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 ortwo of cattle and would probably feed a bunch through the winter for agrubstake.
The weather had turned mild. The day was warm as October, and the frostwas coming out of the ground, for still there was no snow. Rennie wasbusy with preparations for an elaborate night dinner, but Angus wasrestless.
"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, youbetter pack that old buffler coat."
But Angus did not take the old buffalo riding coat which had been hisfather's. He got into a pair of leather chaps and tied a mackinaw on thesaddle.
The big horse wanted to go, and Angus let him. When he left the road itwas to follow cattle trails, on which Chief sailed smoothly. Now andthen he pulled up to listen for bells, but the buckskin was merely anexcuse. He was an old sinner, with a habit of staying out as long as hecould rustle feed. When Angus ran across him at last, late in theafternoon, he was with a band of half-wild, disreputable friends, fromwhom he had no intention of being separated. They knew every foot ofevery trail in a badly broken country, and Chief, though sure-footed,was not a stock horse. The continued twists and turns and brush worriedhim. He could not use his speed, and not knowing exactly what wasexpected of him, began to fret. After an hour of fruitless chase Angusgave it up and looked around to get his bearings.
He found himself up under a mountain in a rough country some fifteenmiles from home. The sun was gone; and all over the north and west andoverhead the sky was blue-black, trimmed with dirty gray. As he satbreathing Chief he could hear a far-off straining and sighing. A gust ofcold wind drove past, and borne with it were white flakes.
Angus needed nobody to interpret these signs, and he cursed the buckskinand his own carelessness in neglecting to watch sun and sky. Real winterwas opening with a blizzard, and from all indications it was going to bethe real thing.
In five minutes the snowflakes had become a white blur. He could not seefifty yards ahead. Trails vanished. Landmarks were invisible. The airwas full of drifting white. It was as if one had suddenly gone nearlyblind, unable to see beyond a short radius. No man could hold a coursewith certainty. Constantly it grew colder, and the light began to fail.
Riding fast in the growing darkness was impossible. The cold began tonip his fingers through his light buckskin gloves, and his toes, for hewas wearing leather boots and but a single pair of socks. He steered ageneral downhill course which he knew in time must intersect a wagontrail which led past the French ranch and thence home. The trouble wasthat in the darkness he might cross it. In that event it would be a caseof spending the night out.
It grew utterly dark, save for a certain dim light which the snow seemedto hold. Warned by a growing numbness in his feet Angus dismounted andstamped 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 passed it, he came on the wagontrail. He mounted and gave Chief his head. But once more his feet beganto numb. Again he got down and stamped the circulation going, but assoon as he began to ride again they numbed. To take off boots and rubwas out of the question, so he sent Chief sailing into the blindingstorm, trusting to luck to keep on the road.
After several miles of blind riding he saw the far flicker of a lightwhich he knew must come from the French ranch. He had no wish to intrudeon Christmas night, but he knew that unless he was to have badly frozenfeet he must get to shelter at once. He struck the fence, followed it tothe gate, and turned in.
The house, when he got close enough to see through the driving snow, wasbrightly lighted behind drawn blinds. The chords of a piano came to him,accompanying a strong, ringing baritone, and as he passed beneath thewindow the old, rousing, hunting chorus of "John Peel" crashed out.
A devil of a time to butt in, Angus reflected grimly, as he led Chiefunder the partial shelter of the house. No doubt there was a Christmasparty 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 himhimself would probably mean a battle with the dogs which slept in thestables. He banged on the door, and as no one answered stepped into thehall. After the temperature outside it seemed tropical, friendly withthe smell of warmth and good tobacco. Being in a hurry, he did not standon 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 astorm-driven night bird.
There were nearly a dozen men besides the Frenches, and among them herecognized Chetwood. Kathleen was swinging around from the piano,laughing up at the singers. Tobacco smoke eddied blue around the hanginglamps. A couple of card tables were going. After the hours of cold anddarkness and the sting of the wind-driven snow, it seemed to Angusextraordinarily warm and cosy and comforting.
