The moments slipped away, heavy moments of intense feeling and bitter grief.

Presently the grief-stricken woman's sobs grew less, and with something like a gesture of impatience she snatched her hands from her face, and raised a pair of agonized eyes to his.

"Leave me," she cried. "Go, please go. I—I can't bear it."

Her appeal was so helpless. Again the impulse to take her in his arms was almost too strong for the man, but with an effort he overcame it.

"Won't you—go on?" he said, in the gentlest possible tone. "It will help you. And—you would rather tell me."

The firmness of his manner, the gentleness, had a heartbreaking effect. In a moment the woman's eyes were flooded with tears, which coursed down her cheeks. It was the relief that her poor troubled brain and nerves demanded, and so Fyles understood.

He waited patiently until the passion of weeping was over. Then again he urged his demand.

"Now tell me, Kate. Tell me all. And remember I'm not here as your judge. I am here to help—because—I love you."

The look from the woman's eyes thanked him. Then she bowed her head lest the sight of him should leave her afraid.

* * * * *

"Must I tell it all?"

Kate's tone was firmer. There was a ring in it that reminded the other of the woman he used to know.

"Tell me just what you wish. No more—no less. You are telling it for your own sake, remember. To me—it makes no difference."

"There's no use in telling it you from the start. The things that led up to it," she began. "I have been smuggling whisky for nearly five years. It's a pretty admission, isn't it? Yes, you may well be horrified," she went on, as Fyles started.

But the man denied.

"I am not horrified," he said. "It is—the wonder of it."

"The wonder? It isn't wonderful. It was so simple. A little ingenuity, a little nerve and recklessness. The law itself makes it easy. You cannot arrest on suspicion." Kate sighed, and her eyes had become reflective, so that their calmness satisfied the waiting man. "I must tell you this," she went on quickly. "My reasons were twofold. Helen and I came here to farm. We came here because I was crazy for adventure. We had money, but I soon found that we, two women, could never make our farm pay. We were here surrounded by outlaws, who were already smuggling liquor, and their trade appealed to me. I was just crazy to take a hand in it for the excitement of it, and—to replenish our diminishing capital."

"Helen knows nothing about it," she went on, her voice hardening as though the shameful story she was about to tell were forcing the iron deeper and deeper into her soul. "She has never guessed, or suspected, and I could almost hope she never will. It didn't take me long to make up my mind. This was about the time Charlie came to the valley," she sighed. "Well, I quickly contrived to get at the men I wanted. I talked to them carefully, and finally unfolded to them a plan I had worked out to smuggle whisky on a large and profitable scale. It doesn't matter about the details. They all came in at once. It pleased their sense of humor to be run by a woman. I was to disguise myself as a man, which nature made easy for me, and my real personality was to be our chief safeguard. No one would suspect unless we were caught red-handed. And that—well, that was not a great chance, anyway, in those days. I was responsible. I was to purchase cargoes across the border. The others were only my helpers, under my absolute orders. And I ruled them sharply."

The man nodded without other comment.

"But Charlie had arrived, and very soon his coming began to complicate matters," Kate went on, after the briefest of pauses. "He came out here to ranch. He was turned out of his home. And I—I just pitied him, and strove to turn him from his drunken habits. This is where the mischief was done. I liked him. I sort of felt like a mother to him. He was so gentle and kind-hearted. He was clever, too—very clever. Yes, I looked upon him as a son, or brother—but he didn't look on me in the same way. I don't know. I suppose I didn't think. I was foolish. Anyway, Charlie asked me to marry him. I refused him, and he drank himself into delirium tremens."

Again came a long-drawn sigh at the memory of that poor, wasted life.

"Well, I nursed him, and finally he got better, and again I went on with my work. Then, one day, I received a shock. Charlie came to me and told me he'd found a mysterious old corral, away up, hidden in the higher reaches of the valley. He begged me to let him show it me. Feeling that I owed him something, I consented to go with him. So we rode out. You know the place. But maybe you don't know its secret."

Fyles nodded.

"Yes—you mean the—cupboard in the lining of the wall."

"You know it?" Kate's surprise was marked. However, she went on rapidly. "Well, while we were there he showed it to me, and then, looking me straight in the eyes, he said, 'Wouldn't it be a dandy hiding place for things? Suppose I was a big whisky smuggler. Suppose I wanted to disguise myself. I could keep my disguise here. No chance of its being found by police or any one. It would be a great place.' Then he went on, enlarging enthusiastically upon his idea. He said, 'A feller wants to do things right if he's going to beat the law. If I were running liquor I'd take no chances. I'd run it on a big scale, and I'd cache my stuff in the cellars under the Meeting House. No one knows of 'em. I only lit on 'em by chance.

