MAN TO MAN 
 
 Jackson Gregory 
 
University of California Berkeley 
 Gift of 
 
 JAMES SISSON 
 
MAN TO MAN 
 
BY JACKSON GREGORY 
 
 MAN TO MAN 
 
 Illustrated by J. C. Shepherd 
 
 LADYFINGERS 
 
 Illustrated by W. Herbert Dunton 
 
 ITHE BELLS OF SAN JUAN 
 
 Illustrated by Frank Tenny Johnson 
 
 JUDITH OF BLUE LAKE RANCH 
 Illustrated by W. Herbert Dunton 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
The blazing heat was such that men and horses and 
 steers suffered terribly 
 
MAN TO MAN 
 
 BY 
 
 JACKSON GREGORY 
 
 AUTHOR Of " SIX FEET TOUR," " JUDITH OF BLUE LAKE RANCH, 
 "BELLS OF SAN JUAN," "LADYKNGERS" 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 J. G. SHEPHERD 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 NEW YORK::::::::::::::::::::: 1920 
 
COPYRIGHT, 19*0, BY 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published October, 1920 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTBR PACE 
 
 I. STEVE DIVES INTO DEEP WATERS . i 
 
 II. Miss BLUE CLOAK KNOWS WHEN 
 
 SHE'S BEAT 14 
 
 III. NEWS OF A LEGACY 22 
 
 IV. TERRY BEFORE BREAKFAST ... 35 
 V. How STEVE PACKARD CAME HOME . 43 
 
 VI. BANK NOTES AND A BLIND MAN . 60 
 VII. THE OLD MOUNTAIN LION COMES 
 
 DOWN FROM THE NORTH ... 78 
 
 VIII. IN RED CREEK TOWN 94 
 
 IX. "IT'S MY FIGHT AND His. LET HIM 
 
 Go!" .... 107 
 
 X. A RIDE WITH TERRY 120 
 
 XI. THE TEMPTING OF YELLOW BARBEE 138 
 
 XII. IN A DARK ROOM 150 
 
 XIII. AT THE LUMBER CAMP .... 160 
 
 XIV. THE MAN-BREAKER AT HOME . . 184 
 XV. AT THE FALLEN LOG 199 
 
Contents 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVI. TERRY DEFIES BLENHAM . . . . 218 
 
 XVII. AND CALLS ON STEVE 237 
 
 XVIII. "!F HE KNOWS DOES SHE?" . . 246 
 
 XIX. TERRY CONFRONTS HELL-FIRE PACK- 
 ARD 258 
 
 XX. A GATE AND A RECORD SMASHED . 269 
 
 XXL PACKARD WRATH AND TEMPLE RAGE 277 
 
 XXII. THE HAND OF BLENHAM .... 287 
 
 XXIII. STEVE RIDES BY THE TEMPLE PLACE 304 
 
 XXIV. DOWN FROM THE SKY! . . . . 313 
 XXV. THE STAMPEDE 331 
 
 XXVI. YELLOW BARBEE KEEPS A PROMISE 347 
 
 XXVII. IN HONOR OF THE FAIRY QUEEN! . 364 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 The blazing heat was such that men and .horses and 
 
 steers suffered terribly Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 The men about him and Packard withdrew this way 
 
 and that leaving empty floor space . . . . 118 
 
 Terry's head, her face flushed rosily, her eyes never 
 
 brighter, popped up on one side of the log . . 206 
 
 "Say it!" laughed Terry. "Well, I'm here. Came 
 
 on business" 240 
 
MAN TO MAN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 STEVE DIVES INTO DEEP WATERS 
 
 STEVE PACKARD'S pulses quickened and a 
 bright eagerness came into his eyes as he 
 rode deeper into the pine-timbered mountains. 
 To-day he was on the last lap of a delectable 
 journey. Three days ago he had ridden out of 
 the sun-baked town of San Juan; three months 
 had passed since he had sailed out of a South Sea 
 port. 
 
 Far down there, foregathering with sailor men 
 in a dirty water-front boarding-house, he had 
 grown suddenly and even tenderly reminiscent 
 of a cleaner land which he had roamed as a boy. 
 He stared back across the departed years as many 
 a man has looked from just some such resort as 
 Black Jack's boarding-house, a little wistfully 
 withal. Abruptly throwing down his unplayed 
 hand and forfeiting his ante in a card game, he 
 had gotten up and taken ship back across the 
 Pacific. The house of Packard might have spelled 
 
Man to Man 
 
 its name with the seven letters of the word "im- 
 pulse." 
 
 Late to-night or early to-morrow he would 
 go down the trail into Packard's Grab, the valley 
 which had been his grandfather's and, because 
 of a burst of reckless generosity on the part of 
 the old man, Steve's father's also. But never 
 Steve's, pondered the man on the horse; word 
 of his father's death had come to him five months 
 ago and with it word of Phil Packard's specula- 
 tions and sweeping losses. 
 
 But never had money's coming and money's 
 going been a serious concern of Steve Packard; 
 and now his anticipation was sufficiently keen. 
 The world was his; he had no need of a legal 
 paper to state that the small fragment of the world 
 known as Ranch Number Ten belonged to him. 
 He could ride upon it again, perhaps find one like 
 old Bill Royce, the foreman, left. And then he 
 could go on until he came to the other Packard 
 ranch where his grandfather had lived and still 
 might be living. 
 
 After all of this Well, there were many sunny 
 beaches here and there along the seven seas where 
 he had still to lie and sun himself. Now it was 
 a pure joy to note how the boles of pine and cedar 
 pointed straight toward the clear, cloudless blue; 
 how the little streams trickled through their 
 
 2 
 
Steve Dives into Deep Waters 
 
 worn courses; how the quail scurried to their 
 brushy retreats; how the sunlight splashed warm 
 and golden through the branches; how valleys 
 widened and narrowed and the thickly timbered 
 ravines made a delightful and tempting coolness 
 upon the mountainsides. 
 
 It was an adventure with its own thrill to ride 
 around a bend in the narrow trail and be greeted 
 by an old, well-remembered landmark: a flat- 
 topped boulder where he had lain when a boy, 
 looking up at the sky and thrilling to the whis- 
 pered promises of life; or a pool where he had 
 fished or swum; or a tree he had climbed or from 
 whose branches he had shot a gray squirrel. A 
 wagon-road which he might have taken he aban- 
 doned for a trail which better suited his present 
 fancy since it led with closer intimacy into the 
 woods. 
 
 It was late afternoon when he came to the 
 gentle rise which gave first glint of the little lake 
 so like a blue jewel set in the dusty green of the 
 wooded slopes. As he rose in his stirrups to gaze 
 down a vista through the tree-trunks, he saw the 
 bright, vivid blue of a cloak. 
 
 "Now, there's a woman," thought Packard 
 without enthusiasm. "The woods were quite 
 well enough alone without her. As I suppose 
 Eden was. But along she comes just the same. 
 
 3 
 
Man to Man 
 
 And of course she must pick out the one danger- 
 ous spot on the whole lake shore to display her- 
 self on." 
 
 For he knew how, just yonder where the blue 
 cloak caught the sunlight, there was a sheer bank 
 and how the lapping water had cut into it, goug- 
 ing it out year after year so that the loose soil 
 above was always ready to crumble and spill 
 into the lake. The wearer of the bright garment 
 stirred and stood up, her back still toward him. 
 
 "Young girl, most likely," he hazarded an 
 opinion. 
 
 Though she was too far from him to be at all 
 certain, he had sensed something of youth's own 
 in the very quality of her gesture. 
 
 Then suddenly he clapped his spurs to his 
 horse's sides and went racing down the slope 
 toward the spot where an instant ago she had 
 made such a gay contrast to dull verdure and gray 
 boulders. For he had glimpsed the quick flash 
 of an up-thrown arm, had heard a low cry, had 
 guessed rather than seen through the low under- 
 brush her young body falling. 
 
 As he threw himself from his horse's back, his 
 spur caught in the blue cloak which had dropped 
 from her shoulders; he kicked at it savagely. 
 He jerked off his boots, poised a moment looking 
 down upon the disturbed surface of the water 
 
 4 
 
Steve Dives into Deep Waters 
 
 which had closed over her head, made out the 
 sweep of an arm under the widening circles, and 
 dived straight down. 
 
 And so deep down under water they met for 
 the first time, Steve Packard with a sense of 
 annoyance that was almost outright irritation, 
 the girl struggling frantically as his right arm 
 closed tight about her. A quick suspicion came 
 to him that she had not fallen but had thrown 
 herself downward in some passionate quarrel 
 with life; that she wanted to die and would give 
 him scant thanks for the rescue. 
 
 This thought was followed by the other that 
 in her access of terror she was doing what the 
 drowning person always does losing her head, 
 threatening to bind his arms with her own and 
 drag him down with her. 
 
 Struggling half blindly and all silently they 
 rose a little toward the surface. Packard tight- 
 ened his grip about her body, managed to imprison 
 one of her arms against her side, beat at the water 
 with his free handj and so, just as his lungs seemed 
 ready to burst, he brought his nostrils into the 
 air. 
 
 He drew in a 'great breath and struck out 
 mightily for the shore, seeking a less precipitous 
 bank at the head of a little cove. As he did so, 
 he noted how her struggles had suddenly given 
 
 5 
 
Man to Man 
 
 over, how she floated quietly with him, her free 
 arm even aiding in their progress. 
 
 A little later he crawled out of the clear, cold 
 water to a pebbly beach, drawing her after him. 
 
 And now he understood that his destiny and 
 his own headlong nature had again made a con- 
 summate fool of him. The same knowledge was 
 offered him freely in a pair of gray eyes which 
 fairly blazed at him. No gratitude there of a 
 maiden heroically succored in the hour of her 
 supreme distress; just the leaping anger of a 
 girl with a temper like hot fire who had been rudely 
 handled by a stranger. 
 
 Her scanty little bathing-suit, bright blue like 
 the discarded cloak, the red rubber cap binding 
 the bronze hair she must have donned the 
 ridiculous thing with incredible swiftness while he 
 batted an eye might have been utterly becom- 
 ing in other eyes than those of Steve Packard. 
 Now that they merely told him that he was a 
 blundering ass, he was conscious solely of a de- 
 sire to pick her up and shake her. 
 
 "Gee I" she panted at him with an angry scorn- 
 fulness which made him wince. "You're about 
 the freshest proposition I ever came across!" 
 
