Swiftly Moya came to earth from her emotions. In another moment she was standing beside the fugitive, her gaze on the advancing group. Captain Kilmeny was in the lead and was the first to recognize her companion. If he was surprised, his voice failed to show it. "No, no, Verinder. I had him hooked all right," he was saying. "Dashed poor generalship lost him. He went into the rushes like a shot. I persuaded him out--had him in the open water. Looked to me like a two to one shot, hang it. Mr. Trout develops a bad break to the off and heads under a big log. Instead of moving down the bank I'm ass enough to reel from where I hooked him. Leader snaps, and Mr. Trout has the laugh on me." To the sound of that high cheerful voice Moya roused at once. The rapt expression died from her face. "How many?" called India, holding up her string. "I haven't been fishing," Moya answered; then gave herself away. "It surely isn't time for luncheon already." She took a step toward her friends, so that for the first time Jack Kilmeny stood plainly revealed. India's pretty piquant face set to a red-lipped soundless whistle. Joyce stared in frank amusement. Verinder, rutted in caste and respectability as only a social climber dubious of his position can be, ejaculated a "God bless my soul!" and collapsed beyond further articulation. Captain Kilmeny nodded to the Westerner without embarrassment. "Mornin', Mr. Crumbs." "Good-morning. But you have the name wrong, sir." "Beg pardon." The captain's eyebrows lifted in inquiry. "Kilmeny," the American corrected. Nonchalantly the captain came to time. "Same name as ours. Wonder if by any chance we're of the same family. Happen to be any relation of Archibald Kilmeny, who died in Colorado fifteen years ago?" Jack looked at him quietly. "A son." "Makes us cousins. He was my father's brother." The Westerner nodded coolly, not in the least impressed. "Yes." It would have been easy to read hostility in his bearing, but India sailed past her brother with hand extended. "Glad to meet you, Cousin Jack. 'Member me? Last time you saw me I was a squalling five-year-old." The American warmed a trifle. "I remember you, all right. Never saw a kid before so fond of currant jam." "Still am. You've improved in your personal appearance. Last time I saw your eye it had been beautifully blacked, kindness of Ned." "Fortune of war. My lip was swollen for a week," her brother laughed as he extended his hand. "Ned got caned for fighting with a guest. Served him jolly well right," Miss Kilmeny said. Joyce sailed forward into the picture gracefully. Her radiant beauty took the Westerner's breath. "You'll stay with us for luncheon," she said with soft animation. "For, of course, this is an occasion. Long-lost cousins do not meet every day." Verinder, making speechless sounds of protest at this indiscretion, grew very red in the face. Would he have to sit down to eat with a criminal at large?