"'Not a soul even suspects they're there. Guess they were used for caches in the old days. Now, I'd take on the job of looking after the place, keeping it clean, and all that. That would let me be seen there without anybody getting suspicious.' All this time his eyes were watching me shrewdly, speculatively. Then, still pretending, he went off in another direction. He told me he'd bought a good wagon. He said, 'I'd keep it here in the corral. It would be better than a buckboard.' Then I knew for certain that he was aware of my doings. For I used a buckboard. It was a desperate moment. I waited. All of a sudden he dropped his mask of lightness, and became serious. I can never forget his poor, dear face as he gave me his final warning. 'Kate,' he said, 'if there was anybody I—liked, and was anxious about, running whisky in this place, I'd show them the corral and tell them what I've told you. You see,' he added ingenuously, 'I'd give my life for those I like, then how readily would I help them like this. This is the safest scheme I can think of. And I'm rather proud of it. Anyways, it's better than keeping disguises kicking around for any one to find, and caching liquor under bushes.' He had discovered all my secret. All—how? The thought set me nearly crazy."

"Did you—question him?" The man's voice cut sharply into the momentary silence.

Kate shook her head.

"No. I couldn't. I don't know why, but I couldn't." She drew a deep breath. "The next thing I knew was that I was shadowed in all my work, and I knew that shadow was—Charlie. Here came a memorable day. I think the devil was in me that day. I remember Charlie came to me. He smiled in his gentle, boyish fashion. He said, 'No one's adopted my scheme yet—and I've left the wagon down at the old corral, too.' It was too much. I laughed. I told him that now no one could ever use his scheme for I had secured the work—voluntarily—of seeing to the Meeting House. His response was deadly serious. 'I'm glad,' he said. 'That will end temptation for—others.'"

"He thought of using it—on your behalf—himself!"

"I fancy so." Kate paused. Then, with an effort, she seemed to spur herself to her task. "There seems so much of it. Such a long, dreary story. I must skip to the time you came on the scene. It was then that serious trouble began. Danger really increased. But I was used to it by then. I loved it. I didn't care. I was pleased to think I was pitted against the police. You remember White Point? Like all the rest, I planned that. I was there. We beat your men on the trail, too. We contrived to temporarily cache the cargo, and afterward remove it to the Meeting House. Then later. You remember the night that you found Bill by the pine tree, which, by the way, served me as a mail office for orders from my local customers? They placed money and orders in one of the old crevices under the bark. You see, I never came into personal contact with them. It was I you saw there. I had just been there to get an order from O'Brien. Bill saw me—and mistook me for Charlie. Charlie was probably there, but it was I you saw drop down into hiding. That night was a great shock to me. I discovered that, disguised as a man, by some evil chance I became the double of Charlie. You can imagine my distress. In a flash I was made aware of the reason that he was bearing the blame for all my doings. This brought me another realization, too. My personality had been discovered. People must have seen me before. I was known by, perhaps distant, sight, and Charlie was blamed for all my doings. It left me with a resolve to defend him to my utmost, all the more so that I was convinced in my mind that he was doing his utmost to divert suspicion from me to himself. Even his own brother believed in his guilt.

"When you opened your campaign against him, my cup of bitterness was full. Then it was I resolved to run cargo after cargo in the wild hope that some chance would reveal to you that Charlie was not your man. I resolved this, knowing you—and—and liking you, and being aware that every time I succeeded I was further helping to ruin you with your superiors, and in your career. It had to be. I had to sacrifice all my own feelings to—save Charlie."

The shining eyes of the man gazed admiringly on the sad face of the loyal woman.

"I think I see," he said.

Kate raised her shoulders.

"I hardly expected any one would see, or understand, what I felt, and the way I reasoned. You remember the cargo from Fort Allerton? It was my two boys, acting under my command, who bound and gagged your patrol, and fired the alarm. Pete brought me word of your plans. He had spied on you in your camp. But there was very nearly disaster in that affair. I dropped my pocketbook on the trail. It was full of incriminating papers. I did not discover my loss till I returned my disguise to the secret hut. You can imagine my horror at such a discovery. It meant everything. I waited desperately, expecting it to have been found by your men. Two days later, in a fever of apprehension, I went to search my clothes again at the corral. I felt it was useless. It could not be there. But my guardian angel had been at work. It was in its place in my coat pocket. Then I knew that Charlie was still watching over me. He had found it, and—returned it."