 Later, perhaps, he would admit that she was 
 undeniably and most amazingly pretty; that the 
 curves of her little white body were delightfully 
 
 6 
 
Steve Dives into Deep Waters 
 
 perfect; that she had made an armful that at 
 another time would have put sheer delirium into a 
 man's blood. 
 
 Just now he knew only that in his moment of 
 nothing less than stupidity he had angered her 
 and that his own anger though more unreasonable 
 was scarcely less heated; that he had made and 
 still made but a sorry spectacle; that he was sop- 
 ping wet a'nd cold and would be shivering in a 
 moment like a freezing dog. 
 
 "Why did you want to yell like a Comanche 
 Indian when you went in ?" he demanded rudely, 
 offering the only defense he could put mind or 
 tongue to. "A man would naturally suppose that 
 you were falling." 
 
 "You didn't suppose any such thing!" she re- 
 torted sharply. "You saw me dive; if you had 
 the brains of a scared rabbit, you'd know that 
 when a girl had gone to the trouble to climb into 
 a bathing-suit and then jumped into the water 
 she wanted a swim. And to be left alone," she 
 added scathingly. 
 
 Packard felt the afternoon breeze through the 
 wet garments which stuck so close to him, and 
 shivered. 
 
 "If you think," he said, as sharply as she had 
 spoken, "that I just jumped into that infernal 
 ice-pond, clothes and all, for the pure joy of mak- 
 
 7 
 
Man to Man 
 
 ing your charming acquaintance in some ten feet 
 of water, all I can say is that you are by no means 
 lacking a full appreciation of your own attractive- 
 
 ness." 
 
 She opened her eyes widely at him, lying at his 
 feet where he had deposited her. She had not 
 offered to rise. But now she sat up, drawing her 
 knees into the circle of her clasped arms, tilting 
 her head back as she stared up at him. 
 
 "You've got your nerve, Mr. Man," she in- 
 formed him coolly. "Any time that you think 
 I'll stand for a fool man jumping in and spoiling 
 my fun for me and then scolding me on top of it, 
 youVe got another good-sized think coming. 
 And take it from me, you'll last a good deal 
 longer in this neck of the woods if you 'tend to 
 your own business after this and keep your paws 
 off other folks' affairs. Get me that time ?" 
 
 "I get you all right," grunted Packard. "And 
 I find your gratitude to a man who has just 
 risked his life for you quite touching." 
 
 "Gratitude? Bah!" she told him, leaping 
 suddenly to her feet. "Risked your life for me, 
 did you?" She laughed jeeringly at that. 
 "Why, you big lummox, I could have yanked you 
 out as easy as turn a somersault if you started to 
 drown. And now suppose you hammer the trail 
 while it's open." 
 
 8 
 
Steve Dives into Deep Waters 
 
 He bestowed upon her a glance whose purpose 
 was to wither her. It failed miserably, partly 
 because she was patently not the sort to be with- 
 ered by a look from a mere man, and partly be- 
 cause a violent and inopportune shiver shook him 
 from head to foot. 
 
 Until now there had been only bright anger in 
 the girl's eyes. Suddenly the light there changed; 
 what had begun as a sniff at him altered without 
 warning into a highly amused giggle. 
 
 "Golly, Mr. Man/' she taunted him. "You're 
 sure some swell picture as you stand there, hand 
 on hip and popping your eyes out at me! Like 
 a king in a story-book, only he'd just got a 
 ducking and was trying to stare the other fellow 
 down. Which is one thing you can't do with 
 
 me." 
 
 Her eyes had the adorable trick of seeming to 
 crinkle to a mirth which would have been an ex- 
 tremely pleasant phenomenon to witness had she 
 been laughing with him instead of at him. As 
 matters stood, Packard was quite prepared to 
 dislike her heartily. 
 
 "I'd add to your kind information that the 
 trail is open at both ends," he told her significantly. 
 "I'm going to find a sunny spot and dry my 
 clothes. No objection, I suppose?" 
 
 He clambered up the bank and made his way 
 
 9 
 
Man to Man 
 
 to the spot whence he had dived after her, bent 
 on retrieving his boots and spurs. Her eyes fol- 
 lowed him interestedly. He ignored her and set 
 about extricating a spur rowel from the fabric 
 of the bright blue cloak. Her voice floated up to 
 him then, demanding: 
 
 "What in the world are you up to now? Not 
 going to swipe my clothes, are you ?" 
 
 "I'd have the right/* he called back over his 
 shoulder, "if I happened to need a makeshift 
 dressing-gown. As it is, however, I am trying to 
 get my spur out of the thing." 
 
 "You great big brute !" she wailed at him, and 
 here she came running along the bank. "You 
 just dare to tear my cloak and I'll hound you 
 out of the country for it ! I drove forty miles 
 to get it and this is the first time I ever wore it. 
 Stupid!" And she jerked both the garment and 
 the spur from him. 
 
 The lining was silken, of a deep, rich, golden 
 hue. And already it was torn, although but the 
 tiniest bit in the world, by one of the sharp spikes. 
 Her temper, however, ever ready it seemed, 
 flared out again; the crinkling merriment went 
 from her eyes, leaving no trace; the color warmed 
 in her cheeks as she cried : 
 
 "You're just like all of the rest of your breed, 
 big and awkward, crowding in where you don't 
 
 10 
 
Steve Dives into Deep Waters 
 
 belong, messing up the face of the earth, spoiling 
 things right and left. I wonder if the good Lord 
 Himself knows what he made men for, anyway!" 
 
 The offending spur, detached by her quick 
 fingers, described a bright arc in the late sunlight, 
 flew far out, dipped in a little leaping spurt of 
 spray, and went down quietly in the lake. 
 
 "Go jump in and get that, if you are so keen on 
 saving things," she mocked him. "There's only 
 about fifteen feet of water to dig through." 
 
 "You little devil!" he said. 
 
 For the spur with its companion had cost him 
 twenty dollars down on the Mexican border ten 
 days ago and he had set much store by it. 
 
 "Little devil, am I?" she retorted readily. 
 " You'll know it if you don't keep on your side of 
 the road. Look at that tear! Just look at it!" 
 
 She had stepped quite close to him, holding 
 out the cloak, her eyes lifted defiantly to his. He 
 put out a sudden hand and laid it on her wet 
 shoulder. She opened her eyes widely again at 
 the new look in his. But even so her regard was 
 utterly fearless. 
 
 "Young lady," he said sternly, "so help me 
 God, I've got the biggest notion in the world to 
 take you across my knee and give you the spank- 
 ing of your life. If I did crowd in where I don't 
 belong, as you so sweetly put it, it was at least to 
 
 ii 
 
Man to Man 
 
 do you a kindness. Another time I'd know better; 
 I'd sooner do a favor for a wildcat." 
 
 "Take your dirty paws off of me," she cried, 
 wrenching away from him. "And spank me, 
 would you ?" The fire leaped higher in her eyes, 
 the red in her cheeks gave place to an angrier 
 white. "If you ever so much as dare touch me 
 again " 
 
 She broke off, panting. Packard laughed at 
 her. 
 
 "You'd try to scratch me, I suppose," he 
 jeered; "and then, after the fashion of your own 
 sweet sex when you don't have the strength to 
 put a thing across, you'd most likely cry !" 
 
 "I'd blow your ugly head off your shoulders 
 with a shot-gun," she concluded briefly. 
 
 And despite the extravagance of the words 
 it was borne in upon Packard's understanding that 
 she meant just exactly what she said. 
 
 He was getting colder all the time and knew 
 that in a moment his teeth would chatter. So a 
 second time he turned his back on her, gathered 
 up his horse's reins, and moved away, seeking a 
 spot in the woods where he could get dry and sun 
 his clothes. And since Packard rage comes 
 swiftly and more often than not goes the same 
 way, within five minutes over a comforting ciga- 
 rette he was grinning widely, seeing in a flash all of 
 
 12 
 
Steve Dives into Deep Waters 
 
 the humor of the situation which had successfully 
 concealed itself from him until now. 
 
 "And I don't blame her so much, after all/' he 
 chuckled. "Taking a nice, lonely dive, to have a 
 fool of a man grab her all of a sudden when she 
 was enjoying herself half a dozen feet under water ! 
 It's enough to stir up a good healthy temper. 
 Which, by the Lord, she has !" 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 MISS BLUE CLOAK KNOWS WHEN SHE*S BEAT 
 
 HALF an hour later, his clothing wrung out 
 and sun-dried after a fashion, Packard 
 dressed, swung up into the saddle, and turned 
 back into the trail. And through the trees, where 
 their rugged trunks made an open vista, he saw 
 not two hundred yards away the gay spot of color 
 made by the blue cloak. So she was still here, 
 lingering down the road that wound about the 
 lake's shores, when already he had fancied her 
 far on her way. He wondered for the first time 
 where that way led ? 
 
 He drew rein among the pines, waiting in his 
 turn for her to go on. The blue cloak did not 
 move. He leaned to one side to see better, peer- 
 ing around a low-flung cedar bough. His trail 
 here led to the road; he must pass her unless she 
 went on soon. 
 
 Beside the vivid hue of her cloak the sunlight 
 streaming through the forest showed him another 
 bright, gay color, a streak of red which through 
 the underbrush he was at first at a loss to account 
 for. He would have said that she was seated in 
 
Miss Blue Cloak Knows 
 
 a low-bodied, red wagon, were it not that if such 
 had been the case he must have seen the horses. 
 
 "An automobile!" he guessed. 
 
 He rode on a score of steps and stopped again. 
 Sure enough, there she sat at the steering-wheel of 
 a long, rakish touring-car, the slump of her shoul- 
 ders vaguely hinting at despair and perhaps a 
 stalled engine. His grin widened joyously. He 
 touched his horse with his one spur, assumed an 
 expression of vast indifference, and rode on. She 
 jerked up her head, looked about at him swiftly, 
 gave him her shoulder again. 
 
 He rode into the road and came on with tan- 
 talizing slowness, knowing that she would want 
 to turn again and guessing that she would con- 
 quer the impulse. A few paces behind her he 
 stopped again, rolling a fresh cigarette and seem- 
 ing, as he had been before the meeting, the most 
 leisurely man in the world. 
 
 He saw her lean forward, busied with ignition 
 and starter; he fancied that the little breeze 
 brought to him the faintest of guarded exclama- 
 tions. 
 
 "The blamed old thing won't go," chuckled 
 Packard with vast satisfaction. "Some car, too. 
 Boyd-Merril Twin Eight, latest model. And 
 dollars to doughnuts I know just what's wrong 
 and she doesn't!" 
 
