Jean was left in ignorance as to the occurrences of the night. No further attempts were made to interfere with the ditch; but the flume itself sagged in the middle by natural subsidence of the loose soil, and much of it had to be set up again. Angus was sick at heart, for the damage done by the combination of hot winds and lack of water was irreparable. Much of his crop would not be worth cutting.

And this, of all times, was the one chosen by Jean to re-open the question of Turkey's return to the ranch. She urged Angus to ask him. Angus flatly refused.

"He is our brother—our younger brother," Jean urged.

"If he were fifty times my brother, I would not. I tell you he has worn out my patience, and I am glad he went. He made trouble enough when he was on the ranch, and now—"

But suddenly recollecting himself he broke off. Jean's face was grave.

"Angus," she said, "what has Turkey done?"

"Nothing," he replied sullenly.

"That is not the truth, Angus."

"Then whatever he has done it is more than enough. Let it go at that. I will not talk about it to you or any one."

"The black dog is on you," Jean told him. "I have seen it for days."

"And if it is, your talk doesn't call it off," Angus retorted, and left the house. And that night, being in a worse mood than ever, he threw a saddle on Chief and rode away to have it out with his brother.

Turkey dwelt alone in a log shack on the outskirts of the town. Angus had never visited him, but he knew the place well enough. There was a light in the shack, and after listening a moment to make sure there was nobody else there, he knocked. Turkey's voice bade him enter.

Turkey was lying on a bunk reading by the light of a lamp drawn up beside him, and his eyebrows lifted as he recognized his visitor.

"It's you, is it?" he said.

"I have come to talk to you," said Angus.

"Then you'd better sit down while you're doing it," said Turkey, as he got out of his bunk.

Angus sat down. There was but one room, in which Turkey ate and slept. The walls were decorated with pictures cut from magazines. A rifle and shotgun leaned in a corner with a saddle beside them. At the head of Turkey's bunk hung a holstered six-shooter. The place was tidy enough, save for burnt matches and cigarette butts which Turkey had carelessly thrown down.

"To save time," Angus began, "I'll tell you that this is a show-down." Turkey's eyes narrowed at his tone, and the old, latent hostility sprang to life in them.

"Then spread your hand," he said. Angus took the knife from his pocket and tossed it on the table.

"That's yours, isn't it?"

Turkey picked up the knife, surprise in his face.

"You ought to know it."

"I do know it."

Turkey shrugged his shoulders. "All right. Thanks. Say whatever you have to say, and don't stall."

"I can say that in a few words," Angus returned. "It is not because you are my brother, but only for Jean's sake that I keep my hands off you. Do you get that?"

"I can tell you another reason," Turkey retorted, his young face hardening, "which is that I won't let you put your hands on me. You'll get hurt if you try it. Now go on."

"I want the names of the men who were with you."

"What men? With me when?"

"You know mighty well," Angus accused him.

"All right, have it your own way."

"I want their names."

"Then keep on wanting them," Turkey returned. "If you think I know what you mean, keep on thinking it. Keep on having your own way, same as you've always had. Same as you had when you got me to quit the ranch. Now you can go plumb, understand?"

"Before I leave here," Angus said, "you will tell me what I want to know, or—"

"Or what?" Turkey demanded.

"Or you will lie in that bunk for a week and be glad to do it," Angus finished grimly. His young brother's eyes closed down to mere slits.

"Get one thing straight," he said. "I'll take no more from you now than I would from a stranger. Remember what I told you about keeping your hands off me. I mean it!"

"And so do I," said Angus rising. "No more nonsense, Turkey. Will you answer my question?"

Turkey was on his feet instantly. He took a step backward. "No," he said; "I won't tell you one damned thing. Keep away from me, Angus. Keep away, or by—"

Unheeding the warning, Angus sprang forward. Turkey dodged, leaped back, and his hand shot for the gun hanging by his bunk. It came out of its holster. Angus swung his arm against it, and it roared in his ear. He grasped it as the hammer fell a second time, and the firing pin pierced the web of his hand between thumb and finger. He ripped the weapon from Turkey's weaker hands and threw it away. Then he lost control of himself and let his anger have full sway.