Fyles nodded.

"He was on the trail that night—I saw him."

"Do you want to know the rest?" Kate went on. "Is it necessary? The heartless game I played on you. Do you understand it now? Oh, it was a cruel thing to do. But you drove me crazy with your suspicions, your obstinate suspicions, of Charlie. I was determined to pursue my ruthless course in his defense to the end. It was my only hope of relieving Charlie of suspicion—without betraying myself. But there were things I had not calculated on. Two things happened after I had offered you my challenge. I made my plans, and ordered my cargo, after telling you when and where it was to arrive. Then the two things happened. First? Bill ran foul of Pete. Pete was drunk and insulted Helen. Bill was there, and thrashed him soundly, and I was glad. But I feared for mischief. He knew my plans. I talked to him, and quickly realized my fears were well-founded. There was no help for it. I promptly changed my plans. The cargo was to come in by water. The escorted empty wagon by trail. I left that disposition, except that I decided the boat should be empty, too, and, unknown to any one but Holy Dick, I should bring in the cargo on a buckboard myself. You see, it left me free of any chance of treachery. When you told me of Pete's treachery I knew I had done well. Then the second thing happened, which served me with an excuse for leaving the village, which had become imperative to complete my change of plans. You remember. It was the tree. You remember I feared the old superstition, and I went to—Myrtle.

"The rest. Yes, let me tell it quickly, while I still have the courage. You must fill in the gaps which I leave for yourself. Before I left, Charlie came here. He tried to stop me. I know why. He had some premonition of disaster. I, too, had the same premonition, but—I was quite reckless. He refused me his wagon, but I took it in spite of him. I had to have it. We quarreled for the first time. He left me in anger, and—I went. Everything was carried through successfully. I was in the road on Monday night with the cargo. I was keeping abreast of the wagon, in my buckboard, away to the south of it. I intended to make a quiet dash while you were busy with the boat and wagon. But my star was not in the ascendant.

"While I was waiting for the moment to arrive I suddenly heard the firing, and I knew at once that the game was up. It was no longer simply smuggling. To me such shooting meant killing—and that——" she shuddered. "Perhaps I lost my head. I don't know. I raced for it. You came after me. One of my horses stumbled, and when it recovered I found it was dead lame. I had a saddle horse with me. You were hard on my heels by then. I abandoned the buckboard and cargo, and took to the saddle. I was keeping well ahead of you, and was only a short distance from the village. I raced down the hill to the culvert over the hay slough. As I did so I saw two horsemen coming in the opposite direction. I believed them to be police. I swung out to the south, intending to take the slough at a jump, and get away toward the border. Too late I realized the slough's miry state. I tried to get back to the culvert, but my horse failed me. The troubled beast floundered, then he fell, and my head struck the culvert."

Kate was breathing quickly. The horror of it all was getting hold of her. But she went on in broken jerky sentences.

"When I opened my eyes, Charlie was bending over me. I told him what had happened. Then he passed me over to Bill, and I fainted again. When I awoke I was here—at home. Bill had brought me here, and I know now what Charlie must have done."

Fyles nodded.

"He took your place, and drew us after him," he said. Then, after a pause. "Say, he did a big thing, Kate, and—he did it with his eyes wide open."

But Kate was not listening. Tears were coursing down her cheeks, and she sat a poor, suffering, bowed creature whose spirit could no longer support the strain of her remorse. Her confession was complete, and again the horrors of her earlier sufferings were assailing her weakened spirit.

Fyles waited for the storm to lessen. He no longer had doubts. His pity was for the reckless heart so hopelessly crushed. He had no blame, only pity, and—love. He knew now that all he had hoped and longed for was to be his. Kate cared for him. She had loved him from the start. His were the arms that would shelter her. His were the caresses that must woo that warm, palpitating spirit back to its confidence and strength.

What was her past recklessness to him? He passed it by, and thanked God that, for all its wrong against the laws, she assessed a courage so fearless, and a brain so keen. There was no evil in her. She was a woman to love and live for. To work, and—to die for. And his feelings he knew had been shared by another.

He rose from his chair and passed behind Kate's rocker. He leaned down and kissed her masses of beautiful dark hair.

"Look up, Kate. Look up, dear. The old pine has fallen at last, and now—now there is to be peace in the valley for all time. Peace for you. Peace for me. We will go away together now, dear. And presently, please God, we'll come back to our—home."

* * * * *

Two days later Stanley Fyles and Big Brother Bill were standing at the doorway of Kate's house. It was evening, and four saddle horses were tied together in a bunch, ready saddled for the road.

Bill stood chewing his thumb in silence. His thoughtful, blue eyes were gazing out across the valley at the little ranch house on the hill.

Fyles was equally thoughtfully filling his pipe.

"We haven't talked much about things before," he said, pressing the tobacco firmly into the bowl of his pipe with his little finger. "Guess there wasn't much room for talk between—you and me. But we had to say things sooner or later, on—account of—the girls. It's bad med'cine starting out brothers with any trouble sticking out between us. That's why I've started talking now—with the horses waiting saddled."

Bill nodded.

"I was desperate sore," he said, his blue eyes coming back to the other's face. "You see, I couldn't think right at first, back there in Amberley, and I blamed you to death. Still, I've done a big think since then. Yes, a huge big think. And—do you know I'm kind of sure now Charlie was just glad to do what he did." Then his voice dropped to an awed undertone. "It's queer how thinking makes you see things right. I kind of feel now, if Charlie was here, he'd tell us right away he's gladder he is where he is than ever he was—here. I'm just certain of it. That's the best of thinking hard. You sort of understand things better. I'm going to shake hands with you. Guess Charlie 'ud like me to—now. And it'll be a mighty hard shake, so you'll know I've thought hard, and—and just understood."

Fyles winced under the giant's grip. But he smiled and nodded. Bill smiled and nodded, too, and then released the injured limb. It was the way of two men who understand.

A sound came from within the house. It was the jingle of a spur and a swish of skirts.

Fyles indicated the direction with his pipe.

"Best quit talking now," he said. "It's—it's the girls."

Bill wagged a sapient head, and moved over to the horses.

"Right ho, Stanley."

"Right ho, Bill."

The big blue eyes met the steady brown eyes in a final, smiling glance of mutual understanding as Kate and Helen appeared in the doorway.



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Paradise Auction. By Nalbro Bartley. Pardners. By Rex Beach. Parrot & Co. By Harold MacGrath. Partners of the Night. By Leroy Scott. Partners of the Tide. By Joseph C. Lincoln. Passionate Friends, The. By H. G. Wells. Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail, The. By Ralph Connor. Paul Anthony, Christian. By Hiram W. Hays. Pawns Count, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. People's Man, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. Perch of the Devil. By Gertrude Atherton. Peter Ruff and the Double Four. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. Pidgin Island. By Harold MacGrath. Place of Honeymoon, The. By Harold MacGrath. Pool of Flame, The. By Louis Joseph Vance. Postmaster, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln. Prairie Wife, The. By Arthur Stringer. Price of the Prairie, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter. Prince of Sinners, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. Promise, The. By J. B. Hendryx. Proof of the Pudding, The. By Meredith Nicholson.

Rainbow's End, The. By Rex Beach. Ranch at the Wolverine, The. By B. M. Bower. Ranching for Sylvia. By Harold Bindloss. Ransom. By Arthur Somers Roche. Reason Why, The. By Elinor Glyn. Reclaimers, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter. Red Mist, The. By Randall Parrish. Red Pepper Burns. By Grace S. Richmond. Red Pepper's Patients. By Grace S. Richmond. Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The. By Anne Warner. Restless Sex, The. By Robert W. Chambers. Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer. Return of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs. Riddle of Night, The. By Thomas W. Hanshew. Rim of the Desert, The. By Ada Woodruff Anderson. Rise of Roscoe Paine, The. By J. C. Lincoln. Rising Tide, The. By Margaret Deland. Rocks of Valpre, The. By Ethel M. Dell. Rogue by Compulsion, A. By Victor Bridges. Room Number 3. By Anna Katharine Green. Rose in the Ring, The. By George Barr McCutcheon. Rose of Old Harpeth, The. By Maria Thompson Daviess. Round the Corner in Gay Street. By Grace S. Richmond.

Second Choice. By Will N. Harben. Second Violin, The. By Grace S. Richmond. Secret History. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson. Secret of the Reef, The. By Harold Bindloss. Seven Darlings, The. By Gouverneur Morris. Shavings. By Joseph C. Lincoln. Shepherd of the Hills, The. By Harold Bell Wright. Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. Sherry. By George Barr McCutcheon. Side of the Angels, The. By Basil King. Silver Horde, The. By Rex Beach. Sin That Was His, The. By Frank L. Packard. Sixty-first Second, The. By Owen Johnson. Soldier of the Legion, A. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson. Son of His Father, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. Son of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs. Source, The. By Clarence Buddington Kelland. Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson. Spirit in Prison, A. By Robert Hichens. Spirit of the Border, The. (New Edition.) By Zane Grey. Spoilers, The. By Rex Beach. Steele of the Royal Mounted. By James Oliver Curwood. Still Jim. By Honore Willsie. Story of Foss River Ranch, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. Story of Marco, The. By Eleanor H. Porter. Strange Case of Cavendish, The. By Randall Parrish. Strawberry Acres. By Grace S. Richmond. Sudden Jim. By Clarence B. Kelland.

Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle. Tarzan of the Apes. By Edgar R. Burroughs. Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar. By Edgar Rice Burroughs. Tempting of Tavernake, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. Tess of the D'Urbervilles. By Thos. Hardy. Thankful's Inheritance. By Joseph C. Lincoln. That Affair Next Door. By Anna Katharine Green. That Printer of Udell's. By Harold Bell Wright. Their Yesterdays. By Harold Bell Wright. Thirteenth Commandment, The. By Rupert Hughes. Three of Hearts, The. By Berta Ruck. Three Strings, The. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln. Threshold, The. By Marjorie Benton Cooke. Throwback, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis. Tish. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. To M. L. G.; or, He Who Passed. Anon. Trail of the Axe, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. Trail to Yesterday, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer. Treasure of Heaven, The. By Marie Corelli. Triumph, The. By Will N. Harben. T. Tembarom. By Frances Hodgson Burnett. Turn of the Tide. By Author of "Pollyanna." Twenty-fourth of June, The. By Grace S. Richmond. Twins of Suffering Creek, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. Two-Gun Man, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer.

Uncle William. By Jeannette Lee. Under Handicap. By Jackson Gregory. Under the Country Sky. By Grace S. Richmond. Unforgiving Offender, The. By John Reed Scott. Unknown Mr. Kent, The. By Roy Norton. Unpardonable Sin, The. By Major Rupert Hughes. Up From Slavery. By Booker T. Washington.

Valiants of Virginia, The. By Hallie Ermine Rives. Valley of Fear, The. By Sir A. Conan Doyle. Vanished Messenger, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. Vanguards of the Plains. By Margaret Hill McCarter. Vashti. By Augusta Evans Wilson. Virtuous Wives. By Owen Johnson. Visioning, The. By Susan Glaspell.

Waif-o'-the-Sea. By Cyrus Townsend Brady. Wall of Men, A. By Margaret H. McCarter. Watchers of the Plans, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. Way Home, The. By Basil King. Way of an Eagle, The. By E. M. Dell. Way of the Strong, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. Way of These Women, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. We Can't Have Everything. By Major Rupert Hughes. Weavers, The. By Gilbert Parker. When a Man's a Man. By Harold Bell Wright. When Wilderness Was King. By Randall Parrish. Where the Trail Divides. By Will Lillibridge. Where There's a Will. By Mary R. Rinehart. White Sister, The. By Marion Crawford. Who Goes There? By Robert W. Chambers. Why Not. By Margaret Widdemer. Window at the White Cat, The. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. Winds of Chance, The. By Rex Beach. Wings of Youth, The. By Elizabeth Jordan. Winning of Barbara Worth, The. By Harold Bell Wright. Wire Devils, The. By Frank L. Packard. Winning the Wilderness. By Margaret Hill McCarter. Wishing Ring Man, The. By Margaret Widdemer. With Juliet in England. By Grace S. Richmond. Wolves of the Sea. By Randall Parrish. Woman Gives, The. By Owen Johnson. Woman Haters, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln. Woman in Question, The. By John Reed Scott. Woman Thou Gavest Me, The. By Hall Caine. Woodcarver of 'Lympus, The. By Mary E. Waller. Wooing of Rosamond Fayre, The. By Berta Ruck. World for Sale, The. By Gilbert-Parker.

Years for Rachel, The. By Berta Ruck. Yellow Claw, The. By Sax Rohmer. You Never Know Your Luck. By Gilbert Parker.

Zeppelin's Passenger, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.



TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:

1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetter's errors; otherwise every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent.

2. In the advertising listing at the end of the book, the = has been used to indicate that the book titles were typeset in bold in the original book.