“Who told you I was here?” he demanded angrily.
“No one.”
There was a sting in the sharpness of Bill’s reply. The big blue eyes were growing hot again.
“Then how did you know where to find me?” Charlie’s deep voice was full of suppressed fury.
“I didn’t know just where to find you,” Bill protested, with rising heat. “The kid told me you’d gone up the valley, but didn’t say where. I set out blindly and stumbled on your horse’s tracks. I chanced those tracks, and they led me here. Will that satisfy you?”
Charlie’s eyes were still glittering.
“Not quite. I’ll ask you to get out of my ranch. And remember this, you’ve seen me at this shack, and you’ve seen that cupboard. If you’d been anybody but my brother I’d have shot you down in your tracks. Fyles—anybody. That cupboard is my secret, and if anyone learns of it through you—well, I’ll forget you’re my brother and treat you as though you were—Fyles.”
A sudden blaze of wrath flared up in the bigger man’s eyes. But, almost as it kindled, it died out and he laughed. However, when he spoke there was no mirth in his voice.
“My God, Charlie,” he cried, holding out his big hands, “I could almost take you in these two hands and—and wring your foolish, obstinate, wicked neck. You stand there talking blasted melodrama like a born actor on the one-night stands. Your fool talk don’t scare me a little. What in the name of all that’s sacred do you think I want to send you to the penitentiary for? Haven’t I come here to warn you? Man, the rye whisky’s turned you crazy. I’m here to help, help, do you understand? Just four letters, ‘help,’ a verb which means ‘support,’ not ‘destroy.’”
Charlie’s cold regard never wavered.