He groped for something to say, for something that might show Charlie that his affection remained utterly unaltered, but he had no great cleverness, and the right thing refused to come to his aid. As the silence lengthened between them his groping thoughts took their own course, which led him to the name, "Kate," which the other had used. He remembered he had heard it that day once before.
In an instant Bill's whole attitude underwent a change. He sat up, and, removing his pipe, dashed the charred ashes from its bowl.
"Why, that's the sister of--Helen Seton."
Charlie nodded, his eyes lighting with a sharp question.
"Met her on the trail," he cried triumphantly. "No end of a pretty girl. Gray eyes and fair hair. Might have been walking on Broadway, New York--from her style. Fyles told me about her."
Charlie's eyes suddenly darkened with resentment. He rose abruptly from his chair, and began to pace the veranda. Then he halted, and looked coldly down into his brother's eyes.
Bill's eyes answered him with question for question.
"Just told me who Helen was. Said she had a sister--Kate. Said they were farmers--of a sort. Said they'd been here five years. Why?"
Then the hardness died out of Charlie's eyes to be replaced once more by his usual gentle smile.
"I'm glad. You see, I don't want him--around Kate. Say----" he hesitated. Then he moved toward the door of the house. "Guess I'll get supper. I forgot, you must be starving."
Kate Seton had spent the whole morning at home. The work of her little farm had claimed her. She had been out with her two disreputable boys around the grain, now rapidly turning from its fresh green to that delicate tint of yellow so welcome to the farmer. It was a comparatively anxious time, for the cattle grazing at large upon the prairie loved the sweet flavor of the growing grain, and had no scruples at breaking their way through the carelessly constructed barbed wire fencing, and wrecking all that came within their reach. The fences needed "top railing," and Kate could not trust the work to her two men without supervision. So she spent the morning in their company.
After the mid-day meal, as soon as Helen had left the house on a journey to Billy Unguin's drapery store, she sat herself down at a small bureau in their kitchen-parlor and drew a couple of books, suspiciously like account books, from one of its locked drawers, and settled herself for an hour's work upon them.