The Storyteller.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXV, Issue 2185, 14 September 1907, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Storyteller.

THE BEST WAY OUT.

“Say, ain’t Ho pretty?” “A Jim-dandy—oli, my!” “AVJmt’s-liis prico in tho open lunr■kcifc.P”'

“Thirty millions —1 thank not.” Then was hoard tho voice of Billy float—his. name was William Goatry : “Out in tho cold world, out in tho street; Nothing ,to. wear, and nothing to oar., Fatherless, motherless, sadly I roam. Child of misfortune, I’m driven from homo.”

A loud laugh followed, for Billy Goat-was a popular person at Kototin in tho Saskatchewan country. Ho had an inimitable drollery, heightened by a cast in his eye, a very large month, and a round, good-humoured ■face; also ho had a hand and arm like iron, and was altogether a great man on a “spree.” There had boon a two days’ spree at Kowatin, for no other reason than that there had been great excitement over the capture and the subsequent escape of a pnairie-rover who had robbed the contractor’s money-chest at the rail-head on the Canadian Pacific Railroad. Ho had been caught 40< miles from Kowatin by the tall, brown-eyed man with the hard-bit-ten-face who leaned against the open window of the tavern, looking indifferently at the jeering crowd before him. He was not unpopular wiitli them, but he had been a failure for once, and, as Bully Goat had said, “It tickled us to death to see a rider of the plains- off his. trolley—on the cold, cold ground, same as you and me.”

This man, leaning idly against the wall, staring into the sunlight, and smoking, a Mexican clieeroot, had been, as, Billy Goat said, “so dang successful” that they had a peculiar joy in his coming a cropper, as they had done in tlieir time too often. They did not undervalue him. If ne had been less "a man than lie was, they wonld not have taken the trouble to-cover-him with their drunken ribaldry. He-had scored off them in the pash-in just- such sprees as this, when-hehad-the power to do so, and used the -power good-naturedly and quietly—but used it. Then, he was Sergeant Foyle of the Royal North-West Mounted Police, on duty in a district as .large as the United Kingdom. And he had no greater admirer- than Billy Goat, who now reviled him. Not without cause. in a way, for he had reviled himself to this extent, that when the prairie-rover, Halbeck, escaped on tho way to Prince Albert, after six months’hunt for him and a final cap-ture-in the Kowatin district, Foyle reeigned the. Force before the Commissioner could- reproach him or call him to account. Usually so exact, so certain -of his target, some care had not-been .taken, he had miscalculated,. and tliero had been the “Error of tlie Day.” Whatever it was, it had seemed to him fatal; and lie had turned his face fro-m the banrack yard.

Then ho had made his way to the Happy Land Hotel at Kowatin, to begin life as “a free and independent

gent on the loose,” as Billy Goat had

.said. To resign,.had seemed extreme; - ~jyfoause, though the Commissioner was vexed at Halbeck’s escape, Foyle wtaS the best non-commissioned officer in' the , Force. He had frightened horse thieves and bogus land agents and speculators out of the country; had fearlessly tracked down a criminal or a band of criminals when the odds were heavy against him. Hecarried on his face the scars of two bullets, and there was one white Mck in his-brown hair, where an arrow had torn the scalp away as, alone, he, drove into tlie Post a. score of Indians, fresh from raiding the cattle .of an immigrant trailing to the, farther north. Nofw he was out of work, or so it Beamed; he, had stepped down from his scarlehcoated : dignity, from the place, of guardian and guide,,of civilisation, into the idleness of a tavern stoop. As .the. little, group swayed round him,..and Billy .Gait. started another song, . Foyle, roused himself as though to move away—he was waiting for the “mail-stage” to take him .south. “Oh, .father, dear .father, come home nvith me now, ; The clock in tlie steeple strikes one; . 1 . ... You said von were coming right home from .tile shop As ..soon as your . day’s work was done. Conte home come home

Xlio sppg.arrested UiHlj ami slowly 310 .leaned buck against ..the window again.'- A. .curious look came into bis eyes, a look .that had. ‘nothing to do with,-the «of 3 oIV the, people before h|m., It was searching into a sceno beyond this bright sun 1 igilt, and the far green-brown grass, and the little oasis of trees in the distance marking a homestead, and the dust of the waggon-wheels out on the trail beyond the grain-elevator, beyond the blue horizon’s rim, quivering in the heat, and into regions where this crisp, clear, life-giving, Life-saving air never blew.

“You said you were coming homo from t'lio. silioii As soon as your day’s work . was done. Como home come homo Ho remembered when ho had first ■heard this song in a play called “Ton Nights in a Bar-room,” many years before, and how it had wrenched his heart and soul, and covered him with a sudden cloud of shame and anger. I’or Ids father had been a drunkard, and a brother had grown up a drunkard, that brother whom ho had not seen for ten years until—until— He shuddered, closed his eye®, as though to shut out something that the mind saw. He had had a rough life, ho had become inured to the seamy eido of things—there - was a seamy side oven in this clean, free, wide land; and he had no sentimentality; though something seemed to hurt him now. “As soon as your day’s work was done. Como homo coino home— —” The crowd was uproarious. The exit’ '.’. ation had become .a kind of delirium. Men were losing their heads; there ifl.is an element of irresponsibility in the new outbreak likely to breed some violent act, which ©ve.ry man of them would lament when sober again. Nefefclewood Foyle watched,, the dust rising from the wheels of the stage, which had passed the elevator and was nearing the Prairie Horae Hole' far down the street. Ho would sooi leave behind him this noisy*, ribaldrj

of 'Which lio was the centre. Ho tossod his cluH'j'oo-t away. Suddenly ho heard a low voice behind him. “AVhy don’t you hit out, sergeant ?” it said. Ho started almost violently, and turned round. Then his faco Hushed, his eyes blurred with feeling and deep surprise, and his lips parted in a whispered exclamation and greeting. A gill’s face from the .shade of the sitting 'room was looking out at him half smiling, but with heightened color and suppressed agitation. Tho girl was not more than 25, graceful, supple, and strong. Her chin .was dimpled; across her right, tomule was a slight soar. She had eyes of a wonderful deep blue; they seemed to swim with light. As Foyle gazed at her for a-moment dumbfounded, with a quizzical suggestion and smiling still a little more sho said: “You used to bo a little quicker', Nett.” Tho voice appeared to attempt unconcern; but it quavered from a force of feeling underneath. It was so long since she. had seen him. Jle mis about to reply, but at tho instant a reveller pushed lrim with a foot behind tho knees so..that they bent quickly forward. The crowd laughed—all save Billy Goat, who knew his man. l ike lightning, and with cold fury, in his eyes, Foyle caught the tall calc lonian by the forearm and, with a s.vift, dexterous twist, had the follow' in his power. "Down —down, to your knees, you skunk,” he sai.d, in a low, fierce voice. . The knees, of the big man bent. — Foyle had. not taken lessons of Ogomi. the Jap, for nothing—they bent, and. the .cattleman squealed, so intense was the pain. Foyle stood over bini for a moment,. a. hard light in his eyes, aud then suddenly, as if bethinking himself, lie looked ait the other roisterers, and said: •There’s a. Unlit, and he reached it. Your mouths are your own, and you can blow off to suit your...fancy, but if any one thinks I’m a tame coyote to be poked will a stick —” He broke off, stooped over, and helped the man before 'him to his feet. Tito arm had been strained, and the big fellow nursed it. “Hell, but you’re a twister!” the cattleman said with a grimace of pa i n. Hilly Goat was a gentleman, after his kind, and lie liked Sergeant Foyle, with a great liking. He turned .to the crowd and spoke. “Say, hoys, this mine’s worked out.' Let’s leave the Happy Land to Foyle. 'Boys, What is he —whait—is — he? What —is —Sergeant Foyflo—boys?” “Sergeant, Foyle, oil, lie’s -a knocker from, the West, ■llo’s a - clifise-me-Charley , come and kiss-rae-tiger from the zoo; He’s a dandy on the pinch, and he’s got a double cinch On the..gent that's going careless, •and lie’ll soon ciucli you; And lie’ll soon. —and he’ll soon — cinch you !’ ’ Tho roar of,the. song they all know came in reply, as Billy Goat waved liis arms about like the wild leader of a wild orchestra. Foyle watched them go, dancing, stumbling, calling back at him, as they moved toward the Prairie Home Hotel: “And he’ll.soon—and hem’ll soon — cinch you 1” His under tip came out, his eyes half-closed, as ho watched them. ,“I’.ve done my last cinch. I’ve, done my last cinch,” he said. Then, suddenly, the look :in his face ehinged, the eyes swam as they had done a minute before at the sight of jtlie girl in the room behind. ‘Whatever his trouble was, that -face: had b,soured it ill a flash, and the pools of feeling far down in the depths of a. lonely nature bad been stirred- Recognition, memory, tenderness, swlam in his face, making generous and kind the hard lines of the strong mouth. Iu an instant he had swung himself over the window-sill. The girl had drawn away now into a more shaded-corner of-the-room, and she regarded 'him with a mingled anxiety and civ y neo w Was the- afraid of tomc'.ihing? i)id sh 6 fear That —she icn env. not quite .what, but ■it had to do with- a long ago. : "It was time you-hit out, Nett,” she .said, 1 half sliyly. “Yom’rp more pri.ti.ent than you used to be —but you’re surer. My, that was a twist you gave him, Nett. Aren’t you glad to see me?” she added hastily, and with an effort to hid© her agitation.