Kathleen was the first to catch sight of the snow-plastered apparitionin the doorway.
"Why, Angus!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet.
"I'm sorry to bother you," Angus said, "but I got caught back on therange, 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 thisheat."
Angus stumped after the blond giant down the hall and into a backkitchen, where he unlaced his boots while Gavin brought in a dishpan ofsnow.
"Toes and heels," the big man observed as he rubbed briskly. "It's nonight for leather boots. It's close to fifteen below now, and a windwith it. Feel the blood starting yet?"
Angus felt the welcome tingle of returning circulation and continued therubbing himself, while Gavin brought him his own moccasins and a pairof 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'vegot 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 asubstantial cold meal. She sat down with him.
"Now, see here," he said, "this is not right. I'm taking you away fromyour 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 tostay out in the kitchen.
"Angus Mackay, you make me tired!" Kathleen told him. "What do I careabout your clothes? You're still thinking of yourself as an unbiddenguest, after I've told you you're more than welcome. I'm not going tolet you sit out in the kitchen like an Indian. Come along, now, like agood boy."
As there was no way out of it, Angus followed her, feeling veryconscious of his worn riding-clothes. But as everybody was playing cardsnobody cast more than a casual glance in his direction, save FaithWinton, who rose and came toward them.
"Kathleen, I've driven my unfortunate partner nearly crazy. He's toopolite to tell me what he thinks of my play, but see how wistfully he'slooking at you."
Kathleen laughed.
"Well, take care of Angus, then. And keep his mind off his clothes. He'sworrying because he isn't dressed like a head waiter." With a nod sheleft them and seated herself at the vacant table.
"They were relieved to get rid of me," Faith Winton laughed. "Shall wesit down and talk? I haven't seen you for weeks. Why didn't you come tos
ee me once in awhile?"
"I wanted to, but somehow--"
"Never mind excuses. When I get a place of my own perhaps you will bemore neighborly. I've made up my mind to build a house on my ranch inthe spring."
She told him her plans. She would have a cottage built, buy a few headof stock and some chickens, break a few acres as a start and set outfruit trees. Between the rows she would grow small fruits, feed,vegetables. When the trees came into bearing she would have an assured,definite income.
Angus listened in grim silence. He had heard it all before from thehopeful lips of new settlers. Theoretically, so many bushels may begrown to the acre, a tree so many years old will bear so many boxes offruit. This is quite unassailable, proven by actual experience, byincontestable data, set out in reports which are the gospel of the newand especially the inexperienced settler. He seizes these facts avidly,but overlooks or refuses to consider a number of other things, such asdrought, hail, frosts early or late, winter-killed trees, pests, pooryears, low prices, and a hundred other factors which taken together makethose actually used entirely misleading. But the one big factor whichthe inexperienced invariably refuse to consider at all, is thatinexperience itself.
"I don't want to discourage you," he said, "but you know, don't you,that you can't do this work yourself. Hiring will eat up your profit."
"But there must be a margin. You hire men yourself."
"I hire two men to about three hundred acres. You are thinking of hiringabout one man for ten. At that rate I should have thirty men, and theland wouldn't pay for them."
"But I could hire a man as I needed him, and what improvements I makewill increase the value of the place. And when I get more cleared--"
Metaphorically, Angus threw up his hands. It was no use. Also it wasimpossible to tell her the truth about the property under thecircumstances. With actual experience she might give up the idea. All hecould do was to make the experiment as cheap as possible for her.
"Well," he said, "when the winter breaks up, if you're of the same mind,I'll do your breaking and disking for you, if you like, and seed it downto something. I can clean out the spring and run a ditch and fix it forirrigating. You needn't bother with water from the creek for a fewacres. While I'm about it I might as well do the fencing and fork outthe sods for a garden patch. When the sleighing is good I'll haul over afew loads of well-rotted manure."
