There was a crackling in the snow-laden bushes upon the hill: he looked back, and saw his brother coming from the other side, his game-bag over his shoulder, stooping to avoid notice, his eyes fixed intently on some object on the road beyond. It was an old man on horseback, jogging slowly up the path, whistling as he came. Yarrow shuddered with a sudden horror. "He means murder! That is Frazier. You could not do it to-day, John! To-day!" as if Soule could hear him. He was between his brother and his victim. The old man came slower, the hill being steep, looking at the frosted trees, and seeing neither Yarrow nor the burly figure crouching, tiger-like, among the bushes. One moment, and he would have passed the bend of the hill,--Soule could reach him. "God help me!" whispered Yarrow, and threw himself forward, pushing the horse back on his haunches. "Go back! Ten steps farther, and it's too late! Back, I say!" The old man gasped. "Why! what! a slip? an' water-gully?" "No matter," leading the horse, trembling from head to foot. Up on the hill there was a sharp break, a heavy footstep on a dead root. Would John go back or come on? he was strong enough to master both. Yarrow's throat choked, but he led the horse steadily down the path, deaf to Frazier's questions. "Do not draw rein until you reach the station," giving him the bridle at last. The old man looked back: he had seen the figure dimly. "If there's danger, I'll not leave you to meet it alone, my friend," fumbling in his breast for a weapon. Yarrow stamped impatiently. "Put spurs to your horse!"--wiping his mouth; "it will be yet too late!" Frazier gave a glance at his face, and obeyed him. A moment more, and he was out of sight. Yarrow watched him, and then slowly turned, and raised his head. Soule had come down, and was standing close beside him, leaning on his gun. It was the last time the brothers ever faced each other, and their natures, as God made them, came out bare in that look: Yarrow's, under all, was the tougher-fibred of the two. John's eyes fell. "Stephen, this will hurt me. I"-- "I thought it was well done,"--his hand going uncertainly to his mouth. "Well, well! you have chosen,"--after a pause. "Good bye." "Good bye, boy." They held each other's hands for a minute; then Soule turned off, and strode down the hill. He loosened his cravat as he went, and took a long breath of relief. "It was a vile job! But"--his face much troubled. But his wife heard the story without a word, nor ever alluded to it afterwards. She was human, like the rest of us.