On the chance that, after all, water might be got on Faith's ranch, Angus had his own levels checked by a surveyor. The result was to confirm them. Thus most of the level land was undoubtedly worthless for agricultural purposes. As for the rest of the property, it was hill and coulee and included the round mountain. Angus had ridden over it and hunted through it and he thought he had nothing to learn about it. He dismissed it with contempt. The only reasonable explanation of French's desire to purchase seemed to be that he was acting for Braden and that Braden had some purchaser in view. That being so, it would pay to hold out for a better offer.

So far as his own affairs were concerned, the outlook was not promising. His loan applications were turned down cold by various loan companies, as Judge Riley had feared. And one day he received a formal demand for payment of mortgage and note, coupled with an intimation that, failing immediate payment, legal proceedings would follow.

"Yes, I thought this was about due," Judge Riley said when Angus showed him the letter of Mr. Braden's lawyers. "There are no grounds for defending the actions, that I know of."

"The money is owing, no doubt about it. And I can't pay it."

"Then it will have to be realized upon the security. I'm sorry, my boy. I don't know where you can raise a loan. If I had the money I'd lend it to you myself, but I haven't. Braden will get his judgments and sell."

Angus himself saw nothing else for it. This, then, was the end of his years of work, of struggle, of self-denial. The land he had promised his father to hold would be sold and bid in by Braden for a fraction of its value. For himself, so far as the financial loss went, he did not care especially. But with it Jean's share would be swallowed up. Without any fault of his own, so far as he could see, he had failed in his duty to her. And the thought was bitter.

As he walked down the street his thoughts went back over the years. He could not attribute his failure to lack of hard work, to lack of planning, to lack of care. All these he had given, without stint. The seasons had been against him, but they had been against others. He had lost cattle mysteriously, but that was merely an incident. There was the fire which had destroyed his hay, but his own brother was responsible for that. Finally there was the ruin of his present crop by the destruction of the ditch. That was the only definite act of hostility on which he could lay his finger. But apart from that he could not have paid Braden.

If he was to lose the ranch it did not matter who had wrecked his ditch. Turkey would be hoist by his own petard. Angus smiled grimly at the thought that his brother had contributed to his own loss. And just then he saw Turkey going through the door of Braden's office. To Angus it was as if a searchlight had been turned upon a dark corner, as if a switch had been closed establishing a connection.

Up to that moment he had seen no object, other than spite, in the wrecking of the ditch. But now, as things were turning out anything which injured him financially would further Braden's carefully laid plans to obtain the ranch. Might he not be responsible? There, at last, was motive, the thing he had sought vainly.

The idea was new and amazing. But once formed it grew in probability. Would Turkey deliberately lend himself to a plan to deprive not only Angus but Jean and himself of the ranch? Likely he had not thought of that. The boy had been a catspaw without knowing Braden's ultimate purpose. There were others besides Braden in the game. Braden himself did not do the work of destruction; but no doubt he had instigated and paid for it. As to these others, Angus made up his mind to settle the score with them if he ever found out their identity. Never again would he lay a hand on Turkey. As for Braden—his mouth twisted scornfully at the thought of the latter's fat body in his grip.

But Turkey's visit to Mr. Braden's office was with quite a different object than Angus' interpretation of it. Between Turkey and Mr. Braden there was little more cordiality than on the day when the latter had patted the boy on the head. When he had left the ranch Mr. Braden had extended sympathy, condemned Angus for harshness; but Turkey had been unresponsive. He looked on family quarrels as the exclusive property of the family.

Turkey knew of the mortgage which Mr. Braden held but nothing of its condition. The burden of financing the ranch had been upon Angus, and he had not shared it. Nor did Turkey know anything of the further sum Angus had borrowed. And so Turkey, if he thought of the mortgage at all, assumed that it was all right. It was Angus' business.

He heard of the action which Mr. Braden was taking quite by accident. On the occasion when Angus had seen him entering the office he had gone there merely with reference to a transaction in cattle in which Garland was interested. But on hearing that Braden had launched a mortgage action, he went there to get first-hand information.

"Do you mean," he queried with a scowl when Mr. Braden had stated the case succinctly, "that the ranch will be sold?"

"I am afraid there is nothing else for it," Mr. Braden replied in regretful tones. "I offered to buy it at a fair price, but your brother wouldn't sell."

"He wouldn't, hey!"

Mr. Braden shook his head sadly. "I am sorry to say that the present condition of affairs is due to his recklessness and mismanagement."

"Huh!" said Turkey.

"It would have been much better," said Mr. Braden, "if I had insisted upon my original view after your father cash—er—was called hence. I felt that your brother was incompetent, and results have proved it. I was weak; yes, I admit that I was weak."

"Then the size of it is, that we lose the ranch?"

"If my claim is satisfied otherwise I shall be very glad. But of course I have to protect myself."

"Who gets it? You?"

"It will be sold publicly to the highest bidder."

"Is that you?"