"Thank you," she said, "but--"
"Oh, that's all right," Angus continued. "I guess you don't know muchabout planting trees and garden truck. I'll attend to that. I may aswell order your seeds while I'm getting my own. I can run a cultivatorthrough the garden now and then in the evenings. I can fix you up withall the tools you'll need. Then I can give you a milk cow, a nicequiet--"
"Wait, wait!" she interrupted as Angus began to think of other items."What are all these things and all this work going to cost?"
"Cost?" Angus echoed blankly. "Why, nothing, of course. They don'tamount to anything."
"Don't they? It seems to me you're calmly arranging to do all my workyourself--the work you said I'd have to hire done."
"These are just a few little chores for a neighbor. Nobody would thinkof charging for them. We sort of swap work about here."
"But what work could I do for you?"
"Huh!" Angus hesitated, at a loss for an answer. "Oh, lots of things.You could--er--um--yes, of course you could."
"You can't think of one single thing I could do!"
"You could pick berries," said Angus struck by a brilliant thought."Yes, you could do that better than any man. I always have a lot morethan I can use, and you could put up all you needed for the winter."
"And you think giving me fruit would pay for--p-pay for--"
She broke off, and Angus saw to his utter amazement that her eyes werefull of tears, as she bent her head.
"Whatever is the matter?" he whispered. "Is it anything I've said?"
"It's--it's everything you've said," she murmured. "Don't say anythingfor a minute, please."
So Angus kept silence, sorely puzzled, and in a few moments she lookedhim in the face with eyes still misty and a little, tremulous smile.
"Yes, it's everything. I couldn't stand it. Nobody else has reallyoffered to help me. The boys think it's a joke, and Kathleen thinks I'mmildly crazy. And then you, a stranger--"
"I'm not. And I might as well put in my spare time helping you."
"You have no spare time, and I know it. I must pay for what you do."
"All right. I'll send you a bill."
"For a fraction of what the work is worth!" she scoffed. "Not that way,Angus Mackay!"
"Any way you like," Angus said, knowing that he could make it up to her.
"Very well--and thank you. I'll be an independent ranch lady--unless Isell the place."
"Has any one made you an offer?"
"No. I would rather not sell, anyway."
"You have your title deeds all in order, in case you should want tosell?"
"I suppose so. Uncle Godfrey would attend to that."
"He has the title papers?"
"Yes. I never saw them. I don't know much about such things. Father toldme Uncle Godfrey had them all."
Angus dropped the subject. He could not very well suggest that she takea look at these papers. Faith Winton on her part appeared satisfied.Presently she suggested music and went to the piano. Lying back in achair Angus watched the soft curve of her cheek, her clean-cut profile,the certain touch of her fingers on the keys. Absently his gaze wanderedto the card players. He had no idea of the stakes, but the players weretense, absorbed. Faith Winton, glancing at him, marked his expression.
"What are you thinking of?" she asked without interrupting the play ofher fingers.
"I was wondering how on earth these people can sit playing cards allnight."
"I hate this," she said. He looked at her in surprise. "All of it. It'snot like Christmas night. It's not even sociability. It's gambling, pureand simple. Uncle Godfrey and Kathleen will stop presently, but the boyswill play till morning."
Shortly, the first half of her prediction was verified. The games brokeup. Godfrey French apologized perfunctorily. Time was when he would havespent the night in such good company, but now he was no longer young.With him went Faith and Kathleen.
With their going the business of the evening began in earnest. A quartetstuck to bridge, but the rest embarked on a poker game. Scotchcirculated briskly.
Angus, very much out of it, sat and smoked, regarding the players idly.He noted that the French boys--Blake was absent--drank very little. Onthe other hand, some of the players drank a good deal. But finally helost interest. He became sleepy and dozed in his chair.
He was awakened by loud voices. The poker game had broken up; theplayers were on their feet.
"I tell you, Willoughby," Gerald French was saying, "you are quitemistaken. Nothing of the sort happened.
"I saw it," Willoughby maintained doggedly.
"You are a guest," said Gerald, "but don't abuse your privileges."
"I am aware of my obligations as a guest," Willoughby retorted, "butthey do not include allowing myself to be rooked at cards."
