Broad morning wakened him to unpleasant memories, and more unpleasant realities.  French was still sleeping heavily.  Mackenzie was eating breakfast, with a bottle beside him on the table.

“You will find a basin on the bench outside,” observed Mackenzie, pointing to the open door.

When Kalman returned from his ablutions, the bottle had vanished, and Mackenzie, with breath redolent of its contents, had ready for him a plate of porridge, to which he added black molasses.  This, with toasted bannock, the remains of the cold duck of the night before, and strong black tea, constituted his breakfast.

Kalman hurried through his meal, for he hated to meet French as he woke from his sleep.

“Will he not take breakfast?” said the boy as he rose from the table.

“No, not him, nor denner either, like as not.  It iss a good thing he has a man to look after the place,” said Mackenzie with the pride of conscious fidelity.  “We will just be going on with the oats and the pitaties.  You will be taking the harrows.”

“The what?” said Kalman.

“The harrows.”

Kalman looked blank.

“Can you not harrow?”

“I don’t know,” said Kalman.  “What is that?”

“Can you drop pitaties, then?”

“I don’t know,” repeated Kalman, shrinking very considerably in his own estimation.

“Man,” said Mackenzie pityingly, “where did ye come from anyway?”

“Winnipeg.”

“Winnipeg?  I know it well.  I used to.  But that was long ago.  But did ye nefer drive a team?”

“Never,” said Kalman.  “But I want to learn.”

“Och! then, and what will he be wanting with you here?”

“I don’t know,” said Kalman.

“Well, well,” said Mackenzie.  “He iss a quare man at times, and does quare things.”

“He is not,” said Kalman hotly.  “He is just a splendid man.”

Mackenzie gazed in mild surprise at the angry face.

“Hoot! toot!” he said.  “Who was denyin’ ye?  He iss all that, but he iss mighty quare, as you will find out.  But come away and we will get the horses.  It iss a peety you cannot do nothing.”

“You show me what to do,” said Kalman confidently, “and I’ll do it.”

The stable was a tumble-down affair, and sorely needing attention, as, indeed, was the case with the ranch and all its belongings.  A team of horses showing signs of hard work and poor care, with harness patched with rope and rawhide thongs, were waiting in the stable.  Even to Kalman’s inexperienced eyes it was a deplorable outfit.

There was little done in the way of cultivation of the soil upon the Night Hawk Ranch.  The market was far away, and it was almost impossible to secure farm labour.  The wants of French and his household were few.  A couple of fields of oats and barley for his horses and pigs and poultry, another for potatoes, for which he found ready market at the Crossing and in the lumber camps up among the hills, exhausted the agricultural pursuits of the ranch.