Man to Man 
 
 She ignored him with such a perfect uncon- 
 sciousness of his presence in the same world with 
 her that he was moved to a keen admiration. 
 
 "I'll bet her face is as red as a beet, just the 
 same," was his cheerful thought. "And right 
 here, Steve Packard, is where you don't 'crowd 
 in' until you're called on." 
 
 She straightened up, sitting very erect, her two 
 hands tense upon the useless wheel. He noted 
 the poise of her head and found in it something 
 almost queenly. For a moment they were both 
 very still, he watching and feeling his sense per- 
 vaded by the glowing sensation that all was right 
 with the world, she holding her face averted and 
 keeping her thoughts to herself. 
 
 Presently she got out and lifted the hood, look- 
 ing in upon the engine, despairing. But did not 
 glance toward him. Then she closed the hood 
 and returned to her seat, once more attempting 
 to get some sort of response from the starting 
 system. Packard felt himself fairly beaming all 
 over. 
 
 "I may be a low-lived dog and a deep-dyed vil- 
 lain besides," he was frank to admit to himself. 
 "But right now I'm having the time of my life. 
 And I wouldn't bet two bits which way she's 
 going to jump next, either never having met 
 just her type before." 
 
 16 
 
Miss Blue Cloak Knows 
 
 "Well? "she said abruptly. 
 
 She hadn't moved, hadn't so much as turned her 
 head to look at him. If she had done so just then 
 perhaps Packard's extremely good-humored smile, 
 a contented, eminently satisfied smile, would not 
 have warmed her to him. 
 
 "Speak to me ?" he asked innocently. 
 
 "I did. Simply because there's nobody else 
 to speak to. Don't happen to know anything 
 about motor-cars, do you ?" 
 
 It was all very icily enunciated, but had no 
 noticeably freezing effect upon the man's mood. 
 
 "I sure do," he told her cheerfully. "Know 
 'em from front bumper to tail-lamp. Yours is a 
 Boyd-Merril, Twin Eight, this year's model. 
 Fox- Whiting starting and lighting system. Great 
 little car, too, if you ask me." 
 
 "What I was going to ask you," came the cool 
 little voice, more haughtily than ever, "was not 
 what you think of the car but if you if you hap- 
 pened to know how to make the miserable thing 
 
 go." 
 
 "Sure," he replied to the back of her head, with 
 all of his former pleasant manner. "Pull out 
 the ignition button; push down the starter pedal 
 with your right foot; throw out the clutch with 
 your left; put her into low; let in your clutch 
 slowly; give her a little 
 
 17 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Smarty!" He had counted upon some such 
 interruption and chuckled when it came. "I 
 know all that." 
 
 "Then why don't you do it?" he queried in- 
 nocently. " You're right square in my way, the 
 road's narrow, and I've got to be moving on." 
 
 "I don't do it," she informed that portion of 
 the world which lay immediately in front of her 
 slightly elevated nose, "because it won't work. 
 I pulled out the ignition button and and noth- 
 ing happened. Then I tried to force down the 
 starter pedal and the crazy thing won't go down." 
 
 "I see," said Packard interestedly. "Don't 
 know a whole lot about cars, do you ? " 
 
 "The world wasn't made overnight," she said 
 tartly. "I've had this pesky thing a month. 
 Do you know what's the matter?" 
 
 He took his time in replying. He was so long 
 about it, in fact, that Miss Blue Cloak stirred un- 
 easily and finally shot him a questioning look over 
 her shoulder, just to make sure, he suspected, that 
 he hadn't slipped away and left her. 
 
 "Well? "she asked again. 
 
 "Speak to me ?" he repeated himself, pretending 
 to start from a deep abstraction. "Oh, do I 
 know what's the matter ? Sure !" 
 
 She waited a reasonable length of time for him 
 to go on. He, secure in the sense of his own mas- 
 
 18 
 
Miss Blue Cloak Knows 
 
 tery of the situation, waited for her. Between 
 them they allowed it to grow very quiet there 
 in the wood by the lake shore. He saw her glance 
 furtively at the lowering sun. 
 
 "If you do know," she said finally and some- 
 what faintly, but as frigidly as ever, "will you tell 
 me or won't you ?" 
 
 "Why," he said, as though he had not thought 
 of it, "I don't know. If I were really sure that 
 I was needed. You know it's mighty hard telling 
 these days when you stumble upon a damsel in 
 distress whether a stranger's aid is welcome or not. 
 If there's one thing I won't do it's shove myself 
 forward when I'm not wanted." 
 
 "You're a nasty animal!" she cried hotly. 
 
 "For all I know," he resumed in an untroubled 
 tone, "the end of your journey may be just 
 around the bend, about a hundred yards off. And 
 if I plunged in to be of assistance I might be sus- 
 pected of being a fresh guy." 
 
 "It's half a dozen miles to the ranch-house," 
 she condescended to tell him. "And it's going to 
 get dark in no time. And if you want to know, 
 Mr. Smarty, that's as close as I've ever come or 
 ever will come to asking anything of any man 
 that ever lived." 
 
 He could have sat there until dark just for the 
 sheer joy of teasing her, making her pay a little 
 
 19 
 
Man to Man 
 
 for her recent treatment of him. But there was 
 a note of finality in her voice which did not escape 
 him; in another moment she would jump down 
 and go on on foot and he knew it. So at last he 
 rode up to the car, dismounted, and lifted the hood. 
 
 " Ignition," he ordered her. 
 
 She pulled out the little button again. His eyes 
 upon hers, his grin frank and unconcealed, he 
 took a stone from the road and with it tapped 
 gently upon the shaft running from the pump. 
 Immediately there came that little hissing sound 
 she had waited for. 
 
 "Starter," he commanded. 
 
 And now her foot upon the pedal achieved the 
 desired results; the engine responded, humming 
 pleasantly. He closed the hood and stood back 
 eying her with a mingling of amusement and 
 triumph. Her face reddened slowly. And then, 
 startling him with its unheralded unexpectedness, 
 a gay peal of laughter from her made quite another 
 girl of her, a dimpling, radiant, altogether adorable 
 and desirable creature. 
 
 "Oh, I know when I'm beat !" she cried frankly. 
 "You've put one across on me to-day, Mr. Man. 
 And since you meant well all along and were 
 just simply the blunderheaded man God made 
 you, I guess I have been a little cat. Good luck 
 to you and a worth-while trail to ride." 
 
 20 
 
Miss Blue Cloak Knows 
 
 She blew him a friendly kiss from her brown 
 finger-tips, bent over her wheel, and took the 
 first turn in the road at a swiftly acquired speed 
 which left Steve Packard behind in dust and grow- 
 ing wonderment. 
 
 "And she's been driving only a month," was 
 his softly whistled comment. "Reckless little 
 devil!" ' 
 
 Then, in his turn cocking a speculative eye at 
 the sun in the west, he rode on, following in the 
 track made by the spinning automobile tires. 
 
 21 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 I 
 
 NEWS OF A LEGACY 
 
 TT 7HEN Packard came to a forking of the 
 V T roads he stopped and hesitated. The auto- 
 mobile tracks led to the left; he was tempted to 
 follow them. And it was his way in the matter of 
 such impulses to yield to temptation. But in this 
 case he finally decided that common sense if not 
 downright wisdom pointed in the other direction. 
 So, albeit a bit reluctantly, he swerved to the 
 right. 
 
 "We'll see you some other time, though, Miss 
 Blue Cloak," he pondered. "For I have a notion 
 it would be good sport knowing you." 
 
 An hour later he made out a lighted window, 
 sjen and lost through the trees. Conscious of 
 a man's-sized appetite he galloped up the long 
 lane, turned in at a gate sagging wearily upon its 
 hinges, and rode to the door of the lighted house. 
 The first glance showed him that it was a long, 
 low, rambling affair resembling in dejectedness 
 the drooping gate. An untidy sort of man in 
 shirt-sleeves and smoking a pipe came to the door, 
 kicking into silence his half-dozen dogs. 
 
 22 
 
News of a Legacy 
 
 "What's the chance of something to eat and 
 a place to sleep in the barn ?" asked Packard. 
 
 The rancher waved his pipe widely. 
 
 "Help yourself, stranger/' he answered, in a 
 voice meant to be hospitable but which through 
 long habit had acquired an unpleasantly sullen 
 tone. "You'll find the sleeping all right, but 
 when it conies to something to eat you can take 
 it from me you'll find damn' poor picking. Get 
 down, feed your horse, and come in." 
 
 When he entered the house Packard was con- 
 scious of an oddly bare and cheerless atmosphere 
 which at first he was at a loss to explain. For 
 the room was large, amply furnished, cheerfully 
 lighted by a crackling fire of dry sticks in the big 
 rock fireplace, and a lamp swung from the ceiling. 
 What the matter was dawned on him gradually: 
 time was when this chamber had been richly, 
 even exquisitely, furnished and appointed. Now 
 it presented rather a dejected spectacle of faded 
 splendor, not entirely unlike a fine gentleman of 
 the old school fallen among bad companions and 
 into tattered ill repute. 
 
 The untidy host, more untidy than ever here 
 in the full light, dragged his slippered feet across 
 the threadbare carpet to a corner cupboard, from 
 which he took a bottle and two glasses. 
 
 "We can have a drink anyhow," he said in 
 
 23 
 
Man to Man 
 
 that dubious tone which so harmonized both with 
 himself and his sitting-room. "After which we'll 
 see what's to eat. Terry fired the cook last week 
 and there's been small feasting since." 
 
 Packard accepted a moderate drink, the rancher 
 filled his own glass generously, and they drank 
 standing. This ceremony briefly performed and 
 chairs dragged comfortably up to the fireplace, 
 Packard's host called out loudly: 
 
 "Hi, Terry! There's a man here wants some- 
 thing to eat. Anything left?" 
 
 "If he's hungry," came the cool answer from 
 a room somewhere toward the other end of the 
 long house, "why can't he forage for himself? 
 Wants me to bring his rations in there and feed 
 it to him, I suppose !" 
 
 Packard lifted his eyebrows humorously. 
 
 "Is that Terry? "he asked. 
 
 "That's Terry," grumbled the rancher. " She's 
 in the kitchen now. And if I was you, pardner, 
 and had a real hankering for grub I'd mosey 
 right along in there while there's something left." 
 His eye roved to the bottle on the chimneypiece 
 and dropped to the fire. "I'll trail you in a 
 
 minute." 
 
