"All right, Mackay; I won't let him hurt you."
Gavin French surveyed his handiwork with cold satisfaction.
"Give the boys a drink," he said. And when the drink had been disposed of he walked out without a second glance at his late adversary who was sitting up. Angus followed him.
"Thanks for handling him," he said. "He was too strong for me."
The cold blue eyes rested on him appraisingly.
"You'll be all right when you're older. Better keep out of trouble till then."
"He struck me," Angus said, "and no man will ever do that without getting back the best I have, no matter how big he is. That was my father's way."
Gavin French made no reply. He nodded, and turning abruptly left Angus alone.
This episode, trivial in itself, gave Angus food for thought. For long months the sight of the big Swede hurtling through the air was before his eyes, and he admired and envied the mighty strength of Gavin French. By contrast his own seemed puny, insignificant. He set himself deliberately to increase it.
The second fall after Adam Mackay's death the school which Jean and Turkey attended had a new teacher. Jean fell in love with her from the start, and even Turkey, who had regarded teachers as his natural enemies, was inclined to make an exception. Jean brought this paragon to the ranch over Sunday. Alice Page was a clear-eyed young woman of twenty-four, brown of hair and eye as Jean herself, full of quiet fun, but with a dignity which forbade familiarity. She was the first person who had ever given Angus a handle to his name. This was at dinner, and Turkey yelped joyously: