CHAPTER XVII
A CRISIS
Winter came with the going of the last brigades of the geese. Thesloughs and lakes froze, and the ground hardened to iron, ringinghollowly beneath hoofs, rumbling dully to wagon wheels. It was cold, butthere was no snow in the valleys, though it lay white well down theflanks of the ranges. On the benchlands there was nothing to relieve thedark gloom of the firs, the bareness of the deciduous trees, thefrost-burnt dead of the grasses.
Angus had seen little of Faith Winton. At the French ranch he felt likea cat in a strange garret. He had little or nothing in common with theFrench boys, and certainly nothing with the young men who made the placea hang-out. Though old Godfrey French was polite enough, Angus felt orthought he felt a certain cool contempt. Kathleen was the only one ofthe family with whom he was at ease.
He was now able to ride, and help round up the cattle for the winter.But to his annoyance there were several head which could not be found.Again they were steers, beef cattle. As in the case of the others, someyears before, they seemed to have vanished utterly. Rennie was sure theyhad been rustled, and again he blamed the Indians. In the end he tookhis rifle and an outfit, and Angus knew that very little would escapehis methodical combing. On top of his other hard luck Angus felt theloss badly. He was going to be very hard run for money. None toocheerfully he went at the various tasks of snugging up for the winter.
In these he had little or no assistance from Turkey. The youngster wasabsent more than ever, and, one morning when, instead of helping withfencing, he led out his mare saddled, Angus ventured remonstrance.
"There are a whole lot of things to do," he observed.
"No rush," Turkey returned. "Let 'em wait."
"I am not waiting."
"Well, I am," Turkey said, his tone suddenly truculent. "I've worked allsummer and fall, and I want some fun. I'm going to have it, too."
"Perhaps I want some myself," Angus suggested, holding his temper.
"Oh, you!" Turkey's voice held careless scorn of Angus' desire forrecreation. "Well, if you want it, go and get it. Nobody's stopping you.And nobody's going to stop me."
Angus shut his lips grimly over the words which rose to them. He saw hisbrother ride away, defiance in the set of his shoulders, and he turnedto his work, bitterness in his heart. That, he reflected sourly, waswhat he got for sticking to work. He was the steady, reliable old horse.Nobody suspected him of a longing for other things. A working machine,that's what he was. For Jean he did not mind, but for Turkey! Why, inweeks the boy had made a mere bluff at working, for months he hadslacked. Instead of doing a man's work as he should, he had been barelyearning his grub. In sudden anger Angus sank a staple with a blow whichsnapped the hammer handle like a stick of candy. He threw the fragmentfrom him with a curse. But the action and the oath did not relieve.Instead of acting as a safety valve, his self-control slipped by thatmuch. A black mood descended on him and persisted through the day. Thatnight he ate in glum silence, smoked in silence, and went to bedwithout uttering half a dozen words to Gus, who, Turkey not havingreturned, was his sole companion.
He slept badly. In a period of wakefulness he heard the drum hoofs onthe frozen ground and knew that Turkey was coming home at last. Lookingat his watch by the light of a match he saw that it was nearly twoo'clock in the morning. A nice time for a fellow to come home whoexpected to do any work the next day. But perhaps Turkey didn't intendto.
Turkey took his time putting up his mare. When he entered the house hetripped over a chair, coming down with a crash. Whereat he swore, andsomething in his voice made Angus jump out of bed and light his lamp.With it in his hand he entered Turkey's room.
One look confirmed his suspicions. Turkey was more than half drunk.Angus stared at him in angry amazement, and Turkey stared back, sullenand defiant, the butt of a cigarette between his lips.
"Well," he said, "what you lookin' at?"
"At you," Angus returned. "Who got you drunk?"
"I ain't drunk," Turkey denied. "If I want a drink I guess I can take itwithout asking you."
"Who were you with?" Angus persisted.
"None of your dam' business!" Turkey told him flatly.
Angus hesitated. He felt a strong desire to man-handle his youngbrother, but finally he decided against it. He went back to bed, but notto sleep. His anger struggled with a feeling of responsibility forTurkey. The boy must not be allowed to make a fool of himself; but hewas difficult to handle. He realized that he himself was the last personfrom whom he would take advice, but something had to be done.
Puzzling over his course he became aware that the room was no longerdark. It was not the dim light of dawn, but a reddish, reflected glow.With the realization he bounded from his bed and into the living room.There the light was brighter, and through a window which faced thestables he saw a shaft of flame lick high in the air.
"Gus!" he shouted. "Fire!"
As he dashed for his room and pulled on trousers and moccasins, he heardthe weight of Gus hit the floor above. Not waiting for him, he ran forthe stables.
The stable yard and corrals were drenched in a red glare, and smoke andleaping sheets of flame were driving with a bitter south wind. The stockin corrals and sheds was bawling; in the stable horses were stamping andwhinnying. For a moment he thought the stable was on fire, but as hevaulted a five-foot gate, not waiting to open it, he saw that it was notthe stable but the great stack of hay close to it and directly towind-ward.