 Here was invitation sufficient, and Packard rose 
 swiftly, went out through the door at the end of 
 the room, passed through an untidy chamber 
 which no doubt had been intended originally as 
 
 24 
 
News of a Legacy 
 
 a dining-room, and so came into lamplight again 
 and the presence of Miss Blue Cloak. 
 
 He made her a bow and smiled in upon her 
 cheerfully. She, perched on an oilcloth-covered 
 table, her booted feet swinging, a thick sandwich 
 in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the 
 other, took time to look him up and down seri- 
 ously and to swallow before she answered his bow 
 with a quick, bird-like nod. 
 
 "Don't mind me," she said briefly, having 
 swallowed again. "Dig in and help yourself." 
 
 On the table beside her were bread, butter, a 
 very dry and black-looking roast, and a blacker 
 but more tempting coffee-pot. 
 
 "I didn't follow you on purpose, 5 ' said Packard. 
 "Back there where the roads forked I saw that 
 you had turned to the left, so I turned to the 
 right." 
 
 "All roads lead to Rome," she said around the 
 corner of the big sandwich. "Anyway, it's all 
 right. I guess I owe you a square meal and a 
 night's lodging for being on the job when my car 
 stalled." 
 
 "Not to mention for diving into the lake after 
 you," amended Packard. 
 
 "I wouldn't mention it if I were you," she re- 
 torted. "Seeing that you just made a fool of 
 yourself that time." 
 
 She openly sniffed the air as he stepped by her 
 25 
 
Man to Man 
 
 reaching out for butcher-knife and roast. "So 
 you are dad's kind, are you ? Hitting the booze 
 every show you get. The Lord deliver me from 
 his chief blunder. Meaning a man." 
 
 "He probably will," grinned Packard genially. 
 "And as for turning up your nose at a fellow for 
 taking a drop o' kindness with a hospitable host, 
 why, that's all nonsense, you know." 
 
 Terry kicked her high heels impudently and 
 vouchsafed him no further answer beyond that 
 easy gesture. Packard made his own sandwich, 
 found the salt, poured a tin cup of coffee. 
 
 "The sugar's over there." She jerked her head 
 toward a shelf on which, after some searching 
 among a lot of empty and nearly empty cans, 
 Packard found it. "That's all there is and pre- 
 cious little left; help yourself but don't forget 
 breakfast comes in the morning." 
 
 "This is the old Slade place, isn't it ?" Packard 
 asked. 
 
 "It was, about the time the big wall was build- 
 ing in China. Where' ve you been the last couple 
 of hundred years ? It's the Temple place now." 
 
 "Then you're Miss Temple?" 
 
 "Teresa Arriega for my mother, Temple for 
 my dad," she told him in the quick, bright way 
 which already he found characteristic of her. 
 "Terry for myself, if you say it quick." 
 
 He had suspected from the beginning that 
 26 
 
News of a Legacy 
 
 there was Southern blood of some strain in her. 
 Now he studied her frankly, and, just to try her 
 out, said carelessly: 
 
 "If you weren't so tanned you'd be quite fair; 
 your eyes are gray too. Blue-gray when you 
 smile, dark gray when you are angry; and yet 
 you say your mother was Mexican 
 
 "Mexican, your foot!" she flared out at him, 
 her trim little body stiffening perceptibly, her 
 chin proudly lifted. "The Arriegas were pure- 
 blooded Castilian, I'd have you understand. 
 There's no mongrel about me." 
 
 He drowned his satisfied chuckle with a draft 
 of coffee, 
 
 "I'm looking for a job," he said abruptly. 
 "Happen to know of any of the cattle outfits 
 around here that are short-handed ?" 
 
 "Men are scarce right now," she answered. 
 "A good cattle-hand is as hard to locate as a 
 dodo bird. You could get a job anywhere if 
 you're worth your salt." 
 
 "I was thinking," said Packard, "of moseying 
 on to Ranch Number Ten. There's a man I used 
 to know Bill Royce, his name is. Foreman, 
 isn't he?" 
 
 "So you know Bill Royce?" countered Terry. 
 "Well, that's something in your favor. He's a 
 good scout." 
 
 "Then he is still foreman?" 
 27 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "I didn't say so! No, he isn't. And I guess 
 he'll never be foreman of that outfit or any other 
 again. He's blind." 
 
 Old Bill Royce blind ! Here was a shock, and 
 Packard sat back and stared at her speechlessly. 
 Somehow this was incredible, unthinkable, noth- 
 ing short. The old cattle-man who had been the 
 hero of his boyhood, who had taught him to shoot 
 and ride and swim, who had been so vital and so 
 quick and keen of eye blind ? 
 
 "What happened to him?" asked Packard 
 presently. 
 
 "Suppose you ask him," she retorted. "If 
 you know him so well. He is still with the out- 
 fit. A man named Blenham is the foreman now. 
 He's old Packard's right-hand bower, you know." 
 
 "But Phil Packard is dead. And- 
 
 "And old 'Hell-Fire' Packard, Phil Packard's 
 father, never will die. He's just naturally too 
 low-down mean; the devil himself wouldn't have 
 him." 
 
 "Terry!" came the voice of the untidy man, 
 meant to be remonstrative but chiefly noteworthy 
 for a newly acquired thickness of utterance. 
 
 Terry's eyes sparkled and a hot flush came into 
 her cheeks. 
 
 "Leave me alone, will you, pa?" she cried 
 sharply. "I don't owe old Packard anything; 
 
 28 
 
News of a Legacy 
 
 no, nor Blenham either. You can walk easy all 
 you like, but I'm blamed if I've got to. If you'd 
 smash your cursed old bottle on their heads and 
 take a brace we'd come alive yet." 
 
 " Remember we have a guest with us," grumbled 
 Temple from his place by the sitting-room fire. 
 
 "Oh, shoot!" exclaimed the girl impatiently. 
 Reaching out for a second sandwich she stabbed 
 the kitchen-knife viciously into the roast. "I've 
 a notion to pack up and clear out and let the cut- 
 throat crowd clean you to the last copper and pick 
 your bones into the bargain. When did you ever 
 get anywhere by taking your hat off and side- 
 stepping for a Packard ? If you're so all-fired 
 strong for remembering, why don't you try to 
 remember how it feels to stand on two feet like 
 a man instead of crawling on your belly like a 
 worm !" 
 
 "My dear!" expostulated Temple. 
 
 Terry sniffed and paid no further attention to 
 him. 
 
 "Dad was all man once," she said without 
 lowering her voice, making clearer than ever 
 that Miss Terry Temple had a way of speaking 
 straight out what lay in her mind, caring not at 
 all who heard. "I'm hoping that some day he'll 
 come back. A real man was dad, a man's man. 
 But that was before the Packards broke him and 
 
 29 
 
Man to Man 
 
 stepped on him and kicked him out of the trail. 
 And, believe me, the Packards, though they 
 ought to be hung to the first tree, are men just the 
 same!" 
 
 "So I have heard," admitted the youngest of the 
 defamed house. "You group them altogether ? 
 They're all the same then ? " 
 
 "Phil Packard's dead," she retorted. "So 
 we'll let him go at that. Old Hell-Fire Packard, 
 his father, is the biggest lawbreaker out of jail. 
 He's the only one left, and from the looks of things 
 he'll keep on living and making trouble another 
 hundred years." 
 
 "There was another Packard, wasn't there?" 
 he insisted. "Phil Packard's son, the old man's 
 grandson?" 
 
 "Never knew him," said Terry. "A scamp 
 and a scalawag and a tomfool, though, if you 
 want to know. If he wasn't, he'd have stuck on 
 the job instead of messing around in the dirty 
 ports of the seven seas while his old thief of a 
 grandfather stole his heritage from him." 
 
 "How's that?" he asked sharply. "How do 
 you mean 'stole' it from him ?" 
 
 "The same way he gobbles up everything else 
 he wants. Ranch Number Ten ought to belong 
 to the fool boy now, oughtn't it ? And here's 
 old Packard's pet dog Blenham running the outfit 
 
 30 
 
News of a Legacy 
 
 in old Packard's interests just the same as if it 
 was his already. Set a thief to rob a thief," she 
 concluded briefly. 
 
 Steve Packard sat bolt upright in his chair. 
 
 "1 wouldn't mind getting the straight of this," 
 he told her quietly. "I thought that Philip 
 Packard had sold the outfit to his father before 
 his death." 
 
 "He didn't sell it to anybody. He mortgaged 
 it right up to the hilt to the old man. Then 
 he up and died. Of course everything he left, 
 amounting mostly to a pile of debts, went to his 
 good-for-nothing son." 
 
 A light which she could not understand, eager 
 and bright, shone in young Packard's eyes. If 
 what she told him were true, then the old home 
 ranch, while commonly looked upon as belonging 
 already to his grandfather, was the property 
 legally of Steve Packard. And Blenham yes, 
 and old Bill Royce were taking his pay. Sud- 
 denly infinite possibilities stretched out before 
 him. 
 
 "Come alive!" laughed Terry. "We were 
 talking about your finding a job. There's one 
 open here for you; first to teach me all you know 
 about the insides of my car; second What's 
 the matter ? Gone to sleep ? " 
 
 He started. He had been thinking about 
 
 31 
 
Man to Man 
 
 Blenham and Bill Royce. As Terry continued 
 to stare wonderingly at him he smiled. 
 
 "If you don't mind," he said non-commit tally, 
 "we'll forget about the job for a spell. I left 
 some stuff back at the Packard ranch that be- 
 longs to me. I'm going back for it in the morning. 
 Maybe I'll go to work there after all." 
 
 She shrugged distastefully. 
 
 "It's a free country," she said curtly. "Only 
 I can't see your play. That is, if you're a square 
 guy and not a crook, Number Ten size. You've 
 got a chance to go to work here with a white 
 crowd; if you want to tie up with that ornery 
 bunch it's up to you." 
 
 "I'll look them over," he said thoughtfully. 
 
 "All right; go to it!" she cried with sudden 
 heat. "I said it was a free country, didn't I ? 
 Only you can burn this in your next wheat-straw: 
 once you go to riding herd with that gang you 
 needn't come around here again. And you can 
 take Blenham a message for me: Phil Packard 
 knifed dad and double-crossed him and made him 
 pretty nearly what he is now; old Hell-Fire Pack- 
 ard finished the job. But just the same, the Tem- 
 ple Ranch is still on the map and Terry Temple 
 had rather scrap a scoundrel to the finish than 
 shake hands with one. And one of these days 
 dad's going to come alive yet; you'll see." 
 