He reached out and took her hand with a strange shyness, and a selfco:: iciousnese which was alien to hie iia.hire. The touch of her hand thrilled him. Their eyes met. She dropped hers. Then he gathered himself together. “Glad to see you? Of course,-of course, I’m glad. You stunned me, Jo. "Why, do you know where you are? You’re a thousand miles from home. What brings you here? It’s ten years—ten years since I f vw you, and you were only fifteen -—hut a fifteen that was as good as twenty.” lie scanned her face closely. I‘YVhat’s that scar on your forehead, jo? You hadn’t that —then.”

“f ran up agninst something,” tilio said evasively, her eyes glittering, ‘‘anil it left that' scar. Does it look so ha d

“No, you’d never notice'it, if you ! weren’t looking close as I am. You j sec, I knew your face so well ten years ago.” He shook his head with „a forced kind of smile. It became him, however, for lie smiled nirely; and the smile was like a lantern turned on jits face; .it gave light and warmth to its .quiet strength—or hardness. • You were always quizzing,” she Bird with an attempt at a laugh; ‘HI ways trying to .find out things. Th .t’s why you made them reckon with you out here. You could always sec behind things; always would have yo.tr own way; always were meant to bo a success.” f;ho was beginning to get control of herself again, was trying hard to keep things on the surface, for .site diid not know 1 —“You wero meant to succeed —you had to,” she added. [ “I’ve been a failure —a dead fail--1 ure,” ho answered slowly. “So they ; say. So they said —you heard them, Jo.” Ho jerked his head toward tho open window. “Oh, those drunken fools!” she said indignantly, and her face hardened. “How I liato drink! It spoils everything.”