Nothing could save the stack. The fire had a good hold and the flamesheets were leaping and smothering in hot smoke with the noise of ahundred flapping blankets. The fire and the sparks were driving directlyat the stable. Its walls were of peeled logs, which offered little holdfor fire, but its roof was of split shakes and its mow full of hay.
He threw the doors wide and began to turn the horses loose. Butfrightened by the glare and the smoke and the roar and crackle offlames, they hung back snorting, cowering in their stalls.
It was no time for half measures. Gus joined him, a fiendish figure inred flannel underclothes, which he wore day and night all the yearround, for the big Swede had waited only to pull on a pair ofmoccasins. With whip and pitchfork they slashed and prodded the animalsout.
"By the Yumpin' Yudas!" Gus cried, "Ay tank dae stable ban go."
It looked like it. The flames were reaching and snapping back, andflying streams of sparks were now driving upon the weather-worn, dryshakes. If the roof caught, or if a vagrant spark reached the hay withwhich the mow was filled, nothing could save it. But Angus was notinclined to lose his stable without an effort.
"Get all the horse blankets and wagon covers, soak 'em, and throw 'em upto me," he ordered. "I'm going up on the roof. Help me with the ladder."
A ladder hung on the north wall of the stable. Together they shot it up.Angus grabbed a coil of lash rope and a couple of lariats, and ran upthe ladder. Making the rope fast to the top rung and taking the coilover his arm he crawled up the steep slope of the roof. As he put hishead over the ridge smoke stung his eyes and bit at his lungs. The pitchwas fairly bubbling from the old shakes on the southern exposure.
Behind him Gus staggered up the ladder with an armful of dripping horseblankets which he had soaked in the ditch. Angus ripped off a bit ofloose lining and tied it over his nose and mouth. Then, taking the wetblankets on one arm and a turn of rope around the other, he drew a fullbreath of good air and went over the ridge into the smoke and flying redcinders.
Down close to the eaves he saw a little, blue flame start and die, andstart again and live. He went down, his body at right angles to thepitch of the roof against the pull of the rope, and spread a drippingblanket on it. As he did so a big fluff of burning hay lit above him.He extinguished that. Little, creeping lizards of fire began to glow,and he beat them out and yelled for more blankets. The moisture wasbeing sucked from his body, his eyes stabbed with pain and his lungsached. Sparks clung to him and burned through to the skin, the heat ofthe roof struck through the
soles of his moccasins. The little, creepingflames, starting everywhere, seemed personal enemies, and he beat uponthem with wet blankets, and stamped upon them and croaked curses atthem. Then Gus was beside him, a very welcome demon in his red garments,working like a maniac and swearing strange oaths. Together they kept theroof till the heat lessened, and the tongues and sheets of flame snappedno more in their faces, and blackened and gray ashes instead of redcinders powdered them, and where Angus' fine stack of bright hay hadbeen was a red and glowing heap.
They came down from the roof and drank deeply from the running ditch,and the cold wind striking their overheated bodies through burnt andinsufficient clothing, cut to the bone.
In the house, changing his burnt garments for warm clothes, Angus forthe first time thought of his brother and looked into his room. The boyslept. He had known nothing of the fire.
"By Yimminy, dat kid sleep like a mudsill," Gus commented. "Ay holler athim when Ay go out, too."
"Let him sleep," Angus said. "Come on and get the horses into the stableagain."
He spoke quietly, but there was bitter anger in his heart. It was badenough that Turkey should lie in drunken slumber; but far worse thanthat he was the last person who had been near the stable and stack.Neither Angus nor Gus had been out of the house for five or six hoursbefore the fire. As they put the horses back Angus found Turkey's mare'smanger full of hay. Drunk or sober the boy would look after the animal'sneeds. But to get hay he had either to fork it down from the mow or getit from the stack. As the mow was dark, with a ladder to climb, therewasn't much doubt that he had got it from the latter. Then at the stackhe had either dropped the butt of a cigarette or the end of a match.There was no doubt in Angus' mind as to the origin of the fire.
But as was his custom, he kept his thoughts to himself. He sent Gus tothe house to get what sleep he could, and he remained on guard againstchances from stray sparks.
As he stared at the heap of black and gray and red which had been hisstack his anger hardened. In the heart of the heap he seemed to see thefields where the hay had grown, green and tender in the spring, lacedwith the silver threads of irrigation waters; and lush and high andwaving in the summer winds, tipped and tinged with the pink and red ofclover and alfalfa and the purple bloom of timothy. He thought of thelabor that had gone into it--the careful irrigation, the mowing, theraking, the hauling, the stacking--all to the end that the stock shouldbe full-bellied and fat-clad against the cold and snow that shrinksill-nourished stock to racks of hide-tied bone. He looked ahead--twomonths, three--and he could hear the hunger-bawling of the cattleclustered by the corral bars, and see them hump-backed and lean andshivering, and weak and dying of cold and hunger. He could see theireyes, looking to him for the food man should provide.