 32 
 
News of a Legacy 
 
 "I believe/' he said as much to himself as to her, 
 "that Pll have to have a word with old man 
 Packard." 
 
 She stared at him incredulously. Then she 
 put her head back and laughed in high amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 "Nobody'd miss guessing that you had your 
 nerve with you, Mr. Lanky Stranger/' she cried 
 mirthfully. "But when it comes to tackling 
 Hell-Fire Packard with a mouthful of fool ques- 
 tions Look here; who are you anyway?" 
 
 "Nobody much/' he answered quietly and just 
 a trifle bitterly. "Tom Fool you named me a 
 while ago. Or, if you prefer, Steve Packard." 
 
 She flipped from her place on the table to stand 
 erect, twin spots of red leaping into her cheeks, 
 startling him with the manner in which all mirth 
 fled from her eyes, which narrowed and grew hard. 
 
 "That would mean old Hell-Fire's grandson?" 
 she asked sharply. 
 
 He merely nodded, watching her speculatively. 
 Her head went still higher. Packard heard her 
 father rise hurriedly and shuffle across the floor 
 toward the kitchen. 
 
 " You're a worthy chip off the old stump," 
 Terry was saying contemptuously. "You're a 
 darned sneak!" 
 
 "Terry!" admonished Temple warningly. 
 
 33 
 
Man to Man 
 
 Her stiff little figure remained motionless a 
 moment, never an eyelid stirring. Then she 
 whirled and went out of the room, banging a 
 door after her. 
 
 "She's high-strung, Mr. Packard," said Tem- 
 ple, slow and heavy and a bit uncertain in his 
 articulation. "High-strung, like her mother. 
 And at times apt to be unreasonable. Come in 
 with me and have a drink, and we'll talk things 
 
 over." 
 
 Packard hesitated. Then he turned and fol- 
 lowed his host back to the fireplace. Suddenly 
 he found himself without further enthusiasm for 
 conversation. 
 
 34 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 TERRY BEFORE BREAKFAST 
 
 A GAY young voice singing somewhere 
 through the dawn awoke Steve Packard 
 and informed him that Terry was up and about. 
 He lay still a moment, listening. He remembered 
 the song, which, by the way, he had not heard for 
 a good many years, the ballad of a cowboy sick 
 and lonely in a big city, yearning for the open 
 country. At times when Terry's humming was 
 smothered by the walls of the house, Packard's 
 memory strove for the words which his ears failed 
 to catch. And more often than not the words, 
 retrieved from oblivion, were less than worth the 
 effort; no poet had builded the chant, which, 
 rather, grown to goodly proportions of perhaps a 
 hundred verses, had resulted from a natural 
 evolution like a modern Odyssey, or some 
 sprawling vine which was what it was because 
 of its environment. But while lines were faulty 
 and rhymes were bad, and the composition never 
 rose above the commonplace, and often enough 
 sank below it, the ballad was sincere and meant 
 much to those who sang it. Its pictures were 
 
 35 
 
Man to Man 
 
 homely. Steve, catching certain fragments and 
 seeking others, got such phrases as: 
 
 " My bed on dry pine-needles, my camp-fire blazin' 
 
 bright, 
 
 The smell of dead leaves burnin' through the big 
 wide-open night," 
 
 and with moving but silent lips joined Terry in 
 the triumphant refrain: 
 
 "I'm lonesome-sick for the stars through the pines 
 
 An' the bawlin' of herds . . . an' the noise 
 Of rocks rattlin' down from a mountain trail . . . 
 
 An' the hills . . . an' my horse . . . an* the boys. 
 An' I'd rather hear a kiote howl 
 
 Than be the King of Rome ! 
 An' when day comes if day does come 
 By cripes, I'm goin' home ! 
 
 . . . Back home ! Hear me comin', boys ? 
 Yeee! I said it: 'Comin' home!" 
 
 He sat up in bed. The fragrance of boiling 
 coffee and frying bacon assailed his nostrils 
 pleasurably. Terry's voice had grown silent. 
 Perhaps she was having her breakfast by now ? 
 With rather greater haste than the mere call of 
 his morning meal would seem to warrant, he 
 dressed, ran his fingers through his hair by way 
 of completing his toilet, and, going down a hall- 
 way, thrust his head in through the kitchen door- 
 way. 
 
 36 
 
Terry before Breakfast 
 
 "Good morning," he called pleasantly. 
 
 Terry was not yet breakfasting. Down on 
 one knee, poking viciously into the fire-box of 
 an extremely old and dilapidated stove, she was 
 seeking, after the time-honored way of her sex, 
 to make the fire burn better. Her face was rosy, 
 flushed prettily with the glow from the blazing 
 oak wood. Packard's eyes brightened as he looked 
 at her, making a comprehensive survey of the 
 trim little form from the top of her bronze hair 
 to the heels of her spick-and-span boots. About 
 her throat, knotted loosely, was a flaming-red 
 silken scarf. The thought struck him that the 
 Temple fortunes, the Temple ranch, the Temple 
 master, all were falling or had already fallen into 
 varying states of decay, and that alone in the 
 wreckage Terry Temple made a gay spot of color, 
 that alone Terry Temple was determined to keep 
 her place in the sun. 
 
 Terry, having poked a goodly part of the fire 
 out, made a face at what remained and got to 
 her feet. 
 
 "I've been thinking about you," she said. 
 
 "Fine!" said Packard. "You can tell me 
 while we have our coffee." 
 
 But he did not fail to mark that she had given 
 him no ready smile by way of welcome, that now 
 she regarded him coolly and critically. In her 
 
 37 
 
Man to Man 
 
 morning attitude there was little to lead him to 
 hope for a free-and-easy chat across a breakfast- 
 table. 
 
 "You strike me," said Terry abruptly and 
 emphatically, "as a pretty slick proposition." 
 
 "Why so?" asked Packard interestedly. 
 
 "Because," said Terry. For a moment he 
 thought that she was going to stop there. But 
 after a thoughtful pause, during which she looked 
 straight at him with eyes which were meant to 
 be merely clear and judicial but which were just 
 faintly troubled, she went on: "Because you're 
 a Packard, to begin with." 
 
 "Look here," protested young Packard equably, 
 "I didn't think that of you; honestly, I didn't. 
 How are you and I ever going to get anywhere 
 ... in the way of being friends, I mean ... if 
 you start out by blaming me for what my dis- 
 reputable old scamp of a grandfather does ?" 
 
 Terry sniffed openly. 
 
 "Forget that friendship gag before you think 
 of it, will you?" she said quickly. "Talking 
 nice isn't going to get you anywhere with me and 
 you might as well remember that. It won't buy 
 you anything to start in telling me that I've got 
 pretty eyes or a dimple, and I won't stand one 
 little minute for your pulling any of that girlie- 
 stuff on me. ... I said, to begin with, you're 
 
 38 
 
Terry before Breakfast 
 
 a Packard. That ought to be enough, the Lord 
 knows ! But it's not all." 
 
 "First thing," he suggested cheerfully, "are 
 you going to ask me to have breakfast with you ?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered briefly. "Since you are 
 here and since dad had you stay all night. If 
 you were the devil himself, I'd give you some- 
 thing to eat." 
 
 "Being merely the devil's grandson," grinned 
 Packard, "suppose I tuck in and help? I'll set 
 the table while you do the cooking." 
 
 "I don't bother setting any table," said Terry 
 as tartly as she knew how. "Besides, the coffee 
 and bacon are both done and that's all the cook- 
 ing there is. You know where the bread and 
 butter and sugar are. Help yourself. There isn't 
 any milk." 
 
 She poured her own coffee, made a sandwich 
 of bacon and bread, and went to sit as he had 
 found her last night, on the table, her feet swing- 
 ing. 
 
 Steve Packard had gone to sleep filled with 
 high hopes last night, and had awakened with 
 a fresh, new zest in life this morning. Like the 
 cowboy in the ballad, he had wanted nothing in 
 the world save to be back on the range, and he 
 had his wish, or would have it fully in a few 
 hours, when he had ridden to Ranch Number Ten. 
 
 39 
 
Man to Man 
 
 Fully appreciating Terry's prejudices, he had 
 meant to remember that she was "just a kid of a 
 girl, you know," and to banter her out of them. 
 Now he was ready to acknowledge that he had 
 failed to give Terry her due; with a sudden access 
 of irritation it was borne in upon him that if she 
 was fully minded to be stand-offish and un- 
 pleasant, he had something more than just a kid 
 of a girl to deal with. Frowning, he sought his 
 tobacco and papers. 
 
 "Going to eat?" asked Terry carelessly. "Or 
 not?" 
 
 "I don't know . . . yet," he returned, lifting 
 his eyes from his cigarette. "Most certainly 
 not if you don't want me to." 
 
 "Ho !" taunted Terry, the bright light of battle 
 in her eyes. "Climbing on your high horse, are 
 you ? Well, then, stay there." 
 
 Packard lighted his cigarette and returned her 
 look steadily. 
 
 " Kid of a girl, nothing ! " he told himself. And 
 going back to his epithet of yesterday, "Little 
 wildcat." 
 
 "Then," continued the girl evenly, taking up 
 the conversation where it had broken down some 
 time ago, "I'll say what I've got to say. First, 
 because you're a Packard. Next, because it was 
 pretty slick work, that stunt of yours, diving into 
 
 40 
 
Terry before Breakfast 
 
 the lake for me, pretending you didn't know who 
 I was, and grabbing the first chance to get ac- 
 quainted. Much good it'll do you ! Maybe I 
 haven't been through high school and you have 
 fussed around at college; just the same, Mr. 
 Steve Packard, Terry Temple's not your fool or 
 any other man's ! And, on top of all of your other 
 nerve, to try and make me think you didn't know 
 you owned your own ranch ! And trying to pump 
 me and corkscrewing away at dad when he was 
 full of whiskey. . . . Pah ! Your kind of he- 
 animal makes me sick." 
 
 "You think," he offered stiffly, "that I'm hand 
 and glove with Blenham ? And, perhaps, that 
 I'm taking orders from my grandfather, trying 
 to put one over on you ?" 
 
 " Thinking's not the right word," she corrected 
 sharply. "I know." 
 
 He shrugged. As he did so it struck him that 
 there was nothing else for him to do. She had 
 the trick of utter finality. 
 
