Turkey stared at him, frowning, and half opened his mouth in question, but let it go unuttered. Without another word Angus left him and rode home through an overcast night. As he turned in at the ranch gate a drop struck his hand. As he stabled Chief it began to rain softly and steadily. Angus Mackay turned his face to the sky, and out of the bitterness of his heart cursed it and the rain that had come too late.
CHAPTER XXIII
FAITH'S FARM
Angus was riding fast for Faith Winton's ranch. Rain had fallen steadily for two days, and was still falling. The hills were veiled to their bases in low clouds. Mists hung everywhere, rising from little lakes, hanging low over the bottoms, clinging to the tree-tops of the benchlands. The rain would do good, undoubtedly, but it could not repair the damage of the drouth.
Angus had not seen Faith for a fortnight. As he rode, head down against the rain, half unconsciously he began to picture unimportant details. Of course, on such a beastly day, she would be at home. There would be an open fire, and perhaps music. Music and an open fire! The combination suited him. Perhaps—
A live bomb landed beneath Chief's feet with an explosion of barking. The big horse, taken by surprise, bounded and kicked. And as Angus caught him hard with the rein and a word picked at random from a vocabulary suited to the comprehension of western horses, he saw Faith Winton.
She was cased against the rain in a long slicker, and a tarpaulin hat protected her fair head. Beneath the broad brim of it her face, rosy and clear-skinned, laughed up at him as he brought Chief up with a suddenness which made his hoofs cut slithering grooves in the slop.
"Jehu, the son of Nimshi, rideth furiously. Also he useth vain words to his steed."
Angus reddened, for a man's remarks to his horse are in the nature of confidential communications.