There were nearly a dozen men besides the Frenches, and among them he recognized Chetwood. Kathleen was swinging around from the piano, laughing up at the singers. Tobacco smoke eddied blue around the hanging lamps. A couple of card tables were going. After the hours of cold and darkness and the sting of the wind-driven snow, it seemed to Angus extraordinarily warm and cosy and comforting.
Kathleen was the first to catch sight of the snow-plastered apparition in the doorway.
"Why, Angus!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet.
"I'm sorry to bother you," Angus said, "but I got caught back on the range, and my feet are touched a little. If I can put up my horse—"
But Gavin French rose from his card game.
"Larry will look after your horse. You come along with me out of this heat."
Angus stumped after the blond giant down the hall and into a back kitchen, where he unlaced his boots while Gavin brought in a dishpan of snow.
"Toes and heels," the big man observed as he rubbed briskly. "It's no night for leather boots. It's close to fifteen below now, and a wind with it. Feel the blood starting yet?"
Angus felt the welcome tingle of returning circulation and continued the rubbing himself, while Gavin brought him his own moccasins and a pair of heavy woolen socks. As he was putting them on Kathleen entered.
"If you were caught on the range you haven't had anything to eat. I've got something ready in the dining room. You can go back to your game, Gan. I'll look after him."