Bruce hung up, slowly descended to his library, and flashed on the lights. For the first time he was revealed plainly. His was a familiar type; but at the same time the best type too. He had the face and the body of an athlete, a man who keeps himself fit; and there was nothing mawkish or effeminate about him. His dark hair was clipped close about his temples, and even two hours in bed had not disarranged its careful part. It is true that men did look twice at Bruce's eyes, set in a brown, clean-cut face, never knowing exactly why they did so. They had startling potentialities. They were quite clear now, wide-awake and cool, yet they had a strange depth of expression and shadow that might mean, somewhere beneath the bland and cool exterior, a capacity for great emotions and passions. He had only a few minutes to wait; then Barney Wegan tapped at his door. This man was bronzed by the sun, never more fit, never straighter and taller and more lithe. He had just come from the far places. The embarrassment that Bruce had detected in his voice was in his face and manner too. "You'll think I'm crazy, for routing you out at this time of night, Bruce," he began. "And I'm going to get this matter off my chest as soon as possible and let you go to bed. It's all batty, anyway. But I was cautioned by all the devils of the deep to see you--the moment I came here." "Cigarettes on the smoking-stand," Bruce said steadily. "And tell away." "But tell me something first. Was Duncan your real father? If he was, I'll know I'm up a wrong tree. I don't mean to be personal--" "He wasn't. I thought you knew it. My real father is something like you--something of a mystery." "I won't be a mystery long. He's not, eh--that's what the old hag said. Excuse me, old man, for saying 'hag.' But she was one, if there is any such. Lord knows who she is, or whether or not she's a relation of yours. But I'll begin at the beginning. You know I was way back on the Oregon frontier--back in the Cascades?" "I didn't know," Bruce replied. "I knew you were somewhere in the wilds. You always are. Go on." "I was back there fishing for steelhead in a river they call the Rogue. My boy, a steelhead is--but you don't want to hear that. You want to get the story. But a steelhead, you ought to know, is a trout--a fish--and the noblest fish that ever was! Oh, Heavens above! how they can strike! But while way up on the upper waters I heard of a place called Trail's End--a place where wise men do not go." "And of course you went." "Of course. The name sounds silly now, but it won't if you ever go there. There are only a few families, Bruce, miles and miles apart, in the whole region. And it's enormous--no one knows how big. Just ridge on ridge. And I went back to kill a bear." "But stop!" Bruce commanded. He lighted a cigarette. "I thought you were against killing bears--any except the big boys up North."