They wore both thinking of tho same thing—of the Kamo man. . 110 repeated a question. “What brings you out hero, Jo?” ho asked gently. “Dorland,” slho answered, her f-co sotting into determination and anxiety. His face beoarno pinched. “Dorll” ho said lieaviily. ‘‘What for, Jo? What do you want with Dorl?” “Whon Cyntliy diod sho loft fivo hundred dollars a year to the baby, and ” 1 “Yes, yes, I know. Well, Jo?” “Well, it was all right for fivo years —Dorland paid it in, but for five years ho hasn’t paid anything. He’s taken it, stolen it from bis own child by his own honest wife. I’ve come to.got it —anyway, to stop him from doing it any more. His own child —at puts murder in my heart. Nett. .1 could kill him.” Ho nodded grimly. “That’s likely. And you’ve kept Dorl’s child with your money all these years?” “I’ve got four hundred dollars a year, Nett, you know; and I’vo been dressmaking—they say I’ve got tasto,” she added with a whimsical smile. Nett nodded his head. “Fivo years. That’s .twenty-five hundred dollars he’s stolen from his own child —it’s eight years old now, isn’t it?” “Bobby is eight' and a haif,” she. ■answered. “And his schooling, and his clothing, and everything; and you have to pay for it all?” “Oh, I don’t, .mind, Nett; it isn’t that. Hobby is Cynthy’s child; and I love liim —I love him; but I want: him to have liis rights. Dorl must give up bis bold on that money—or ” He nodded gravely. “Or you’ll set the law on him?” “It’s one thing or the other. Better to do it now When Bobby isyoung and can’t understand.” “Or re*iil tile newspapers,” he com-: mented thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’vo a hard heart,” : she continued, “but- I’d like to punish him-—if it wasn’t that lie’s your brother. Nett; and if it wasn’t for Bobby. Dorland was dreadfully cruel, even to Cynthy.” “How did you know he was up here?” lie asked. “From the lawyer that i>ays over the money. Dorland has bad it sent out. .here to Kowiatin this two yeiars. And he sent word to the lawyer a month ago that li e wanted it to get here as usual. The letter left the same day as I did, and it got here yesterday before me, I suppose. He’ll be after it—perhaps to-day. Ho wouldn’t lot it wait long, Dorl wouldn’t.” Foyle started. “To-day—fto-day There was a gleam in his eye, a setting of the lips, a lino sinking into the forehead between the ©yes. “I’vo been him all day, and I’ll watch till he comes. I’m going to spy some things to him that he won’t forget. I’m going to get. Bobby’s money, or have the law do it —'unless you think I’m a br.ute, Nett.” Sho looked at him wistfully. “That’s all right. Don’t worry about mo, Jo. He’s my brother, but I know him—l know him through and through. He’s don e everything that a man can do and not bo hanged. A thief, a drunkard, and a brute —laud .lie killed.a man out here —I know it,” he added hoarsely. “I found it out myself—myself. It was murder.” Suddenly, as he looked at her, >n idea seemed to flash into his mind. Ho came very near and looked at her olosely. Then he reached over and almost touched the scar on her forehead. “Did ho do that, Jo?” For an instant she was silent and locked down at the floor. Presently she raised her eyes, her face suffused. Once or twice she tried to speak, but, failed. At last she gained courage and said : “After Cynthy’s death I kept house for him a year, you know, taking care of little Bobby—l loved him so—he has Cynthy’s eyes. Ono day Dorland —Oh, Nett, of course I 'oughtn’t to have stayed there —I know it now; but, I was only sixteen, and what did I understand!- And my mother was dead. One dwy—oh, please, Nett, you can guess. He said something to me. I made him leave the house. Before I could make plans what to do, ho came back mad with drink. I went for Bobby, to .get out of the "house, but lie caught hold of me. I struck him in the face, and lie threw me against the . edge of the open door—it made the scar.” Foyle’s face was white. “Why did you never write and tell me that, j Jo? You know that I ” Ho stopped suddenly. “You had gone out of our lives down there. I didn’t know where you were for a long time; and then — then it was all right about Bobby and. me, except tint Bobby didn’t get the money that was- his. But mow ” Foyle’s, voice was hoarse and low. “Tie miado that, scar, and ho tried —taiul you only sixteen— Oh, any God!” Suddenly his face reddened, and lie choked with shame and anger. “And he’s my brother!” was all that he could say. “Do you see him up hero ever?” she asked pityingly. “I never saw him till a week ago.” A moment, thou he added, “The letter wasn’t to be sent here in his own name,.was it?” She nodded. “Yes, in his own name,. Dorland W. Foyle. Didn’t he go by - that name when you saw Quin?” There was an oppressive silence, in which sho saw that something moved him strangely, and then ho answered: “No, he was going by tlio name of Halbeck —Hiram Halbeck.” The girl gasped. Then the whole thing burst upon her. “Hiram Halbeck 1 Nett —Hiram Halbeck, the thief —I read it all in the papers the thief that you caught, and that got away. And you’ve left the police because of it, and oh Nehtl” Her eyes were full of tears, her face drawn and gray. He nodded. “I didn’t know who he was till I arrested him,” lio said. “Then, afterward, I thought of his ch-ikl, and let him get away—und for my-poor old mother's sake —she was fond of him in spite of all. She never knew how bad he was even as ■a boy. But I remember how lie used to steal th 0 brandy from her bedside, when she had the fever, and drink it. She never knew the worst of him. But I let him away in the night, Jo, and I resigned, and they thought that Halbeck had beaten me, had escaped. Of course, I couldn’t stay in the Force, having done that-. 1

couldn’t. But, by the heaven abovo us. if I had him lioro now, I’d do the thing—l’d do it —do it, so help mo Godl”