 "And," she called after him as he turned ab- 
 ruptly to leave the room, "you can tell old Hell 
 Fire for me that maybe he's got the big bulge 
 on the situation right now but that it's bad luck 
 to count your chips until the game is over. There's 
 a come-back left in dad yet, and . . . and if you 
 or your hell-roaring old granddad think you can 
 
Man to Man 
 
 swallow the Temple outfit whole, like you've done 
 a lot of other outfits . . ." 
 
 Packard went out and slammed the door after 
 him. 
 
 "Damn the girl!" he muttered angrily. 
 
 Terry, sitting on the table, grew very still, 
 ceased the swinging of her feet, and turned, to 
 peek cautiously out at him from the kitchen 
 window. Her look was utterly joyous. 
 
 "Men are always horrid creatures before 
 they've had their breakfasts," she informed the 
 stillness about her complacently. 
 
 42 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 HOW STEVE PACKARD CAME HOME 
 
 HAD Steve Packard ridden straightway back 
 to Ranch Number Ten he would have ar- 
 rived at the ranch headquarters long before noon. 
 But, once out in the still dawn, he rode slowly. 
 His mind, when he could detach it from that irri- 
 tating Terry Pert, was given over to a searching 
 consideration of those conditions which were be- 
 ginning to dawn on him. 
 
 It was clear that his destiny was offering him a 
 new trail to blaze, one which drew him on with 
 its lure, tempting him with its vague promises. 
 There was nothing to cause surprise in the fact 
 that the ranch was his to have and to hold if he 
 had the skill and the will for the job; nor yet in 
 the other fact that the outfit was mortgaged to 
 his grandfather; nor, again, was it to be wondered 
 at that the old man was already acting as actual 
 owner. For never had the oldest Packard had any 
 use for the subtleties and niceties and confusing 
 technicalities of the law. It was his way to see 
 clearly what he wanted, to make up his mind 
 definitely as to a desired result, and then to go 
 
 43 
 
Man to Man 
 
 after it the shortest way. And that way had 
 never led yet through the law-courts. 
 
 These matters were clear. But as he dwelt 
 upon them they were made complex by other con- 
 siderations hingeing upon him. Most of all he 
 had to take stock of what lay in his own mind 
 and soul, of all that dwelt behind his present 
 purpose. 
 
 Riding back to Ranch Number Ten, saying, 
 "It is mine and I mean to have it," was simple 
 enough. But for him actually to commit himself 
 to the line of action which this step would entail 
 would very obviously connote a distinct depar- 
 ture from the familiar, aimless, responsibility-free 
 career of Steve Packard. 
 
 If he once sat into the game he'd want to stick 
 for a showdown; if he started out now bucking 
 old man Packard, he would perhaps wind up in 
 the scrap-heap. It was just as well to think 
 things over before he plunged in which set him 
 musing upon Terry again. 
 
 Swerving from yesterday's path, he followed 
 a new trail leading about the edge of the Temple 
 ranch and into the southeastern borders of Ranch 
 Number Ten. At a logging-camp well up on the 
 slope of the mountains just after he had forded 
 the upper waters of Packard's Creek, he break- 
 fasted on warmed-over coffee and greasy hot cakes. 
 
 44 
 
How Steve Packard Came Home 
 
 He opened his eyes interestedly as he watched a 
 gang of timber-jacks cutting into a forest of his 
 pines. 
 
 "Old man Packard's crowd?" he asked the 
 camp cook. 
 
 "Sure thing," was the cook's careless answer. 
 
 Steve Packard rode on, grown more thoughtful 
 than before. But he directed his course this way 
 and that on a speculative tour of investigation, 
 seeking to see the greater part of the big, sprawl- 
 ing ranch, to note just what had been done, just 
 what was being done, before having his talk with 
 Blenham. And so the first stars were out be- 
 fore he came once more to the home corrals. 
 
 While Steve was turning down into Packard's 
 Grab from the foot-hills the men working for 
 Ranch Number Ten, having eaten their supper, 
 were celebrating the end of a hard day's work with 
 tobacco smoke and desultory talk. 
 
 There were a dozen of them, clear-eyed, iron- 
 muscled, quick-footed to the last man of them. 
 For wherever Packard pay was taken it went into 
 the pockets of just such as these, purposeful, self- 
 reliant, men's men who could be counted on in a 
 pinch and who, that they might be held in the 
 service which required such as they, were paid 
 a better wage than other ranches offered. 
 
 45 
 
Man to Man 
 
 Young, most of them, too, boisterous when 
 upon occasion their hands were idle, devil-may- 
 care scalawags who had earned in many a little 
 cattle town up and down the country their title 
 as "that wild gang of Packard's," prone to head- 
 long ways and yet dependable. 
 
 There are such men; Packard knew it and 
 sought them out and held them to him. The old- 
 est man there, saving Bill Royce only, was Blen- 
 ham the foreman, and Blenham had yet to see 
 his thirty-fifth birthday. 
 
 Ten years ago, that is to say before he came into 
 the cattle country and found work for Packard, 
 Blenham had been a sergeant in the regular army, 
 had seen something of service on the border. 
 Now, in his dealings with the men under him, he 
 brought here all that he had learned from a mili- 
 tary life. 
 
 He held himself aloof, was seldom to be found 
 in the bunk-house, making his quarters in the old 
 ranch-house. He was crisp and final in his orders 
 and successful in exacting swift attention when he 
 spoke and immediate obedience when he ordered. 
 
 Few of his men liked him; he knew this as well 
 as another and cared not the snap of his big, 
 blunt fingers. There was remarkably little of 
 the sentimental about Blenham. He was a capa- 
 ble lieutenant for such as the master of the Packard 
 
How Steve Packard Came Home 
 
 millions, he earned and received his increase in 
 wages every year, he got results. 
 
 This evening, however, the man's heavy, stud- 
 ied indifference to all about him was ruffled. 
 During the afternoon something had gone wrong 
 and no one yet, save "Cookie" Wilson, had an 
 inkling of what had plunged the foreman into one 
 of his ill-tempered fits. 
 
 To-morrow it would be a ranch topic when 
 Cookie could have had ample time to embroider 
 the thin fabric of his surmise; for it had fallen 
 to the cook's lot to answer the bunk-house tele- 
 phone when there had been a long-distance mes- 
 sage for Blenham and Wilson recognized old man 
 Packard's voice in a fit of rage. 
 
 No doubt the foreman of Ranch Number Ten 
 had "slipped up" somewhere, and his chief, in a 
 very few words and those of a brand not to be 
 misunderstood, had taken him to task. At any 
 rate Cookie was swelling with eager conjecture 
 and Blenham was in an evil mood. All evening 
 his spleen had been rising in his throat, near chok- 
 ing him; now suddenly he spewed it upon Bill 
 Royce. 
 
 "Royce!" he burst out abruptly. 
 
 The blind man was lying upon the edge of his 
 bunk at the far end of the room, smoking his 
 pipe. He stirred uneasily. 
 
 47 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Well?" he asked. "What is it?" 
 
 "Cool old cucumber, ain't you?" jeered Blen- 
 ham. "Layin' there like a bag of mush while 
 you listen to me. Damn you, when I talk to you, 
 stand up !" 
 
 Royce's form stiffened perceptibly and his lips 
 tightened about the stem of his pipe. But be- 
 fore he could shape his rejoinder there came an 
 unexpected voice from one of the four men just 
 beginning a game of pedro under the swinging 
 lamp, a young voice, impudent, clear-toned, al- 
 most musical. 
 
 "Tell him to go to hell, Bill," was the freely 
 proffered counsel. 
 
 Blenham swung about on his heel, his eyes 
 narrowing. 
 
 "That you, Barbee?" he demanded sharply. 
 
 "Sure it's me," rejoined Barbee with the same 
 cool impudence. And to the man across the table 
 from him, "Deal 'em up, Spots; you an' me is 
 goin' to pry these two bum gamblers loose from 
 their four-bit pieces real pronto by the good ol' 
 road of high, low, jack, an' the game. Come 
 ahead, Spots-ol'-Spotty." 
 
 Blenham stared a moment, obviously surprised 
 by this attitude taken by young Barbee. 
 
 "I'll attend to you when I got nothin' else to 
 do, Barbee," he said shortly. And, giving the 
 
How Steve Packard Came Home 
 
 whole of his attention again to the man on the 
 bunk, "Royce, I said when I talk to you to stand 
 up!" 
 
 To the last man of them, even to young Bar- 
 bee, who had made his youthful pretense at an 
 all-embracing interest in the cards, they turned to 
 watch Bill Royce and see what he would do. 
 
 They saw that Royce lay a moment as he was, 
 stiff and rigid to his hands and feet, that his face 
 had gone a fiery red which threw the white of the 
 long scar across his nose into bloodless contrast, 
 that the most obvious thing in the world was that 
 for the moment his mind was torn two ways, dual- 
 purposed, perfectly balanced, so that in the grip 
 of his contending passions he was powerless to 
 stir, a picture of impotence, like a man paralyzed. 
 
 "Blenham," he said presently without moving, 
 his voice uncertain and thick and ugly, "Blen- 
 ham " 
 
 "I said it once," cried Blenham sharply, "an 5 
 I said it twice. Which ought to be enough, Bill 
 Royce! Hear me?" 
 
 They all watched interestedly. Bill Royce 
 moistened his lips and presented his pitiful spec- 
 tacle of a once-strong man on the verge of yield- 
 ing to his master, to the man he hated most on 
 earth. A smile came into Blenham's expectant 
 eyes. 
 
 49 
 
Man to Man 
 
 The brief silence was perfect until the youth- 
 ful Barbee broke it, not by speech but by whistling 
 softly, musically, impudently. And the air which 
 Barbee selected at this juncture, though not drawn 
 from the classics, served its purpose adequately; 
 the song was a favorite in the range-lands, the 
 refrain simple, profane, and sincere. Translated 
 into words Barbee's merry notes were: 
 
 "Oh, I don't give a damn for no damn man that 
 don't give a damn for me!" 
 
 Blenham understood and scowled at him; Bill 
 Royce's hesitant soul may have drawn comfort and 
 strength from a sympathy wordlessly expressed. 
 At any rate his reply came suddenly now: 
 
 "I've took a good deal ofFn you, Blenham," 
 he said quietly. "I'd be glad to take all I could. 
 But a man can't stand everything, no, not even 
 for a absent pal. Like Barbee said, you know 
 where you can go." 
 
 Cookie Wilson gasped, his the sole audible 
 comment upon an entirely novel situation. Bar- 
 bee smiled delightedly. Blenham continued to 
 frown, his scowl subtly altered from fierceness to 
 wonder. 
 
