"Very jolly thing, work," Chetwood observed gravely.

"Bosh!" Miss Jean returned. She eyed her guest with pardonable irritation. "What do you know about work?" she demanded.

"Why--er--not a great deal, I'm afraid," he admitted.

"Then don't talk nonsense."

"But it isn't nonsense. I mean to say work keeps one occupied, you know."

"I notice it keeps me occupied," Miss Jean retorted, still more irritated by this profound observation.

"I mean one gets tired of doing nothing."

"Then why doesn't one do something?" she snapped.

Chetwood regarded her whimsically. "I'm afraid you mean me."

"Well," said Miss Jean, "I would like to see you busy at something, instead of looking so blessed cool and--and lazy."

"Oh, I say!"

"A man who doesn't work in this country," Jean stated severely, "is out of place."

"But a man who is out of a place doesn't work, does he?"

"I'm not joking," Miss Jean said with dignity. "I believe in work for everybody."

"So do I. Admire it immensely, I a.s.sure you."

"Bah!" Miss Jean e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "I don't believe you could do a day's work on a bet. You're like all the rest of--of----"

"Go on," Chetwood encouraged as she came to a stop in some confusion.

"Well, I will," said Miss Jean with sudden determination. "You're like all the rest of the remittance men. That's what I was going to say."

"One would gather that your opinion of what you call 'remittance men,'

is not high."

"High!" Miss Jean's tone expressed much.

"H'm! Wasters, rotters, what?"

"And then some."

"And I'm like them, you think?"

"Oh, well, I didn't mean just that," Miss Jean admitted under cross-examination. "But you _don't_ work, you know."

"Would you like me to work?"

"Why should I care whether you work or not?"

"It _is_ strange," Chetwood murmured.

"I _don't_!" snapped Miss Jean. "I don't care a--a darn! But I'll bet when I come back in the spring, if you're here you'll be doing just what you're doing now."

"I'm sorry you're going away. I thought if we were better acquainted we should be rather pals."

"We might be," Miss Jean admitted, "but we have our work to do--at least I have."

"I see plainly," said Chetwood, "that this demon of work will get me yet."

"Well, it won't hurt you a little bit," Miss Jean told him, and thereafter gave her exclusive attention to her preserving.

With the going of Jean, Angus buckled down in earnest. The next year must make up for his loss, and with this in view he began to clear more land. He threw himself into the labor, matching his strength and endurance against the tasks and the time. He worked his teams as mercilessly as he worked himself, and for the first time he began to drive others.

But to this speeding-up Turkey did not take kindly. By nature he was impatient of steady work, of control, of all discipline. He craved motion, excitement. He would ride from daylight to dark in any sort of weather rounding up stock, and enjoy himself thoroughly, but half a day behind a plow would send him into the sulks. He had broken a fine, young blue mare for his own use, and he took to being out at night, coming in late. He never told Angus where he went, but though the latter asked no questions the youngster could feel his disapproval. But as he possessed a vein of obstinacy and contrariness, this merely confirmed him in his course.

Angus maintained grim silence, repressing a strong desire to speak his mind. He recognized that the boy was becoming increasingly impatient of his authority, and desired to avoid a clash. As he let things go, Turkey took more and more rope. Angus learned accidentally that he consorted with a number of men older than himself, of whom Garland and Blake French were leading spirits. He knew that this was no company for the boy, but as reference to it would inevitably lead to unpleasantness, he put it off. But Turkey's deliberate slacking of work, just when it was most necessary, got on his nerves to an extent greater than he knew.

It was necessary to explain to Mr. Braden that he was unable to meet the mortgage payments. To his relief, the mortgagee made no difficulty about it. Indeed he was most genial.

"I heard you had been hit by the hail," he said. "Well, well, these things will happen, and I am not a harsh creditor. I will carry you along."

"That's very good of you," Angus acknowledged. "I am doing considerable breaking, and next year, if I don't b.u.mp into more hard luck, I'll be able to make a good payment."

Mr. Braden nodded. "Meanwhile there is something you can do for me. I am selling a piece of land to young Chetwood--about five hundred acres--but before closing the deal he wants your opinion of it."

Angus had not seen Chetwood for nearly a fortnight. He had not introduced him to Mr. Braden, but it appeared that they had become acquainted otherwise.

"Do I know the land?" he asked.

"I think so. It's about five miles from your ranch, on Canon Creek.

There is a little cleared, and an old shack, but otherwise it is mostly unimproved. A splendid opportunity for an energetic young man to build up an excellent ranch."

"Do you mean the old Tetreau place?" This was a piece of land long since abandoned by a man of that name.

"Why--er--yes, I believe that is what it is called," Mr. Braden replied.

"It's good, level land--most of it. I am offering it at a very low figure--all things considered--twenty dollars."

"And I particularly want this deal to go through," he concluded. "I should not mind paying you a little commission, my boy--say five per cent.

"I couldn't take a commission from you for valuing land for a buyer."

"Nonsense! Done every day. I might--er--stretch it a little. You are not to worry about that note of yours and the mortgage money, my boy. One good turn deserves another, hey?"

"I know the place," Angus said, "but I never thought of putting a value on it. How about water?"