Unless he would see that picture become grim reality he must buy feed,and he had no money to spare. His straw was quite insufficient towinter his stock on. Then he had counted on selling some of the hay. Itall meant that his debt must be increased. In the breath of the fire thefruits of his hard work had been wiped out. As he thought of all thesethings he was filled with bitterness against his brother.
When dawn came and all danger was over he went in to breakfast. Turkeystill slept. Angus let him slumber, and going to the workshop went towork repairing a set of sleighs.
He had worked for an hour or more when Turkey emerged from the house,his hands in his pockets, his back hunched. At first he did not noticethe absence of the stack. When he did, being almost at the stable, hestopped short, staring at the black heap, at the frozen blankets andcovers hanging on the fence. He entered the stable, came out again, andhearing Angus' hammering, made for the workshop. As he came in Angus sawthat his mouth was set, his face flushed, his brow scowling.
"Say--" he began and stopped. "Say--"
"Well?" Angus returned, coldly.
"The stack!"
"You can see for yourself, can't you?"
"Why didn't you call me?"
"You'd have been a lot of use!"
The boy flushed darkly.
"What started it?"
"You ought to know," Angus replied, "whether you do or not."
"What do you mean?" Turkey cried.
"I mean that you started the fire yourself."
"What?" Turkey exclaimed. "I didn't! What do you take me for?"
"Where did you get the hay to fill Dolly's manger?"
"From the stack," Turkey admitted.
"I thought so. And you dropped a butt or a match. Nobody else had beennear there for hours."
"I didn't. I didn't light a cigarette till after I came out of thestable."
"I don't think you know what you did. The stack is gone. We have to buyfeed now, and we haven't the money to pay for it."
"That's not my fault," Turkey asseverated. "I won't be blamed for what Ididn't do."
"No," Angus returned grimly, "but for what you did do."
"If you say I started that fire you're a ---- liar!" Turkey flared.
Angus looked at him with narrowing eyes.
"You had better go slow, Turkey," he warned. "I don't feel like takingmuch from anybody this morning. And I'll take less from you thananybody."
"Then don't say I started that fire!" Turkey cried "The hay was mine aswell as yours. You act as if you were boss here, and I won't stand forit any longer."
Under ordinary circumstances Angus would have let that go. But now hewas sore and worried and angry. He had worked hard, denied himself agood deal to hold the ranch together and make a living for them all. Itseemed that a show-down had to come and he was ready for it.
"We may as well settle this now," he said. "I am boss. I mean to stayboss, and while you're on this ranch you'll toe the mark after this,understand?"
"Is that so?" Turkey sneered.
"It is so," Angus repeated. "Let me tell you something: I've given youthe easy end right along, and you haven't held up even that. You'veshirked and loafed every chance you've had. This has got to stop. Andthere will be no more of this coming in at all hours of night."
"I'll come in when I like and go where I like," Turkey declareddefiantly, "and I'd like to see you stop me."
"You will see it," Angus told him grimly. "You ought to be ashamed ofyourself. You've burnt up our stack--"
"You're a liar!" Turkey cried hotly. "Don't you tell me that again!"
"Tell you again!" Angus said contemptuously. "I'll not only tell youagain, but for two pins I'd hand you something to make you remember it."
"Then fly at it!" Turkey cried, and struck him in the face.
For an instant Angus was so surprised that he did nothing at all. Then,taking another blow, he caught his brother by wrist and shoulder andslammed him back against the wall with a force which shook the framebuilding. He was white-hot with anger, and all that restrained him wasfear--fear that if he once lost grip of himself he would go too far. Ashe held the boy pinned and helpless he fought his fight and won it. Hisgrip relaxed and he stepped back.
"Don't ever do that again, Turkey," he said quietly.
Turkey, freed, stared at him. "I called you a liar and hit you twice."
"I know it," Angus returned impatiently. "And I could beat you to afroth, and you know it. I don't want to start--the way I'm feeling.That's all."
"Then I'm sorry I hit you," Turkey conceded. "But all the same, I didn'tfire the stack."
"We won't talk about it."
"Yes, we will. If you think I did, I'm pulling out."
"You'll do as you please," Angus said coldly. "You'll come back mightysoon."
"Don't fool yourself," Turkey retorted. "I'm sick of this dam' place,and working day in and day out."
"I've told you what I think of your work. If you're sick of it I'm justas sick of coddling you along. Can't you get it through your head thatyou're almost a man?"
"Yes," Turkey returned, "and I'm going where I'll be treated like one."
"Then you'll have to change a lot," Angus informed him. "When you behavelike on
e you'll be treated like one, here or anywhere else. Till you dothat, you won't. And here it is cold for you, Turkey, with no trimmings:You may go to the devil if you like; but you can't stay on this ranchand do it, because I won't stand for it."
And so, at last, the issue between the brothers, so long pending, layclear and sharply defined. There was no middle course. For a long minutethey looked each other in the face. Then said Turkey:
"You and the ranch can go to hell!"
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 hecarried his pet rifle; in the other a canvas warbag. He went into thestable and presently led out his mare, saddled. Then he jogged awaywithout a glance in Angus' direction.