"I may have to bid it in to protect myself," Mr. Braden explained. "It is forced on me, and I fear others—you and your sister—must suffer for your brother's incompetence."

Turkey, scowling said nothing for a moment.

"I remember the day you came to the ranch after father died," he said at last irrelevantly.

"Um," Mr. Braden returned. "I felt very deeply for you in your bereavement. You were quite a small boy then. I—er—patted you on the head."

"I didn't know you then," said Turkey, "but do you know what I thought?"

"No," smiled Mr. Braden. "I suppose you stood somewhat in awe of me, my boy."

"I thought you were a fat, old crook," Turkey announced.

"Hey!" Mr. Braden ejaculated.

"Of course, I know you better now," Turkey added.

"Yes, yes, just so," said Mr. Braden with comprehension. "Childish impressions. Most amusing. Ha-ha! Huh!"

Turkey looked him in the eye.

"And now you're fatter and older," he said deliberately, "and I believe you're a damned sight crookeder than I thought you were then. You pork-faced old mortgage shark, I'll like to burn your ears off with a gun!"

Mr. Braden gasped. Turkey's voice was as venomous as his words. His hard, young mouth twisted bitterly as he spoke. "You're damned anxious to sell the ranch, aren't you?" he went on. "Angus had the right steer about you. He thought you were trying to put something over. I was a kid, and he wasn't much more, but we both had you sized for a crook. Well, we're not kids now. Since I left the ranch I've been hearing about you. I'll tell you what I've heard."

Mr. Braden expressed no undue anxiety to hear. "I don't know what you have heard and I don't care. If you can't talk decently, get out of here."

"In a minute," said Turkey, "when I've told you what I think of you."

His spoken opinion caused Mr. Braden to change color from time to time, but the prevailing hue was red.

"Get out of my office!" he roared, rearing his impressive bulk against Turkey's slimness. "Get out or I'll throw you out!"

"Shucks!" said Turkey with contempt, and dug a hard, young thumb into Mr. Braden's forward over-hang. "That's the only thing you can throw out, you old tub of lard. You'll drop dead some day with a rotten heart. And now I'm telling you something: I guess I can't stop you from selling the ranch, but if you do, I'll get you somehow, if you live long enough."

Turkey, as he went down the street from this interview, was in a poisonous temper. His was the impotent rage of youth, which failing expression in physical violence, finds itself at a complete loss. Though he had said a number of highly insulting things, he was not satisfied. He told himself that he did not care a hoot about Angus, nor about his own prospective share in the ranch, which would be wiped out by a forced sale. But he thought it hard luck for Jean. In spite of their quarrel, he recognized that his brother had done most of the work for years. The thought that a pork-faced old mortgage shark should get the ranch that had been his father's was bitter.

However, he did not know what could be done about it. No doubt Angus had consulted old Riley. The law was against him. The darn law, Turkey reflected, was always against the ordinary man, which was not to be wondered at since it was made by darn crooks. Coming such, Turkey unconsciously sighed for the good, old days of stock which had no special respect for the law, as days when dispossession was attended by difficulties other than legal.

Under the circumstances, it seemed to Turkey that he should have a drink. To get it he went around the block to a hostelry immediately behind Mr. Braden's office. There he had a drink with the proprietor, one Tom Hall. Then Tom had one with him. Five minutes later both had two more with two strangers. Hall took his drinks from a private bottle which contained cold tea. But four drinks of the kind he dispensed to customers furnished a very fair foundation. Turkey had nothing particular to do. Thus the end of a decidedly imperfect day found him gently slumbering in an upstairs room of Tom's place.

When he awoke it was dark. He did not know where he was, and did not care. Being young and in perfect health he had not the traditional "splitting head." He was very dry, but that was all. He lay still, and remembered that Tom had helped him to that room, taken off his boots and told him to sleep it off. Apparently he had.

The window was open and the night air blew softly upon his face, bringing with it the sound of voices from the next room. He heard the scraping of chairs, the pop of a safety match, the clink of glass. Then the voices became more audible, as if the occupants of the room had drawn closer to the window. Listening idly, Turkey caught his own surname. In a moment it was repeated.

In spite of the adage concerning what listeners are apt to hear of themselves, and all honorable theories against eavesdropping, the average person hearing his own name will prick up his ears. Turkey rolled softly out of the bed, and in his stockinged feet went to the window.

It was a rear window, looking out upon the roofs of sheds and the backs of other buildings. The night was dark and, save for a soft breeze, quiet. The first words Turkey heard were calculated to destroy any scruples.

"I thought the boys were going to beat Mackay up," said a voice which at first he could not identify. Another voice which he knew for Garland's replied:

"They will, later. Blake has it in for him good and plenty."

"Over that girl on the dry ranch, I s'pose," the other speculated.

"There's a lot of things."

"Blake's a darn fool," said the other, and now Turkey knew the voice. It was Poole's. "He's too fond of women and booze. He's in a mess right now. That klootch wants him to marry her."

"She's got another guess coming."

