“Sure,” cried Kate, with a frank laugh. “You see, I have two of the worst scamps in the valley working for me, and they seem to think it more than necessary that they keep themselves posted as to—your movements.”
“I see.” Fyles’s lighter mood had entirely passed, and with its going Kate’s became more marked. “I s’pose they spy out everything for the benefit of their—chief.”
Kate clapped her hands.
“What reasoning. I s’pose they have a chief?” she added slyly.
A frown of irritation crossed the policeman’s brow.
“Must we open up that old sore, Miss Kate?” he, asked almost sharply. “They are known to be—when not occupied with the work of your farm—assisting Charlie Bryant in his whisky-running schemes. They are two of his lieutenants.”
“And so, because they are so known among the village people here, you are prosecuting this campaign against a man whom you hope to catch red-handed.”
“I have sufficient personal evidence to—prosecute my campaign,” said Fyles quickly. “As you said just now, we are not idle.”
“Yes, I know,” Kate sighed, and her gaze was turned upon the western reaches of the valley. “Your camp out there is full of activity. So is Winter’s Crossing. And the care with which you mask your coming and going is known to everybody. It is a case of the hunter being hunted. Yes, I say it without resentment, I am glad of these things, because I—must know.”
“If we are against each other—it is only natural you should wish to know.”