He reflected that it had been a most expensive race for him. He did not know when he would be able to repay the money he had borrowed. But his crops were looking well, and his grain was almost ready to cut. His hay was already in. This year he could pay interest on Braden's mortgage. Jean would require more money. She was going to take a special, qualifying course, after which she would be able to teach. But he rather hoped she would not. Undoubtedly, she livened up the ranch.
Recently Jean had developed. She had grown not only physically but mentally. She was, Angus realized, a young woman. He had heard Chetwood ask permission to call at the ranch.
"How do you like this Chetwood?" he asked.
"Where did you meet him?" Miss Jean countered.
"With a couple of the French boys."
"Oh," said Miss Jean, who was under no delusions as to the boys aforesaid, "then he's apt to need his remittances."
"He seems a decent chap," her brother observed.
"He may be," Miss Jean returned nonchalantly, "but I'm not strong for these remittance men."
But the black cloud was mounting higher and higher. A gust of cold wind struck their faces. The dust of the trail rose in clouds, and behind it they heard the roar of the wind. Beyond that again, as they topped a rise and obtained a view, a gray veil, dense, opaque, seemed to have been let down.
"I'm afraid we can't make the ranch without a wetting," Angus said.