 "You'll obey orders," he snapped shortly, 
 
 know," replied Royce heavily. "Go to it. 
 All you got to do is fire me." 
 
 SO 
 
How Steve Packard Came Home 
 
 And now the pure wonder of the moment was 
 that Blenham did not discharge Royce in three 
 words. It was his turn for hesitation, for which 
 there was no explanation forthcoming. Then, 
 gripped by a rage which made him inarticulate, 
 he whirled upon Barbee. 
 
 Yellow-haired Barbee at the table promptly 
 stood up, awaiting no second invitation to that 
 look of Blenham's. Were one staging a morality 
 play and in search of the personification of im- 
 pertinence, he need look no farther than this 
 cocksure youth. He was just at that age when 
 one is determined that there shall be no mistake 
 about his status in the matters of age and 
 worldly experience; in short, something over 
 twenty-one, when the male of the species takes 
 it as the insult of insults to be misjudged a boy. 
 His hair was short Barbee always kept it close 
 cropped but for all that it persisted in curl- 
 ing, seeking to express itself in tight little rings 
 everywhere; his eyes were very blue and very 
 innocent, like a*young girl's and he was, all 
 in all, just about as good-for-nothing a young 
 rogue as you could find in a ten days' ride. Which 
 is saying rather a good deal when it be under- 
 stood that that ten days' ride may be through the 
 cattle country back of San Juan. 
 
 "Coin' to eat me alive?" demanded Barbee 
 lightly. "Or roast me first ?" 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "For two cents/' said Blenham slowly, "I'd 
 forget you're just a kid an' slap your face !" 
 
 Barbee swept one of the fifty-cent pieces from 
 the table and tossed it to the foreman. 
 
 "You can keep the change out'n that," he said 
 contemptuously. 
 
 It was nothing new in the experience of Blen- 
 ham, could be nothing unforeseen for any ranch 
 foreman, to have his authority called into ques- 
 tion, to have a rebellious spirit defy him. If he 
 sought to remain master, the foreman's answer 
 must be always the same. And promptly given. 
 
 "Royce," said Blenham, his hesitation passed, 
 "you're fired. Barbee, I'll take you on right 
 
 now." 
 
 Few-worded was Blenham, a trick learned 
 from his master. Across the room Bill Royce 
 had floundered at last to his feet, crying out might- 
 ily: 
 
 "Hi ! None o' that, Blenham. It's my fight, 
 yours an' mine, with Barbee jus' buttin' in where 
 he ain't asked. If you want trouble, take a 
 man your size, full-grown. Blind as I am and 
 you know the how an' the why of it I'm ready 
 for you. Yes, ready an' anxious." 
 
 Here was diversion and the men in the bunk- 
 house, drawing back against the walls, taking 
 their chairs with them that there might be room 
 
 52 
 
How Steve Packard Came Home 
 
 for whatever went forward, gave their interest 
 unstintedly. So completely that they did not 
 hear Steve Packard singing far out in the night 
 as he rode slowly toward the ranch-house: 
 
 "An' I'd rather hear a kiote howl 
 
 Than be the King of Rome ! 
 An' when day comes if day does come 
 
 By cripes, I'm goin' home ! 
 Back home ! Hear me comin', boys ? 
 Yeee! I said it. Comin' home!" 
 
 But in very brief time Steve Packard's loitering 
 pace was exchanged for red-hot haste as the sounds . 
 winging outward from the bunk-house met him, 
 stilled his singing, and informed him that men 
 were battling in a fury which must have some- 
 thing of sheer blood-thirst in it. He raced to the 
 closed door, swung down from the saddle, and 
 threw the door open. 
 
 He saw Bill Royce being held by two men, 
 fighting at them while he reviled a man whom 
 Steve guessed to be Blenham; he saw Blenham 
 and a curly-haired, blue-eyed boy struggling up 
 and down, striking the savage blows of rage. He 
 came just in time to see Blenham drive a big, 
 brutal fist into the boy's face and to mark how 
 Barbee fell heavily and for a little lay still. 
 
 The moment was charged with various emo- 
 
 53 
 
Man to Man 
 
 tions, as though with contending electrical cur- 
 rents. Bill Royce, championed by a man he had 
 never so much as seen, had given fully of his 
 gratitude and -they meant the same thing to 
 Bill Royce of his love; after to-night he'd go 
 to hell for "yellow" Barbee. 
 
 Barbee, previsioning defeat at Blenham's hard 
 hand, suffering in his youthful pride, had given 
 birth, deep within him, to an undying hatred. 
 And Blenham, for his own reasons and after his 
 own fashion, was bursting with rage. 
 
 "Get up, Barbee," he yelled. "Get up an', so 
 help me- 
 
 "Fm goin' to kill you, Blenham," said Barbee 
 faintly, lifting himself a little, his blue eyes swim- 
 ming. "With my hands or with a knife or with 
 a gun or anyway; now or to-morrow or some 
 time I'm goin' to kill you." 
 
 "They all heard you," Blenham spat out furi- 
 ously. "You're a fool, Barbee. Goin' to get 
 up ? Ever goin' to get up ? " 
 
 "Turn me loose, boys," muttered Bill Royce. 
 "I've waited long enough; I've stood enough. I 
 been like an ol' woman. Jus' let me an* Blenham 
 finish this." 
 
 They had, none of them, so much as noted 
 Steve Packard's entrance. Now, however, he 
 forced them to take stock of him. 
 
 54 
 
How Steve Packard Came Home 
 
 "Bill Royce," he said sharply, "keep your shirt 
 on. Barbee, you do the same. Blenham, you 
 talk with me." 
 
 "You?" jeered Blenham. "You? Who are 
 you?" 
 
 "I'm the man on the job right now," answered 
 Packard crisply. "And from now on, I'm run- 
 ning the Ranch Number Ten, if you want to 
 know. If you want to know anything else, why 
 then you don't happen to be foreman any longer. 
 You're fired ! As for foreman under me my old 
 pardner, Bill Royce, blind or not blind, has his 
 old job back." 
 
 Bill Royce grew rigid. 
 
 "You ain't you ain't Stevie come back?" 
 he whispered. "You ain't Stevie!" 
 
 With three strides Packard reached him, find- 
 ing Bill Royce's hand with his. 
 
 "Right you are, Bill Royce," he cried warmly 
 as at last his and Royce's hands locked hard. 
 
 "I'm fired, you say!" Blenham was storming, 
 his eyes wide. " Fired ? Who says so, I want to 
 know?" 
 
 "I say so," returned Packard shortly. 
 
 "You?" shouted Blenham. "If you mean 
 ol' man Packard has sent you to take my place 
 just because It's a lie; I don't believe it." 
 
 "This outfit doesn't happen to belong to old 
 
 55 
 
Man to Man 
 
 man Packard yet," said Steve coolly. "Does 
 it, Royce?" 
 
 "Not by a jugful!" answered the blind man 
 joyously. "An' it never will now, Steve ! Not 
 
 now." 
 
 Blenham looked mystified. Rubbing his skinned 
 knuckles he glared from Steve to Royce, then to 
 the other faces, no less puzzled than his own. 
 
 "Nobody can fire me but ol' man Packard," 
 he muttered heavily, though his tone was troubled. 
 "Without you got an order from him, all signed 
 an' ready for me to read 
 
 "What I have," cut in Steve crisply, "is the 
 bulge on the situation, Blenham. Ranch Number 
 Ten doesn't belong to the old man; it is the prop- 
 erty of his grandson, whose name is Steve Pack- 
 ard. Which also happens to be my name." 
 
 Blenham sneered. 
 
 "I don't believe it," he snapped. "Expect 
 me to pull my freight at the say-so of the first 
 stranger that blows in an' invites me to hand him 
 my job ?" He laughed into the newcomer's face. 
 
 Packard studied him a moment curiously, 
 instinctively aware that the time might come when 
 it would be well to have taken stock correctly of 
 his grandfather's lieutenant. Then, before re- 
 plying, he looked at the faces of the other men. 
 When he spoke it was to them. 
 
 56 
 
How Steve Packard Came Home 
 
 "Boys," he said quietly, "this outfit belongs to 
 me. I am Steve Packard, the son of Philip Pack- 
 ard, who owned Number Ten Ranch and who 
 mortgaged it but did not sell it to his father my 
 grandfather. I've just got back home; I mean 
 to have what is mine; I am going to pay the mort- 
 gage somehow. I haven't jumped in with my 
 sleeves rolled up for trouble either; had Blen- 
 ham been a white man instead of a brute and a 
 bully he might have kept his job under me. But 
 I guess you all know the sort of life he has been 
 handing Royce here. Bill taught me how to ride 
 and shoot and fight and swim; pretty well every- 
 thing I know that's worth knowing. Since I 
 was a kid he's been the best friend I ever had. 
 Anything else you boys would like to know?" 
 
 Barbee had risen slowly from the floor. 
 
 "Packard's son or the devil's," he said 
 quickly, his eyes never leaving Blenham, "I'm 
 with you." 
 
 The man whom, over the card-table, Barbee 
 had addressed as Spotty and whose nickname 
 had obviously been gained for him by the pecu- 
 liar tufts of white hair in a young, tousled head 
 of very dark brown, cleared his throat and so 
 drew all eyes to himself at his side of the 
 room. 
 
 "Bill Royce bein' blind, if you could only prove 
 57 
 
Man to Man 
 
 somehow who you are " he suggested, tone and 
 expression plainly indicating his willingness, even 
 eagerness, to be convinced. 
 
 "Even if I can't see him," said Royce, his own 
 voice eager, "I know! An' I can prove it for 
 my part by a couple of little questions if you 
 boys will take my word for it ?" 
 
 "Shoot," said Spotty. "No man's called you 
 liar yet, Bill." 
 
 "Then, Stevie," said Royce, just a shade of 
 anxiety in his look as his sightless eyes roved here 
 and there, "answer me this: What was the first 
 horse you ever rode ?" 
 
 "A mare," said Steve. "Black Molly." 
 
 "Right !" and Royce's voice rang triumphantly. 
 "Next: Who nailed the board over the door? 
 The ol' cedar board?" 
 
 "I did. Just before I went away." 
 
 "An'," continued Royce, his voice lowered a 
 trifle, "an' what did you say about it, Stevie? 
 I was to know " 
 
 "Coach him up ! Tell him what to say, why 
 don't you?" jeered Blenham. 
 
 "I don't think I need to," replied Royce quietly. 
 "Do I, Steve?" 
 
