bing benches
and coulees, began to converge upon them.

First came Kathleen French, a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl sitting
astride a slashing, blaze-faced sorrel, and following her, her three
brothers, Blake, Gerald and Lawrence, the latter leading the pony which
had evaded Faith Winton. The pony had come in, it appeared, with the
saddle twisted down under its belly and kicked to flinders, and the
Frenches had united in blaming Larry, the youngest, who had given Faith
the pony and saddled it for her.

"And lucky for you she wasn't hurt," Blake told him. He was a big,
powerfully built man, with a heavy, florid face which was already
beginning to show signs of the life he led. "If she'd been smashed up
you'd have got yours."

Larry, a rangy, hawk-faced youngster, eyed his brother insolently. "I
would, hey! Well, not from you, and you can make a note of that."

"Shut up!" said the sister. "Quit your scrapping. We may as well be
drifting. Climb up on this pony, Faith."

Faith Winton held out her hand. "Good-by, Angus Mackay. And thank you so
much for finding me, and for the ride, and for the doughnuts."

Young Mackay shook hands limply. "That is all right," he said,
embarrassed. But Kathleen French was reminded of an omission.

"We're a nice lot!" she exclaimed. "Not one of us has thanked him for
looking after Faith. Well _I_ do, anyway. It was good of you, Angus
Mackay."

"Oh, sure," Gerald French concurred carelessly. Not so heavily built as
his brother Blake, he was as tall and finer drawn. His face was oval,
his eyes dark and lazy, and his voice a drawl. "Thanks, Mackay."

"Ditto," said young Larry.

Blake French, reaching into his pocket pulled out a roll of currency and
stripped off a bill. "No, no, Cousin Blake!" Faith Winton exclaimed, but
he held it out to the boy.

"Here you are, Mackay. That's better than thanks. I guess you can use
it."

But the boy made no movement to take the money. "I was not bringing her
home for money, nor for thanks either," he said uncompromisingly.

Blake laughed loudly. "I never heard of a Mackay refusing money."

The boy scowled at him. "There will be other things you have not heard
of," he said coldly.

Blake French stared at him, and laughed again.

"Well, give him a kiss, Faith. Maybe that's what he'd like. Or has he
had it?"

"Cousin Blake, you're horrid!" the girl cried indignantly.

"The kid isn't used to talk like that, Blake," Kathleen told him. "Have
som