"Then you'll have to change a lot," Angus informed him. "When you behave like one you'll be treated like one, here or anywhere else. Till you do that, you won't. And here it is cold for you, Turkey, with no tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs: You may go to the devil if you like; but you can't stay on this ranch and do it, because I won't stand for it."

And so, at last, the issue between the brothers, so long pending, lay clear and sharply defined. There was no middle course. For a long minute they looked each other in the face. Then said Turkey:

"You and the ranch can go to h.e.l.l!"

He turned on his heel and went to the house whence, a few minutes later, he emerged wearing wool chaps and a heavy mackinaw. In one hand he carried his pet rifle; in the other a canvas warbag. He went into the stable and presently led out his mare, saddled. Then he jogged away without a glance in Angus' direction.

CHAPTER XVIII

CHRISTMAS AT THE FRENCHES

On Christmas Day, Angus and Rennie found themselves alone on the ranch.

Gus had gone to town, which meant that he would be drunk for some days.

Turkey had not returned since he rode away, nor had Angus seen him, though he had learned that he was helping Garland to round up a drive or two of cattle and would probably feed a bunch through the winter for a grubstake.

The weather had turned mild. The day was warm as October, and the frost was coming out of the ground, for still there was no snow. Rennie was busy with preparations for an elaborate night dinner, but Angus was restless.

"I think I'll go out and look for that old buckskin cayuse," he said.

"He ain't worth lookin' for," Rennie returned; "but if you go, you better pack that old buffler coat."

But Angus did not take the old buffalo riding coat which had been his father's. He got into a pair of leather chaps and tied a mackinaw on the saddle.

The big horse wanted to go, and Angus let him. When he left the road it was to follow cattle trails, on which Chief sailed smoothly. Now and then he pulled up to listen for bells, but the buckskin was merely an excuse. He was an old sinner, with a habit of staying out as long as he could rustle feed. When Angus ran across him at last, late in the afternoon, he was with a band of half-wild, disreputable friends, from whom he had no intention of being separated. They knew every foot of every trail in a badly broken country, and Chief, though sure-footed, was not a stock horse. The continued twists and turns and brush worried him. He could not use his speed, and not knowing exactly what was expected of him, began to fret. After an hour of fruitless chase Angus gave it up and looked around to get his bearings.

He found himself up under a mountain in a rough country some fifteen miles from home. The sun was gone; and all over the north and west and overhead the sky was blue-black, trimmed with dirty gray. As he sat breathing Chief he could hear a far-off straining and sighing. A gust of cold wind drove past, and borne with it were white flakes.

Angus needed n.o.body to interpret these signs, and he cursed the buckskin and his own carelessness in neglecting to watch sun and sky. Real winter was opening with a blizzard, and from all indications it was going to be the real thing.

In five minutes the snowflakes had become a white blur. He could not see fifty yards ahead. Trails vanished. Landmarks were invisible. The air was full of drifting white. It was as if one had suddenly gone nearly blind, unable to see beyond a short radius. No man could hold a course with certainty. Constantly it grew colder, and the light began to fail.

Riding fast in the growing darkness was impossible. The cold began to nip his fingers through his light buckskin gloves, and his toes, for he was wearing leather boots and but a single pair of socks. He steered a general downhill course which he knew in time must intersect a wagon trail which led past the French ranch and thence home. The trouble was that in the darkness he might cross it. In that event it would be a case of spending the night out.

It grew utterly dark, save for a certain dim light which the snow seemed to hold. Warned by a growing numbness in his feet Angus dismounted and stamped the blood back into them. He decided that it must be below zero.

On the brows of the benches the wind was bitter.

Just as he decided that he must have pa.s.sed it, he came on the wagon trail. He mounted and gave Chief his head. But once more his feet began to numb. Again he got down and stamped the circulation going, but as soon as he began to ride again they numbed. To take off boots and rub was out of the question, so he sent Chief sailing into the blinding storm, trusting to luck to keep on the road.

After several miles of blind riding he saw the far flicker of a light which he knew must come from the French ranch. He had no wish to intrude on Christmas night, but he knew that unless he was to have badly frozen feet he must get to shelter at once. He struck the fence, followed it to the gate, and turned in.

The house, when he got close enough to see through the driving snow, was brightly lighted behind drawn blinds. The chords of a piano came to him, accompanying a strong, ringing baritone, and as he pa.s.sed beneath the window the old, rousing, hunting chorus of "John Peel" crashed out.

A devil of a time to b.u.t.t in, Angus reflected grimly, as he led Chief under the partial shelter of the house. No doubt there was a Christmas party on. However, it was no night to indulge in pride or shyness.

He could not leave Chief out in the storm, and an attempt to stable him himself would probably mean a battle with the dogs which slept in the stables. He banged on the door, and as no one answered stepped into the hall. After the temperature outside it seemed tropical, friendly with the smell of warmth and good tobacco. Being in a hurry, he did not stand on ceremony, but opened the door to his left just as the last notes of "John Peel" died. For a moment he blinked in the light like a storm-driven night bird.

There were nearly a dozen men besides the Frenches, and among them he recognized Chetwood. Kathleen was swinging around from the piano, laughing up at the singers. Tobacco smoke eddied blue around the hanging lamps. A couple of card tables were going. After the hours of cold and darkness and the sting of the wind-driven snow, it seemed to Angus extraordinarily warm and cosy and comforting.

Kathleen was the first to catch sight of the snow-plastered apparition in the doorway.

"Why, Angus!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Angus said, "but I got caught back on the range, and my feet are touched a little. If I can put up my horse--"

But Gavin French rose from his card game.

"Larry will look after your horse. You come along with me out of this heat."

Angus stumped after the blond giant down the hall and into a back kitchen, where he unlaced his boots while Gavin brought in a dishpan of snow.

"Toes and heels," the big man observed as he rubbed briskly. "It's no night for leather boots. It's close to fifteen below now, and a wind with it. Feel the blood starting yet?"

Angus felt the welcome tingle of returning circulation and continued the rubbing himself, while Gavin brought him his own moccasins and a pair of heavy woolen socks. As he was putting them on Kathleen entered.

"If you were caught on the range you haven't had anything to eat. I've got something ready in the dining room. You can go back to your game, Gan. I'll look after him."

"Don't bother about me," Angus said.

"I'm not. Come along and eat."

He followed her into the dining room where the table was spread with a substantial cold meal. She sat down with him.

"Now, see here," he said, "this is not right. I'm taking you away from your guests--"

"You're one of them," she laughed.

"An unbidden one."

"But a very welcome one. Don't be silly."

Angus ate and drank, and the food and hot coffee warmed him through.

"And now," said Kathleen, "we'll join the festive throng."

But Angus balked. He was not dressed for such things. He preferred to stay out in the kitchen.

"Angus Mackay, you make me tired!" Kathleen told him. "What do I care about your clothes? You're still thinking of yourself as an unbidden guest, after I've told you you're more than welcome. I'm not going to let you sit out in the kitchen like an Indian. Come along, now, like a good boy."

As there was no way out of it, Angus followed her, feeling very conscious of his worn riding-clothes. But as everybody was playing cards n.o.body cast more than a casual glance in his direction, save Faith Winton, who rose and came toward them.

"Kathleen, I've driven my unfortunate partner nearly crazy. He's too polite to tell me what he thinks of my play, but see how wistfully he's looking at you."

Kathleen laughed.

"Well, take care of Angus, then. And keep his mind off his clothes. He's worrying because he isn't dressed like a head waiter." With a nod she left them and seated herself at the vacant table.