ON MONDAY NIGHT
Big Brother Bill, after an evening of considerable worry, had retired
to his little lean-to bedroom with its low, camp bedstead. It was
useless sitting up any longer attempting one of those big worrying
"thinks" which, usually, he was rather proud of achieving.
On this occasion thinking led him nowhither. His worries had come
swiftly and significantly. In the first place, on Sunday afternoon he
had been seriously concerned about Helen. It was not until Kate's
going that either he or Helen had realized the girl's lonely position
in the house on the river bank. It came home to them both as they
returned thither at about sundown, to find that neither of the hired
men had shown up again, and the work, even to the "chores" of the
homestead, was at a standstill.
He really became angry in his anxiety. Angry with Kate, angry with the
men. However, his displeasure was not likely to help matters, so he
and Helen turned to and fed the few livestock, made them snug for the
night, and then proceeded to consider Helen's position. After some
debate it was decided to appeal to Mrs. John Day. This was promptly
done, and the leading citizeness, after a closer cross-examination,
consented to take the girl under her brusque wing, and lodged her in
her own rather resplendent house.
This was comparatively satisfactory, and Bill breathed his relief. But
hard upon this came the more alarming realization that Charlie did not
return home on Sunday night. Not only that, but nothing was heard of
him the whole of Monday. All the alarmed brother was able to discover
was the fact that Charlie had left the saloon at the time O'Brien
closed it, about midnight on Sunday, in a hopelessly drunken
condition.
So, what with assisting Helen with the work of her homestead, and
searching for his defaulting brother, Bill's day was an anxious one.
Then, at nightfall, a further concern added fresh trouble to his
thought. Kid Blaney had defected as well, and, in consequence, the
work of Charlie's little ranch had been completely at a standstill the
whole day.
In the end, quite wearied out with his unusual exertions, Bill
abandoned all further attempt to get a grip on the situation and went
to bed. He knew he must be up early in the morning, at daylight, in
fact, for he had promised Helen to be at the ceremony of the felling
of the pine tree, for which all preparations had been duly made under
the watchful and triumphant eye of Mrs. John Day.
Sleep, however, was long in coming. His brain was too busy, a sign he
was secretly pleased at. He felt that during the last two days he had
more than proved his ability in emergency. So, lying awake, waiting
patiently for sleep to come, he rather felt like a general in action,
perfectly assured of his own capacity to meet every situation
successfully.
It was nearly midnight when he finally dropped off into a light and
rather disturbed slumber. How long he had slept, or even if he really
had slept at all, he was never quite sure, for, quite suddenly, he was
aroused, and wide awake, by the sound of his own name being called in
the darkness.
"Bill! Bill!"
At the second pronouncement of his name he was sitting up with his
bare feet on the bare floor, and his great pajamaed body foolishly
alert.
"Who in----" he began. But in a moment Charlie's voice cut him short.
"You there? Thank God! Where's the lamp? Quick, light it."
To Bill's credit it must be admitted he offered no further attempt at
a blasphemous protest, but leaned over toward the Windsor chair on
which the lamp stood, and fumbled for the matches.
The next moment he had struck a light, and the lamp was lit. He stood
up and looked across the room. Charlie's slight figure was just inside
the doorway. His face was ghastly in the yellow lamplight. His clothes
were in a filthy condition, and, altogether, in Bill's own words, he
looked like a priceless antique of some forgotten race.
However, the hunted look in the man's eyes smote his brother's
generous heart, and a swift, anxious inquiry sprang to his lips.
"What's--what's up, Charlie?" he cried, gathering his clothes
together, and beginning to dress himself.
Charlie's eyes glowed with a reflection of the lamplight.
"The game's up, Bill," he cried hoarsely. "My God, it's been given
away. Pete Clancy, the feller you hammered, has turned informer. I--I
shot him dead. Say, the gang's out to-night. They're coming in with a
cargo of liquor. Fyles is wise to their play, and knows just how it's
coming in. They'll be trapped to a man."
"You--shot Pete--dead?"
In the overwhelming rush of his brother's information, the death of
the informer at his, Charlie's, hands seemed alone to penetrate
Bill's, as yet, none too alert faculties.
"Yes, yes," cried the other impatiently. "I'd have shot him, or--or
anybody else for such treachery, but--but--it's the other that
matters. I've got to get out and stop that cargo. It's midnight now,
and--God! If the police get----"
Bill's brain was working more rapidly, and so were his hands. He was
almost dressed now.
"But you, Charlie," he cried, all his concern for his brother
uppermost. "They'll get you. And--and they'll hang you for killing
Pete--sure."
Suddenly a peal of hysterical laughter, which ended in a furious
curse, rang through the room.
"God Almighty!" Charlie cried fiercely, "don't stand there yapping
about me. Hang me? What in hell do I care what they do to me? I
haven't come here about myself. Nothing that concerns me matters.
Here, it's midnight. I've time to reach 'em and give 'em the word.
See, that's why I'm here. I don't know what's happened by now, or what
may happen. You offered to help. Will you help me now? Bill, I've got
to get there, and warn 'em. The police will try and stop us. If there
are two of us, one may get through--will you----?"
Bill crushed his hat on his head. His eyes, big and blue, were
gleaming with the light of battle.
"Give me a gun, and come on," he cried. "I don't understand it all,
but that don't matter. I'll think it out later. You're up against it,
and that's good enough for me. Somebody's going to have to look bright
if he lays hands on you, if it's Fyles, or McBain, or the devil knows
who. Come on."
Picking up the lamp, Bill took the lead. Here, in action, he had no
doubts or difficulties, Charlie was in trouble; Charlie was
threatened; Charlie, his foolish, but well-loved brother.
Five minutes later two horsemen, regardless of rousing the
inhabitants, regardless of who might see and recognize them, galloped
headlong through the heart of the village.