A few days after the episode with Blake, Angus busy in his workshop ironing a set of whiffletrees, had a visit from Godfrey French. French made the reason of it plain at once.

"You know," he said, "that I have offered to buy my niece's land. She doesn't want to sell, and in that I am under the impression that she is acting on your advice? Is that so?"

"At first I advised her to sell," Angus told him, "but when I thought it over it seemed to me she shouldn't be in a hurry."

French studied him for a moment. "What made you alter your advice?"

"It doesn't pay to be in too much of a hurry to sell."

"And sometimes it doesn't pay to refuse a fair offer. Now I was always opposed to this foolish idea of hers that she could ranch, but I couldn't prevent her doing it. I made up my mind, however, that she should not lose by her play; that is that I would take the place off her hands at cost, plus whatever she had spent on improvements, providing these were not too expensive. I can do that now, but I can't pay for more improvements, because I am not a rich man, and I can't keep the offer open indefinitely. She must make her choice now. And so, as she seems to rely on your opinion, I come to you. I hope you will persuade her to take my offer and give up the absurd idea of ranching."

Angus thought as rapidly as he could.

"She told me you wanted to buy the place for Blake."

French gave him a swift, keen glance of scrutiny.

"And you didn't believe it?"

"No," Angus admitted, "I didn't."

French laughed. "And not believing it you drew the natural conclusion that I had some other motive. Well, I will be quite frank with you: If I had said I wanted to buy merely to take the property off her hands she would not have allowed me to do it. But what I said about Blake is partly true. I don't know that he himself wants to ranch—but I want him to settle down. So that is the situation."

Once more Angus did some swift thinking.

"I don't know what to say about it," he admitted frankly.

French's eyes narrowed a trifle in suspicion.

"Do you think she can succeed—make the ranch pay eventually?"

"No."

"Do you think the land is worth more than I have offered?"

"I don't know why it should be."

"Then why not advise her to get rid of it?"

"Because," Angus told him, "there are some things I don't understand at all."

"For instance?"

"Well, in the first place the price her father paid was much more than the land was worth at the time."

"Doesn't that make my offer all the fairer?"

"I don't understand how it was paid at all. The land wasn't worth half of it then."

"That is a matter of opinion."

"There is no opinion about it. It's a matter of fact. Just as good land could have been bought for two or three dollars an acre. And yet you invested Winton's money in this at ten dollars."

"Excuse me, but I did nothing of the sort. Winton had seen the land, wanted it, and was looking for something to hold for years. As a matter of fact, I advised him not to buy, because I considered the land too far back to be readily salable if he ever wished to dispose of it. But he instructed me to buy at the price at which it was held. I can show you his letter to that effect."

As this was entirely different from Faith's version, Angus was taken aback. "But," he said, "last fall Braden tried to sell part of it to Chetwood. How could he do that when it wasn't his?"

"I told Braden to try to sell it, because the sale, if it had gone through, would have given her in cash a large part of her father's investment, and no doubt she would have ratified it. I thought and still think it was the best thing that could be done. I understand that you were responsible for that sale falling through."

"It's a dry ranch, except for the spring."

"Nonsense! There's a water record."

"That record is more nonsense. You ought to know that if you are thinking of buying the place for Blake."

"I take that risk when I offer to purchase."

"Yes," Angus admitted, "and that's another thing I don't understand."

French's gray brows drew together for an instant.

"If it is in my interest not to buy isn't it in my niece's interest to sell?"

"It looks like it," Angus admitted, "but still I don't understand—"

"What?" Godfrey French demanded as Angus paused. "I have explained as well as I can. Do you mean that my explanations are not satisfactory?"

"Perhaps."

"In what particular?"

"They don't seem to explain."

"What do you mean by that?" Godfrey French rasped. "Do you mean that you question the truth of my words?" He frowned at Angus angrily.

"You are putting words into my mouth," Angus replied. "But I mean just this: The land was worth only about a quarter of what was paid for it. You and Braden both knew it. If you had told Winton that, he wouldn't have paid what he did unless he was crazy. I wonder why you let him pay it. Now you want to buy back worthless land, and I wonder why."

Their eyes met and held each other. In those of each was suspicion, hostility. French moistened dry lips.

"I admire your frankness," he said. "Have you told my niece that in your opinion the land is worthless?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I would rather not say."

"I insist on an answer."

"Very well," Angus returned. "I did not tell her, because she would have wondered what sort of a man you were to let her father load himself up with stuff like that, and I was not trying to make trouble."

Godfrey French's fists clenched. "Thirty years ago," he said, "for that you should have proved to me what sort of a man you were."

"Well, I can't help your age," Angus retorted. "I would not have told you, but you would have it."

"There are some things," said Godfrey French, "which it seems you do not understand. But understand this very clearly. Hereafter you will keep your nose out of things that don't concern you. You will keep away from me and mine, which includes my niece. Do you understand that?"

"I hear what you say," Angus returned. "But nobody but herself is going to forbid me to go to your niece's ranch."

"I forbid you," said Godfrey French. "I won't have you hanging around there. I won't have her name coupled with yours."

"I did not know it was being coupled," Angus said, "and I do not think it is. But if it is—what then?"

