"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.