"No."
The big man threw out his hands in a gesture of impatience.
"Then what the devil does?" he demanded. "Why not? You're no more afraid of me than I am of you. What do you want?"
"Nothing," Angus said. "Now that I know how my father died, I have nothing against you. Braden I care nothing about. So I am going back the way I came. But I am glad you do not think me a coward."
Gavin French drew a deep breath and his cold blue eyes for a moment held a curiously soft expression.
"Mackay," he said, "it probably sounds queer, but I have always liked you. And I liked you better after that little fuss we had on Christmas night, for then I knew you were strong as I am strong, and I hoped some day, for the pure fun of it, we might see which of us was the better man. A coward? Lord, no! I know why you are doing this. I'll bet you saw Kathleen."
"Yes," Angus admitted, "I saw her. She told me. But that's not—"
"You needn't lie about it," Gavin said gruffly. "That sort of thing is about all you would lie about. She's a good girl. I—I'm fond of her." He hesitated over the admission. "We were a queer bunch—our family. Stand-off. No slush. Afraid to show that we were fond of each other. That was the way with Kit and me. If I can make this, it will be different in the future. I'm not pulling any repentance stuff, you savvy. What's done is done, and it can't be helped. Well, it's time I was moving."
"How are you fixed for matches and smoking?"
"None too well—if you can spare either."