“I don’t know what to say to this, Steele,” he began, seating himself at his desk and motioning Philip to a chair.  “To be frank with you, this proposition of yours is entirely against my best judgment.”

“In other words, you haven’t sufficient confidence in me,” added Philip.

“No, I don’t mean that.  There isn’t a man on the force in whom I have greater confidence than you.  But, if I was to gamble, I’d wager ten to one that you’d lose out if I sent you up to take this man DeBar.”

“I’ll accept that wager—­only reverse the odds,” said Philip daringly.

The inspector twisted one of his long red mustaches and smiled a little grimly at the other.

“If I were to follow my own judgment I’d not send one man, but two,” he went on.  “I don’t mean to underestimate the value of my men when I say that our friend DeBar, who has evaded us for years, is equal to any two men I’ve got.  I wouldn’t care to go after him myself—­alone.  I’d want another hand with me, and a mighty good one—­a man who was cool, cautious, and who knew all of the ins and outs of the game as well as myself.  And here—­” He interrupted himself, and chuckled audibly, “here you are asking permission to go after him alone!  Why, man, it’s the very next thing to inviting yourself to commit suicide!  Now, if I were to send you, and along with you a good, level-headed man like Moody—­”

“I have had enough of double-harness work, unless I am commanded to go, Mr. MacGregor,” interrupted Philip.  “I realize that DeBar is a dangerous man, but I believe that I can bring him down.  Will you give me the opportunity?”

MacGregor laid his cigar on the edge of the desk and leaned across toward his companion, the long white fingers of his big hands clasped in front of him.  He always took this position, with a cigar smoldering beside him, when about to say those things which he wished to be indelibly impressed on the memory of his listener.

“Yes, I’m going to give you the opportunity,” he said slowly, “and I am also going to give you permission to change your mind after I have told you something about DeBar, whom we know as the Seventh Brother.  I repeat that, if you go alone, it’s just ten to one that you don’t get him.  Since ’99 four men have gone out after him, and none has come back.  There was Forbes, who went in that year; Bannock, who took up the trial in 1902; Fleisham in 1904, and Gresham in 1907.  Since the time of Gresham’s disappearance we have lost sight of DeBar, and only recently, as you know, have we got trace of him again.  He is somewhere up on the edge of the Barren Lands.  I have private information which leads me to believe that the factor at Fond du Lac can take you directly to him.”

MacGregor unclasped his hands to pick up a worn paper from a small pile on the desk.

“He is the last of seven brothers,” he added.  “His father was hanged.”

“A good beginning,” interjected Philip.