“Why should you ruin your life for him?’ sho said with an outburst of indignation. All that was in her liount wollod up in her eyes at tho thought of what Foylo was. “You must not do it. You shall not ilo it. He must pay . for his wickedness, not you. It would be a sin. You and what becomes of you mean so much.” Suddenly with a flash of purpose, sho added, “Ho will comp for that letter, Nett. He .would, run any kind of risk to get a dollar. He will come hero for that lettor —-peiv Imps to-day.” Ho shook his head moodily,, oppressed by the troublo that was on him. “He’s not likely to venture hero, after what's happened.” “You don’t know him as well as I do, Nett. Ho is so vain that he’d do it, just to show that ho could. He’d probably come in the evening. Does any one know him here? So many peoplo pass tlirough Kowatin every day. Has.any one seen him?” “Only Billy Goatry,” he answered, j working liis way to a solution of tlie dark problem. “Only Billy Goatry knows him. Tlie follow that led tho singing—that was . Goatry.” “There he is now,” ho added, ns Billy Goat passed the window. She came and laid a hand oil liis arm. “AVo’vo got to settle things with him,” she said. "If he comes Nett——-”

There was silence for a moment, then lie caught her hand in his and lielil it. “If lie comes, leave him to me, Jo. You will leave him to me?” die added anxiously. “Yes,” she said. “You’ll do what's light—by Bobby.” “And by Dorl, too,” he replied strangely. There were loud footsteps without.

“It’s Goatry,’ said Foy.le. “You stay here. I’ll tell him everything. He’s all right—-he's .a true friend.Ho’ll not interfere.” The handle of the door turned slowly. “Aou keep watch on the post office, Jo,” he added.

Goatry came round the opening door with a grin. “Hope I don’t intrude,” lie said, stealing a half-leering look at the

girl. As soon as he saw her face, •however, lie straightened himself up; h e took on different manners. Ho had not been so intoxicated as he had ■made out, and lie seemed only “melJlow” as he stood before them, with his corrugated face and queer, quaint look, the eye with the cast in it blinking: faster than the-other. “It’s all right, Goatry,” said Foyle. “This lady is one of- my family from the. East.” “Goin’ on by stage?” Goatry said vaguely, as they shook hands. She did not reply, for she Was looking down the street, and presently si'ao started as she gazed. She laid 1a hand suddenly on Foyle’s arm. “See —lie’s come,” she said in a •whisper, and as though not realising Goa try’s presence. “He’s come.” Goatry looked as well as Foyle. “Halbeck—(tile devil 1” he said.

Foyle turned to him. “Stand by, Go a try. I want you to keep a shut mouth. I’ve work to do.”

Goatry held out his hand. “I’m with you. If you get him this time clamp him, clamp him like a tooth in •a harrow.”

Halbeck had stopped his home at the post-office door. Ho dismounted, looked qucikly round, then drew the reins over the horse’s head, letting thorn trail, as is the custom of the AVesb.

A few swift words passed between Goatry and Foyle. “I’ll do this myself, Jo,” he whispered to the girl presently. “Go into .another room. I’ll bring him here.”

In another muuvte Goatry was leading the horse away from the post office, while Foylo stood waiting • quietly at the door. The departing footsteps of the horse brought Halbeck swiftly to the door, with a letter in his hand.

“Hi, there, you damned sucker!” lie called, and then saw Foyle waiting.

“AVliat the hell —” he said fiercely, his hand on something in his hip pocket. “Keep quiet, Dorl. I want to have a little talk with yon. Take your hand away from that gun—take it away,” he added with a meaning not to'be misunderstood. Halbeck knew that one shout would have the town oil him, and he

did not know what card Ins brother was going to play. He let liis arm drop to Ill's side. “What’s your game? What do you want?” lie asked surlily.

