and this is where my brother's ranch
is? Gee," he went on, while Fyles nodded a smiling affirmative, "it
surely is the dandiest ditch this side of creation. It makes me want
to holler."
As Fyles offered no further comment they rode on down the hill in
silence, while Bill Bryant's shining eyes drank in the beauties which
opened out in every direction.
The police officer, by virtue of his knowledge of the valley, led the
way. Nor was he altogether sorry to do so. He felt that the moment for
answering questions had passed. Any form of cross-examination now
might lead him into imparting information that might hurt this
stranger, and he had no desire to be the one to cast a shadow upon his
introduction to the country he intended to make his home.
However, beyond this first expression of delight, Bill Bryant made no
further attempt at speech. Once more doubt had settled upon his mind,
and he was thinking--hard.
Ten minutes later the village came into view. Then it was that Bill
was abruptly aroused from his somewhat troubled thought. They were
just approaching the site of the new church, and sounds of activity
broke the sylvan peace of the valley. But these things were of a
lesser interest. A pedestrian, evidently leaving the neighborhood of
the new building, was coming toward them along the trail. It was a
girl--a girl clad in a smart tailored costume, which caught and held
the stranger's most ardent attention.
She came on, and as they drew abreast of her, just for one brief
instant the girl's smiling gray eyes were raised to the face of the
stranger. The smile was probably unconscious, but it was nevertheless
pronounced. In a moment, off came Bill's hat in a respectful salute,
and only by the greatest effort could he refrain from a verbal
greeting. Then, in another moment, as she passed like a ray of April
sun, he had drawn up beside his guide.
"Say," he cried, with a deep breath of enthusiasm, "did you get that
pretty girl?" Then with a burst of impetuosity: "Are they all like
that in--this place? If so, I'm surely up to my neck in the valley of
Leaping Creek. Who is she? How did she get here? I'll bet a thousand
dollars to a bad nickel this place didn't raise her."
The officer's reply to the volley of questions came with
characteristic directness.
"That's Miss Seton, Miss Helen Seton, sister of the one they
call--Kate. They're sort of farmers, in a small way. Been here five
years."
"Farmers?" Bill's scorn was tremendous. "Why, that girl might have
stepped off Broadway, New York, yesterday. Farmers!"
"Nevertheless they _are_ farmers," replied Fyles, "and they've been
farming here five years."
"Five years! They've been here five years, and that girl--with her
pretty face and dandy eyes--not married? Say, the boys of this place
need seeing to. They 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 always be a looker on at life--the village life. Kate--Kate
was part of it.
He sighed, and a look of almost desperate worry crossed his dark,
good-looking face. His thoughts seemed to disturb him painfully. Ever
since he had heard of Inspector Fyles's coming to the village a sort
of depression had settled like a cloud upon him--a depression he could
not shake off. Fyles was the last man he wished to see in Rocky
Springs--for several reasons.
He was reluctantly about to turn away, and pass on down to his
corrals, which were situated on the slope beside the house. There was
work to be done there, some repairs, which he had intended to start
early that morning. They had been neglected so long, as were many
things to do with his ranch.
With this intention he moved toward the end of the veranda, but his
progress was abruptly arrested by the sight of two horsemen in the
distance making their way down toward the village. For awhile he only
caught odd glimpses of them through the trees, but at last they
reached the main road of the village, and halted in full, though
somewhat distant, view of his house.
In a moment the identity of one of the men became certain in his mind.
In spite of the man's civilian clothing he recognized the easy poise
in the saddle of Inspector Fyles. He had seen him so many times at
comparatively close range that he was sure he could not be mistaken.
The sight of the police officer banished all his interest in the
identity of the second horseman. A dark look of bitter, anxious
resentment crept into his eyes, and all the mildness, all the
gentleness vanished out of his expressive features. They had suddenly
grown hard and cold. He knew that trouble was knocking at the door of
Rocky Springs. He knew that his own peace of mind could never be
restored so long as the shadow of Stanley Fyles hovered over the
village.
Presently he saw the two horsemen part. Fyles rode on down toward the
village while the other turned westwards, but the now hot eyes of the
watching man followed only the figure of the unwelcome policeman until
it was lost to view beyond the intervening bush.
As the officer disappeared the rancher made a gesture of fierce anger.
"Kate, Kate," he cried, raising his clenched fists as though about to
strike the unconscious horseman, "if I lose you through him,
I'll--I'll kill him."
Now he hurried away down to the corrals with the air of a man who is
endeavoring to escape from himself. He suddenly realized the necessity
of a vent for his feelings.