Instantly Gerald struck him hard across the mouth and Willoughby lashedback. Another guest sought to interfere. Young Larry pushed him back.
"Keep out!" he said. "Mind your own business."
"Keep your hands off me!" the other returned, and caught at his arm.
Larry pinned him, and somebody else tried to pull him loose. Larry cameloose with remarkable alacrity, and did so hitting with both hands.Gavin, pushing forward, was caught by two men. Instantly a rough-housestarted.
Angus sat where he was, taking no part. He saw Chetwood plunge into thefray and go back from a straight punch. Gavin shook off three men as abear shakes clear of a worrying pack, and as he did so another man whohad caught up a chair, swung it at his head. The big man partiallydodged the blow, wrenched the chair away and brandished it high. As hedid so
he emitted a short, deep roar of anger.
Fearing that somebody might be seriously hurt, Angus decided tointerfere. He leaped forward and caught the chair as it poised for amoment aloft.
"Don't do that," he said. Gavin's ordinarily cold eyes were blazing.
"Keep out of this," he said. "It's nothing to you." As he spoke he triedto wrench the chair free; but Angus' grip held. Letting go himself, thebig man clinched him.
Angus felt himself caught in a tremendous grip; but the wrench and heavethat followed did not pluck him from his footing. He locked his longarms around Gavin, and the arch of his back and the sinews of his bracedlegs held against him.
Suddenly Gavin gave ground, swung and tripped with the heel. Angus felthimself going, but he took his man with him. They rolled over and over.By this time Angus had lost all his indifference. For the first timesince his full strength came upon him, he was putting it all forthagainst a man as strong or stronger than himself. And then he becameaware that nobody else was fighting. Gavin's grip loosened.
"Let go, Mackay," he said. "Cut it out now."
Then Angus saw Kathleen. She had slipped on some clinging thing of blueand lace, and her hair in its night braids hung to her waist. Her facewas pale and her eyes stormy with anger.
"Well," she said, "_gentlemen_!"
She accented the word with bitter irony. Her eyes swept over themdisdainfully, resting for a moment on Angus.
"All right, Kit," Gavin said. "You can go back to roost."
"If you're quite through!" she said. "Otherwise I'll stay."
"Oh, we're through," Gavin assured her.
Without another word Kathleen left the room. Behind her there was uttersilence for a moment. Then with one accord the guests moved toward thedoor. Gavin halted them.
"No," he said, "you can't go till this blizzard blows out. Don't bedamned fools just because we've had a row. Mackay will tell you whatit's like outside. Now we'll leave you alone, because you probably wantit that way." He turned to Angus who stood apart from the rest, andlowered his voice. "You're a good, skookum man, Mackay. I half wishKathleen hadn't butted in."
"So do I," Angus returned. The big man smiled.
"No hard feelings on my part," he said. "I'd just like to see which ofus was the better man. I never hooked up with anybody as husky as you.You're not like these blighters." His eyes rested on his guests withutter contempt. "You were right in catching that chair. I might havehurt somebody. Thanks. Good night."
Left alone, Angus after telling the others that in his opinion it wouldbe folly to venture out before daylight, established himself in hiscorner, where Chetwood presently joined him.
"Pleasant evening, what?" he observed. He grinned.
"I didn't know you were back."
"Just got in the other night, and intended to look you up to-morrow."
"Do it, anyway."
"I wanted to ask you if you could do with another man on your ranch?"
"Not till spring."
"Wages secondary object. Primary one a Christian home for an honest butinexperienced young man whose funds are not what they should be."
"Who is he?"
"His full name is Eustace William Fitzroy Chetwood. But he would answerto 'Bill.'"
"You?" Angus exclaimed. "You're joking."
"Not a bit of it. I have the best of reasons for asking. Tell you aboutthem some time. To-night is my last night of the gay life. Thought Imight win a little money, but instead of that I lost. I am an applicantfor work."
"You're welcome. I can't pay much, but the meals come regularly."
"That's very good of you," Chetwood acknowledged. "I'll move my trapsout to-morrow."