“Como over to tlie Happy Laud,” Foylo answered, and in tho light of what was in his mind liis words had a grim iropy.

.With a snarl lialbeck stepped out. Goatry, who had handed the horse over to tlit, liostler, watched them

coming. “Why did I liovor notice the likeness. before?” ho said. “But, gosh I what -a difference in the men. Foyle’s going to double cinch liim this time, I guess.” lie followed ,thorn insido tho hall of the Happy Land. When they .stepped into the sitting room, he stood at tlie door waiting. The hotel .was ,entirely empty, the roisterers at the Prairie Homo having drawn off tho idlers and spectators. Tlie barman wlis nodding behind tho bar; tho proprietor- was. moving about in the backyard inspecting a liorse. There was a cheerful warmth every••whero, the ail- was like ail elixir, the pungent smell of a pine-tree, and the door give a kind of medicament to the indrawn breath. And to Billy Goat, who sometimes sang in the -choir of a church not a hundred miles away —for people agreed to forget his occasional sprees-—there oame, !lie knew not why, the words of a hymn lie had sung only tlie preceding 'Sunday :

“As pants the hart for cooling stream's, When heated in the cli-ase ’

The words kept ringing in liis ears ■as lie listened to the conversation inside the room—the partition wins thin, the door thinner, and ho heard much. Foyle liad asked him not to intervene, but only to stand by and await the issue of this filial conference. He meant, however, to take a hand in, if lie thought it wus needed, and lie kept his ear glued to the door. If lie thought Foyle needed liim—liis fingers were oil tlie handle of the door.

“Now, hurry up! What do you want with me?” asked Halbeck of bis brother.

“Take your time,” said ox-Ss.-geant Foyle, as lie drew the blind

.tliree-quar.ters down, so that they .could not be seen fro-m tlie street.

“I’m in a hurry, I tell you. I’ve igoit my pin ns. I’m going south. I’ve only just time to catch the Canadian Pacific three days from now, jriding hard.” “You’re not going south, Dorl.” “AVbere am I going, then?” was (the- sneering reply. • “Not farther than the Happy (Land.” : “What tho devil’s all this? You don’t menu you’re trying to arrest me again—after letting me go?” “You don’t need to ask. You’re any prisoner. You’re my prisoner,” he said in a louder voice—“until you free yourself!”

“I’ll do that damn quick, then,” said the other, his hand flying to his hip.

“Sit down,” was the sharp rejoinder, and a pistol was in his fuce before lie could draw liis own weapon.

“Put your gun on the table,” Foyle said quietly. Halbeck dial so. There was no other way.

Foyle drew it over to himself. Liis brother made a motion to rise.

' “Sit still, Dorl!” came the warning voice.

White with rage, the freebooter Hit .still, his dissipated face and heavy angry lips looking like a debauched and villainous caricature of liis brother before him.

“Yes, I suppose you’d have potted me, Dor.,” said the ex-sergeant. “A'ou’d hive thought no more of doing that than you did of killing Dinley, the ranchman; than you did of frying to r.uiu Jo Byiulo-n, youi wife’s sister, when she was sixteen years old, when she was caring for your child—giving her life for the child you brought into the world.” “AVliat in the name of hell—it’s a lie!”

“Don’t bluster. I know tho ■truth. 7 '

“Who told you —Hie truth?” “She did—to-day —sm hour ago.” “She here—out here?” There was a new cowed note in the voice. “She is in* the next room.” “What -did she come here f or?” “To make you do right by your own child. I wonder what a jury of decent men would think of a man Who had robbed bis child for five years, and let that child lie fed -and clothed and cared for by the girl he

tried to destroy, -tho girl lie-'angh what sin there was in tho world.”

“Sho put you up to this —sho was always in love, with you, and you know it.”