But his work had yet to suffer a further delay. He had scarcely
reached the scene of operations when the sound of galloping hoofs
caught and held his attention. He had quite forgotten the second
horseman in his bitter interest in the policeman. Now he remembered
that he had turned westward, which was in the direction of his ranch.
The sounds were rapidly approaching up the track toward him. His eyes
grew cold and almost vicious as he thought. Was this another of the
police force? The force to which Fyles belonged?
He stood waiting at the head of the trail. And the look in his eyes
augured ill for the welcome of the newcomer.
The sounds grew louder. Then he heard a voice, a somewhat familiar
voice. It was big, and cheerful, and full of a cordial good humor.
"By Judas! he was a thief, and an outrageous robber, but you can go,
my four-footed monument to a blasted rogue's perfidy. Five hundred
good dollars--now, at it for a final spurt."
Charlie Bryant understood. The man was talking to his horse. Had he
needed evidence it came forthwith, for, with a rush, at a headlong
gallop, a horseman dashed from amid the bushes and drew up with a jolt
almost on top of him.
"Charlie!"
"Bill! Good old--Bill!"
The greetings came simultaneously. The next instant Big Brother Bill
flung out of the saddle, and stood wringing his brother's hand with
great force.
"Gee! It's good to see you, Charlie," he cried joyously.
"Good? Why, it's great, and--and I took you for one of the damned
p'lice."
Charlie's face was wreathed in such a smile of welcome and relief,
that all Big Brother Bill's doubts in that direction were flung
pell-mell to the winds.
Charlie caught something of the other's beaming enthusiasm.
"Why, I've been expecting you for days, old boy. Thought maybe you'd
changed your mind. Say, where's your baggage? Coming on behind? You
haven't lost it?" he added anxiously, as Bill's face suddenly fell.
"I forgot. Say, was there ever such a tom-fool trick?" Bill cried,
with a great laugh at his own folly. "Why, I left it checked at
Moosemin--without instructions."
Charlie's smiling eyes suddenly widened.
"Moosemin? What in the name of all that's----?"
"I'll have to tell you about it later," Bill broke in hastily. "I've
had one awful journey. If it hadn't been for a feller I met on the
road I don't know when I'd have landed here."
Charlie nodded, and the smile died out of his eyes.
"I saw him. You certainly were traveling in good company."
Bill nodded, towering like some good-natured St. Bernard over a
mild-eyed water spaniel.
"Good company's a specialty with me. But I didn't come alongside any
of it, since I set out to make here 'cross country from Moosemin on
the advice of the only bigger fool than myself I've ever met, until I
ran into him. Say, Charlie, I s'pose its necessary to have a deal of
grass around to run a ranch on?"
Charlie's eyes lit with the warmest amusement. This great brother of
his was the brightest landmark in his memory of the world he had said
good-bye to years ago.
"You can't graze cattle on bare ground," he replied watchfully. "Why?"
Bill's shoulders went up to the accompaniment of a chuckle.
"Nothing--only I hate grass. I seem to have gone over as much grass
in the last week as a boarding-house spring lamb. But for that feller,
I surely guess I'd still be chasing over it, like those 'strays' he
spends his life rounding-up."
A quick look of inquiry flashed in the rancher's eyes.
"Strays?" he inquired.
Bill nodded gravely. "Yes, he's something in the ranching line. Rounds
up 'strays,' and herds 'em to their right homes. His name's
Fyles--Stanley Fyles."
Just for an instant Charlie's face struggled with the more bitter
feelings Fyles's name inspired. Then he gave way to the appeal of a
sort of desperate humor, and broke into an uncontrolled fit of
laughter.
Bill looked on wondering, his great blue eyes widely open. Then he
caught the infection, and began to laugh, too, but without knowing
why.
After some moments, however, Charlie sobered and choked back a final
gurgle.
"Oh, dear!" he exclaimed. "You've done me a heap of good, Bill. That's
the best laugh I've had in weeks. That fellow a rancher?
Fyles--Stanley Fyles a--rancher? Well, p'raps you're right. That's his
job all right--rounding up 'strays,' and herding 'em to their right
homes. But the 'strays' are 'crooks,' and their homes the
penitentiary. That's Inspector Stanley Fyles, of the Mounted Police,
and just about the smartest man in the force. He's come out here to
start his ranching operations on Rocky Springs, which has the
reputation of being the busiest hive of crooks in Western Canada.
You're going to see things hum, Bill--you've just got around in time."