Turkey was a strong, active young fellow, but against his brother's thews and bulk he was helpless. Angus did not strike him; he poured his strength in a flood upon the body in his grasp, shaking and worrying it as a great dog might worry a fox. But as the tremendous handling shook away the last of Turkey's power of resistance, the door opened, there were voices, a rush of feet, a hard fist came against Angus' ear, and an arm shot around his neck.

With this assault sanity came to him. He caught the wrist of the arm and twisted it, and he heard a yell of pain. He thrashed himself free, leaping back against the wall.

The newcomers were Garland, Blake French, Gerald, Larry and two young men strangers to Angus. Blake French, nursing a twisted wrist, cursed him.

"By ——, he was trying to murder Turkey!" he declared.

The younger Mackay swayed forward, his face white in the lamplight.

"Shut up!" he said. "Don't talk damned foolishness!"

"He was choking you," Garland cried. "Somebody used a gun. The room's full of powder smoke."

"If you don't like smoke the air's good outside," Turkey told him.

Angus stared at his young brother in amazement. He had expected denunciation.

"This isn't your put in—any of you," Turkey declared.

"But—"

"But—nothing!" Turkey snapped. "Mind your own business, can't you! Who asked you to horn in?"

Gerald grinned, a certain admiration in his lazy eyes.

"All right, Turkey, I get you completely. See you later. Come on, boys."

When the door closed behind them Turkey dropped into a chair, shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at his brother.

"You're a husky devil!" he said after an interval of silence. "What were you trying to do—kill me?"

"I don't know," Angus admitted.

"If you had been just a shade slower," said Turkey, "I would have blown your head off. So I can't blame you much. Well—what happens now?"

"Nothing," Angus replied. "I'll be going." Getting up he walked to the door, his anger replaced by shame and disgust. At the door he turned. "I am sorry," he said, "and ashamed of myself. To prove it I will say what I never thought to say, meaning it: Will you come back to the ranch? Jean wants you. Maybe we can make a fresh start."

Turkey stared at him in amazement for a moment.

"You didn't come here to say that, did you?"

"No," Angus admitted. "But Jean wanted me to."

"Oh, Jean!" said the younger man. "I get on with Jean all right. But you're doing it not because Jean wants you to, but to square yourself with yourself. You always were a sour, proud devil, so I know what it costs you. I won't crowd you, though. I'm getting along all right this way, and so are you. No, I won't go back."

"Suit yourself," said Angus. Turkey nodded.

"I wouldn't go back on a bet. Some day you can buy out my share of the ranch cheap—that is if I have any share. That's up to you."

"When I can afford it, I will pay you what your share is worth," Angus told him. "Father left me all he had, because I was the eldest and he knew I would deal fairly. I think it would be fair if we took a third each. That is what I have always intended."

"More than fair," Turkey admitted. "You have done most of the work. I'll hand you that much. So when the time comes, split my third two ways. I'll take one, and you and Jean can take the other."

"You can do what you like with your share," Angus told him, "but of course I will not touch one cent of it. Meanwhile the ranch is increasing in value."

"I know all that," Turkey replied. "Don't tell me you're working for me."

"I will tell you this," said Angus, "anything that injures the ranch injures you."

Turkey eyed him for a moment.

"Well?"

"Well—remember it."

"I'll try," said Turkey. "We don't get along well together. Best way is not to be together. So after this you keep plumb away from me, and I'll keep away from you. Does that go?"

"Yes," said Angus. "And mind you keep to that, you and your friends. Let me alone, and let the ranch alone!"

Turkey stared at him, frowning, and half opened his mouth in question, but let it go unuttered. Without another word Angus left him and rode home through an overcast night. As he turned in at the ranch gate a drop struck his hand. As he stabled Chief it began to rain softly and steadily. Angus Mackay turned his face to the sky, and out of the bitterness of his heart cursed it and the rain that had come too late.