Tliero ivtis- a dangerous ’ox in Foyle’u eyes,, andliis jaw- sot hard. “There mould, be no ,shame in a docent woman -aring for mo, ..ovo-i if it was true. I hnvoidt- put. myseif.outside the 1- ■ Jury as you have You’re my thor,,.but vou’ro the worst soo.ui. .' el in tho country —-tticworst uniiuug. Put on ho fable there tho letter in your pocke-. It hold® five lniiii'dred dollars belonging to your child. There’s twenty-live hundred dollars more to.be accounted for.”

The ollior hesitated, then with an oath throw tho letter on 'h=s table. “I’ll pay tho rest as soon as 1 can, if you’ll stop this .damned tomfoolery,” lio said sullenly, for ho saw tha t lie was in a hole.

“You’ll pay it, I suppose, out of whmt you stole from the C.P.R. contractor’s chest. No, I do Tt think that mill do.” “You mint me to go to prison, then?” “I think not. The truth would come out at the trial —the whole truth—-.the murder, and all. There’s your child Bobby. You’ve lone him wrong.enough already. Do you want him—hut it doesn't matter o’hotlier you do or not—do you want him to carry through life the fact that liis father was a jailbird and a murderer, just as Jo Byndon carries the sear you made when you threw her against the door?”

"What do you w-amt with me, then ?” Th o man sank slowly and heavily bti.ck into the chair. “There is a way —have you never thought of it? When you threatened others as you did me, and life seemed siu-.il. a little thing in others -can’t you think?”

'.Bewildered the man looked around helplessly. In the silence widen followed Foyle’s words his bra,m was struggling- to see a way out. Foyle’s further- words seemed to come from a great distance. "ft’s not too late to do the decent thing. You’ll never repent of ail you’ve done —-you’ll never do d.iffor-en-t —-you never wo-uld.”

Tho old reckless, irresponsible

spirit revived in the man; he Lad both* courage and bravado, he wss not-hopeless yet of finding an escaoe from the net. He would not beg, be would struggle.

‘•l’ve lived as I meant to, and I’m not g;»ng to snivel or repent • :*'v. It’s all a rotten business, anyliow/' bo rejoined. Wi,tb a sudden resolution, the onsergeant put his own pistol in li's pocket, then pushed Halbeck’s pistol over toward him on the table. Halbeek’s eyes lighted eagerly, grew red wVh excitement, then a change passed over them. They now settled on the pistol, and stayed. He heard Foyle’s voice. “It’s with you to do what you ought to do. Of course you can kill me. My ufetol’s in my pocket. But I dou t think you will. You’ve murdered one man. You won’t loud your soul up with another. Besides, if you kill me, you will never get away from Kowat/n alive. ißu-t it’s with yon I—take1 —take your choice. It’s me or you.” Halbeek’s lingers crept out and found the pistol. “Do your duty. Doit,” said Die exsergeant as lie turned his back on his brother. The door of the room opened, and Cioatry stepped inside soitly. He had woi'k to do, if need be, and bis lace showed it- Halbock did not see him. There was a demon in Halbeek’s eyes, as life brother stood,- bis back turned, taking bis chances. A lurge mirror bung on the wall opposite Halbeck. Goa try was watching Halbcck’s face in the glass, and saw the danger, lie measured his distance. All at- once Halbeck caught Goatry’s eyes in the mirror. The dark devilry faded out of his eyes. His lips moved in a whispered oath. Every way was .blocked. With a sudden resolution lie raised the-pistol to his head. It cracked, and lie fell heavily back in the chair. There was a red trickle at the temple. He bad chosen the best way out. “He bad the pluc'k,” said Goatrv, as Foyle swung round with a face of misery. He had corrected the “Error of the Day,” but it bad taken ten years off his life.

A moment afterwards came a rush of people. Goa try kept them back.

“Sergeant.Foyle arrested Halbeck, the robber, and Halbeek’s shot himself,” Goatry explained to them.

A white-face' girl with a scar on lior tomjilo inado her way into tho room. -»»

“Como away—como away, Jo,” said the voice of the man she loved ; and he did not let her see the lifeless figure in the chair.

Three days lator the plains swallowed them, us they made tlioir way with Billy Goatry to tho headquarters of the Riders of the PI ai n.s, where Sergeant Foylo was requested to reconsider h'is resignation. Which he did. And thenceforth he did not travel the trail of life alone.