"Well," said Poole judicially, "if he ain't going to marry her, if I was him I'd pull out for a while. Some of her folks might lay for him."

"She hasn't got any folks but her grandfather."

"At that, some of these old bucks is bad medicine. Well, it's none of our funeral. When will the Mackay ranch be sold?"

"Soon as the old man can work it. I wish we could touch him up for some coin. I'm broke."

"Me, too," said Poole. "Trouble is we ain't got nothing on him. We couldn't give him away without giving ourselves away, and he knows it. We couldn't prove a darn thing, anyway. He didn't rustle them cattle either time, nor he didn't blow out Mackay's ditch in the dry spell. We couldn't prove that he even knew of them things, let alone framed 'em up and paid for 'em. He'd give us the laugh if we tried to hold him up."

Turkey, leaning out into the night, listened in amazement. So the stock had been rustled. The speaker could not refer to anything else. But what was this about the ditch? Turkey made a swift deduction which was fairly accurate. That was what Angus meant when he had demanded the names of men responsible for something unknown to Turkey. Somehow, Angus had connected him with it. It must have been through his knife. That must have been found on the ground, and Angus had naturally assumed that he had been there. At this point obstinacy had prevented an understanding, set him and Angus at cross-purposes, and led to a fresh quarrel.

Turkey ground his teeth softly and cursed beneath his breath. So that was the stuff that was being put over on Angus. The "old man" must be Braden. For the first time, Turkey began to see clearly through the mists of hurt, boyish pride, to perceive realities undistorted by youthful grievances. Angus might not have been tactful—but he had been right. And he, Turkey, instead of helping his own had deserted them.

In Turkey's inner being sounded the rallying call of the blood. It was no time for family feuds. If he had been a young fool, he would make up for it. He would play a lone hand, taking his time, and he would play more than even. But now he must not lose a word.

"The old man's pretty darn smooth," Poole went on. "Take that time he lent Mackay money to make good them bets he was holdin'. That put Mackay further in the hole to him. It's lucky Mackay don't know who rapped him on the head and rolled him that night. You get a feller like him on the prod, and I'd rather take chances on a mad grizzly. You take that kid brother of his, too. There's a bad actor. You can see it in his eye."

"He's just a young fool," Garland said contemptuously. "He hates his brother like poison. I wish he'd blown his head off. There was some sort of a gun play, I know."

"And that's what I'm tellin' you. The big man would kill a man with his hands, but the kid would go for a gun fast and quiet. If he knew he'd been trailed home that night he was full and the stack fired, there'd be trouble."

"If the stable had gone with the hay it would have thrown a crimp into Mackay. I don't savvy why it didn't go. The wind was right."

Suddenly the blackness of the back wall of the building opposite was split by a slot of light, revealing a railed landing on a level with the second story. A bulky figure stepped out and the light disappeared. Came the creak of wooden steps beneath a heavy body. Garland swore softly.

"There he is now!"

"The old man?"

"Sure. There's an outside flight of steps from the back up to his room. I wonder what he's up to. Douse our light for a minute."

The light in the next room went out and Turkey drew back. His neighbors evidently occupied the window. From the darkness beneath came the sound of a badly-hung door rasping on its hinges.

"There's a shed down there he keeps a lot of old plunder in," Garland observed.

A silence of minutes and the door rasped again. Following that came a series of metallic sounds and once more the creak of steps. The slot of light of an open doorway appeared again. The bulky figure showed in it, carrying some heavy object hung in its right hand. Then the door closed, all but a crack through which a light filtered.

"He was carrying something," said Garland. "Could you see what it was?"

"No. Sounded like a milk can or a tin trunk."

The light went on again in the next room, but the men moved away from the window, and Turkey heard no more than odd snatches of conversation which were not relevant to his affairs. Listening proving unprofitable, Turkey softly opened his door and carrying his boots went downstairs. Nobody seemed to be about. He went down a hall to a rear door and slid out into the night. Thence he picked his way through the litter of a back yard to the foot of the flight of steps which led to Mr. Braden's apartments, and leaving his boots at the bottom ascended with great care.

Turkey had identified the object which Mr. Braden had brought back with him as a typewriter in its carrying case. To Turkey it seemed mysterious. Why should Braden who had two perfectly good machines in his office below, go out the back way and bring in a machine from an old shed? It was funny. But he had made up his mind to find out all he could about Braden and his doings, and to start at once. Braden had been playing a crooked game right along. If Turkey could catch him in anything—get something on him—it might help to save the ranch. If not that, it would help him to play even. He put his eye to the crack of the door.

He saw Braden and Godfrey French. They were at a table on which stood a typewriter, and Braden appeared to be signing some legal documents. They were talking, but Turkey could not distinguish words. Presently French rose, folded up some papers and put them in an inner pocket. Braden went with him to the door which was the ordinary entrance to the apartment, and gave upon a hall and flight of stairs leading down to the office.

Turkey went down the outside stairs and put on his boots. He was disappointed in not being able to over-hear their conversation, but he had heard a good deal that night.

What would he do?