"What then!" Godfrey French exclaimed. "Have you the consummate impudence to imagine that my niece would think twice of an ignorant young hawbuck without birth or education? Bah! You're a young fool!"

At the words, entirely insolent, vibrant with contempt, a hot fire of anger began to blow within Angus. With all his heart he wished that Godfrey French had been minus the thirty years he had regretted.

"Those are hard words," he said, and it was characteristic of him that as his anger rose his voice was very quiet.

"True words," Godfrey French returned.

"At any rate," Angus told him, "I make a clean living by hard work."

"And I suppose you think 'A man's a man for a' that,'" Godfrey French sneered. "Don't give me any rotten nonsense about democracy and equality."

"I am not going to," Angus replied. "I think myself that every tub should stand on its own bottom. But if, as you seem to think, there is something in a man's blood, then perhaps mine is as good as your own."

"Fine blood!" Godfrey French commented with bitter irony. "Wild, hairy Highlanders, caterans and reivers for five hundred years!"

"Ay," Angus Mackay agreed with a grim smile, "and maybe for five hundred years back of that. But always pretty men of their hands, good friends and bad enemies, and ill to frighten or drive." Then, following the custom of his blood, he returned insult for insult. He launched it deliberately, coldly. "And it is not claiming much for the blood of a Mackay to say it is as good as that which comes from any shockheaded kernes spawned by a Galway bog."

White to his twitching lips, Godfrey French struck him in the face. Angus caught his hand, but made no attempt to return the blow.

"I think you had better go," he said. "You have too many years on your head for me."

Godfrey French stepped back.

"That is my misfortune," he said. "Well—I have sons. Remember what I told you, young man."

"I will remember," Angus said, "and I will do as I please. If your sons try to make your words good they will find a rough piece of road."

He watched Godfrey French drive away, and turned back to his work. But presently he gave it up, sat down and stared at vacancy. For an hour he sat, and was aroused from his brown study by Jean.

"I've called and called you," she told him.

"For what?"

"For supper, of course. Heavens, Angus, what's wrong that you forget your meals?"

He did not answer for a moment.

"I have been making up my mind about something."

"About what?"

"Just something I am going to do. I will tell you later."

He ate supper, and immediately saddled Chief and rode away in the direction of Faith Winton's ranch.

Faith listened in amazement as he told her of the high price her father had paid; of the abortive sale and his discovery that the land was non-irrigable; and finally of French's request that he should advise her to sell.

"But why didn't you tell me these things before?"

"I could not very well tell you while you were under his roof."

"No, I suppose not. You are sure of what you say—that the land could have been bought for so much less then, and that I can't get water on it now?"

"Absolutely."

"Then why does he want to buy the ranch now?"

"I wish I knew."

"I am going to find out before I sell it. He lied about Blake, and I don't believe he just wants to take it off my hands. There is some other reason."

"I think so myself, but I don't know what it is. There is something else though. We had a few hard words, and the upshot of the whole thing was that he forbade me to have anything to do with him or his. I suppose he has that right. But also he forbade me to come here."

The girl stared at him, amazed.

"Is he crazy? He has no right—"

"So I told him."

"And you will always be welcome, while the ranch is mine, or beneath any roof that is mine."

"Thank you," he said simply.

"But this is beyond everything!" she flamed indignantly. "I am not a child. I make my own friends. I will tell him—"

"He is an old man. Pay no attention to it. I am sorry, now, that I said to him what I did."

"What did you quarrel about? Tell me!"

"About the whole thing, I think."

"Then it was all on my account. From first to last, I've made trouble for you. I am sorry."

"You needn't be. All the trouble you have made me is a joy."

"Why—Angus!" The color rose in the girl's cheeks.

"Didn't you know it?"

"I know you have been very—good—to me."

"You have known more than that," he said.

"No, good heavens, no! Angus—"

"I have only known it myself since that day in the rain," he interrupted. "Before that, I thought I was only helping you, as I would have helped any woman—or man, either. But then I knew it was something else. And to-day when Godfrey French said he would not have our names coupled together—"

"Oh!" the girl cried sharply.

"And that you would not think twice of a rough, uneducated man like myself," he pursued. "I decided to find out to-night whether he was right or wrong."

"He was wrong!" she cried. "That is—I mean—that you are not rough and uneducated, and—"

"I am both," Angus admitted gravely. "I have worked hard since I was a boy, and what education I have I have got for myself. In that he was right. And so I find it very hard to tell you what I want to, as a woman should be told, because words do not come to my tongue easily, and never did. The thoughts I have had I have always kept to myself, for that, and because there was no one who would understand even if I could have put them into words. And this is all I can say, that I love you as a man loves one woman in his lifetime, and I want you for my wife. Is it yes or no, Faith?"

"But—Angus—I never thought of such a thing—not really, I mean. You were always kind, helpful, but never like—like—"

"Never like a lover?"

"Well—no."

Angus laid his great hands on her shoulders. The ordinary grimness of his face was lacking. It was replaced by something ineffably tender. Slowly he drew her to him until they stood breast to breast.

"I can be like a lover, Faith," he said, "if you will have it so."

For a long moment Faith Winton's clear eyes looked into his, and then went blank as she searched her own heart for an answer and found it.

"I will have it so—dear!" she said.