 "I was pretty much of a kid then, Bill," said 
 Packard, a half-smile coming into his eyes for the 
 first time, a smile oddly gentle. "I had been 
 
 58 
 
How Steve Packard Came Home 
 
 reading one of the Arabian Nights tales; that's 
 what put it into my head." 
 
 "Go ahead, Steve; go ahead!" 
 
 "I said that I was going to seek my fortune up 
 and down the world; that the board above the 
 door would be a sign if all went well with me. 
 That as long as I lived it would be there; if I 
 died it would fall." 
 
 There was a little, breathless silence. It was 
 broken by Bill Royce's joyous laughter as Bill 
 Royce's big hand smote his thigh. 
 
 "Right again, Steve! An J the oP board's still 
 there. Go look at it; it's still there." 
 
 Again all eyes sought Blenham. For a moment 
 he stood uncertain, looking about him. Then 
 abruptly he swept up his hat and went out. And 
 Barbee's laughter, like an evil echo of Royce's, 
 followed him. 
 
 59 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "An' Number Ten Ranch," added Royce 
 quickly. 
 
 "And Number Ten Ranch," Packard agreed. 
 "If we can get away with it." 
 
 "Meaning what ? How get away with it ?" 
 
 "It's mortgaged to the hilt, it seems. I don't 
 know for how much yet. The mortgage and a 
 lot of accrued interest has to be paid off. Just 
 how big a job we've got to find out." 
 
 "Seen your grandfather yet?" 
 
 "No. I should have looked him up, I suppose, 
 before I fired Blenham. But, being made of 
 flesh and blood 
 
 "I know, I know." And Royce filled his lungs 
 with a big sigh. "Bein' a Packard, you didn't 
 wait all year to get where you was goin'. But 
 there'll be plenty of red tape that can't be cut 
 through; that'll have to be all untangled an' un- 
 tied. Unless your grandfather'll do the right 
 thing by you an' call all ol' bets off an' give you a 
 free hand an' a fresh start ? " 
 
 "All of which you rather doubt, eh, Bill?" 
 
 Royce nodded gloomily. 
 
 "I guess we've gone at things sort of back-end- 
 to," he said regretfully. "You'd ought to have 
 seen him first, hadn't you ? An' then you kicked 
 his pet dawg in the slats when you canned Blen- 
 ham. The old man's right apt to be sore, Steve." 
 
 62 
 
Bank Notes and a Blind Man 
 
 "I shouldn't be surprised," agreed Steve. 
 "Who are the Temples, Bill ?" 
 
 "Who tol' you about the Temples ?" came the 
 quick counter-question. 
 
 "Nobody. I stayed at their place last night." 
 
 Royce grunted. 
 
 "Didn't take you all year to find her, did it ?" 
 he offered bluntly. 
 
 "Who?" asked Packard in futile innocence. 
 
 "Terry Temple. The finest girl this side the 
 pearly gates an' the pretties'. What kind of a 
 man have you growned to be with the women, 
 Steve?" 
 
 "No ladies' man, if that's what's worrying you, 
 old pardner. I don't know a dozen girls in the 
 world. I just asked to know about these people 
 because they're right next-door to us and because 
 they're newcomers since my time." 
 
 Again Royce grunted, choosing his own ex- 
 planation of Packard's interest. But, answermg 
 the question put to him, he replied briefly: 
 
 "That little Terry-girl can have anything I 
 got; her mother was some class, too, they tell 
 me. I dope it up she just died of shame when 
 she come to know what sort she'd picked for a 
 runnin' mate. An' as for him, he's a twisty- 
 minded jelly-fish. He's absolutely no good. An', 
 if I ain't mistaken some considerable, you'll come 
 
 63 
 
Man to Man 
 
 to know him real well before long. Watch him, 
 Steve." 
 
 "Well," said Packard as Royce broke off, sens- 
 ing that this was not all to be said of Temple; 
 "let's have it. What else about him ?" 
 
 But Royce shook his head slowly, while his big, 
 thick fingers filled his pipe. 
 
 "We ain't got all night to jus' squat here an' 
 gossip about our neighbors," he said presently. 
 "There's other things to be said before things 
 can be done. First rattle, an' to get goin', I'm 
 much obliged for that little bluff you threw Blen- 
 ham's way about me being your foreman. What 
 you need an' what you got to have is a man 
 with both eyes wide open. Oh, I know, Steve," 
 as Packard started to speak. "You'd offer me 
 the job if both my legs an' arms was gone, too. 
 But it don't go." 
 
 "I'm going to need a man right away," argued 
 Steve. "I'll have to do a lot of running around, 
 I suppose, looking up the law, arranging for be- 
 lated payments, and so forth. I don't want to 
 leave the ranch without a head. You know the 
 men, you know the outfit." 
 
 But Royce, though his lips twitched, was firm. 
 
 "I don't know the men any too well either," 
 he said. "They're all your grandfather's hirin'. 
 But they're all live an' they all know the game. 
 
Bank Notes and a Blind Man 
 
 I won't swear as to how far you can trust any 
 one of 'em; but you'll have to find that out for 
 yourself as we go on." 
 
 "Name one of them for me," was Packard's 
 quiet way of accepting his old foreman's ultima- 
 tum. "I'll put him on at least temporarily." 
 
 "There's Yellow Barbee," suggested Royce. 
 "Somethin' of a kid, maybe kind of wild an' 
 harum-scarum, maybe not worth much. But he 
 ain't a Blenham man an' he did me a good turn." 
 
 Already Packard was on his feet, going to the 
 door. 
 
 "Barbee !" he shouted. "Oh, Barbee !" 
 
 The bunk-house door opened, emitting its 
 stream of light. 
 
 "Call me?" came Barbee's cool young voice, 
 impudent now as always. 
 
 "Yes, come here a minute, will you?" 
 
 Barbee came, his wide hat far back upon his 
 tight little curls, his swagger pronounced, his sweet 
 blue eyes shining softly his lips battered and 
 bruised and already swelling. 
 
 "Come in and shut the door," said Packard. 
 
 Barbee entered and stepped across the room to 
 lounge with his elbow on the chimney-piece, look- 
 ing curiously from Packard to Royce. 
 
 "I'm here to run this outfit myself, Barbee," 
 Packard told him while returning the youth's 
 
 65 
 
Man to Man 
 
 to know him real well before long. Watch him, 
 Steve." 
 
 "Well," said Packard as Royce broke off, sens- 
 ing that this was not all to be said of Temple; 
 "let's have it. What else about him ?" 
 
 But Royce shook his head slowly, while his big, 
 thick fingers filled his pipe. 
 
 "We ain't got all night to jus* squat here an' 
 gossip about our neighbors," he said presently. 
 "There's other things to be said before things 
 can be done. First rattle, an' to get goin', I'm 
 much obliged for that little bluff you threw Blen- 
 ham's way about me being your foreman. What 
 you need an' what you got to have is a man 
 with both eyes wide open. Oh, I know, Steve," 
 as Packard started to speak. "You'd offer me 
 the job if both my legs an' arms was gone, too. 
 But it don't go." 
 
 "I'm going to need a man right away," argued 
 Steve. "I'll have to do a lot of running around, 
 I suppose, looking up the law, arranging for be- 
 lated payments, and so forth. I don't want to 
 leave the ranch without a head. You know the 
 men, you know the outfit." 
 
 But Royce, though his lips twitched, was firm. 
 
 "I don't know the men any too well either," 
 he said. "They're all your grandfather's hirin'. 
 But they're all live an' they all know the game. 
 
Bank Notes and a Blind Man 
 
 I won't swear as to how far you can trust any 
 one of 'em; but you'll have to find that out for 
 yourself as we go on." 
 
 "Name one of them for me," was Packard's 
 quiet way of accepting his old foreman's ultima- 
 tum. "I'll put him on at least temporarily." 
 
 "There's Yellow Barbee," suggested Royce. 
 "Somethin' of a kid, maybe kind of wild an' 
 harum-scarum, maybe not worth much. But he 
 ain't a Blenham man an' he did me a good turn." 
 
 Already Packard was on his feet, going to the 
 door. 
 
 "Barbee !" he shouted. "Oh, Barbee !" 
 
 The bunk-house door opened, emitting its 
 stream of light. 
 
 "Call me?" came Barbee's cool young voice, 
 impudent now as always. 
 
 "Yes, come here a minute, will you?" 
 
 Barbee came, his wide hat far back upon his 
 tight little curls, his swagger pronounced, his sweet 
 blue eyes shining softly his lips battered and 
 bruised and already swelling. 
 
 "Come in and shut the door," said Packard. 
 
 Barbee entered and stepped across the room to 
 lounge with his elbow on the chimney-piece, look- 
 ing curiously from Packard to Royce. 
 
 "I'm here to run this outfit myself, Barbee," 
 Packard told him while returning the youth's 
 
 65 
 
Man to Man 
 
 regard steadily. "But I need a foreman to keep 
 things going when I'm obliged to be away. I gave 
 the job to Royce. He won't have it. He sug- 
 gests you." 
 
 Barbee opened his eyes a trifle wider. Also the 
 quick flush running up into his brown cheeks made 
 him look more boyish than ever, giving him al- 
 most a cherubic air. But for all that he managed 
 to appear tolerably unmoved, quite as though this 
 were not the first time he had been offered such a 
 position. 
 
 "How much is in it?" was what Barbee said, 
 with vast indifference. 
 
 Steve hesitated. Then he frowned. And finally 
 he laughed. 
 
 "You've got me there," he admitted frankly. 
 "All the money I've got in the world to-night is 
 right here." He spilled the contents of his pocket 
 upon a table. "There's about seventy-five bucks. 
 Unless I can turn a trick somewhere before pay- 
 day all you boys will have to take your pro rata 
 out of that." 
 
 Bill Royce shifted nervously in his chair, opened 
 his mouthy then closed it wordlessly. Barbee 
 shrugged elaborately. 
 
 "I'll take a chance," he said. "It would be 
 worth it if I lost; jus' to put one across on Blen- 
 ham." 
 
 66 
 
Bank Notes and a Blind Man 
 
 "All right," and still Packard eyed young Bar- 
 bee keenly, wondering just how much ability 
 lay hidden under that somewhat unsatisfactory 
 exterior. "You can go back to the boys now and 
 tell them that you're boss when I'm not on hand. 
 Before they go to work in the morning you show 
 up here again and we'll talk a lot of things over." 
 
 Barbee ducked his head in token of acquiescence 
 and perhaps to hide the glitter in his eyes, and 
 walked on his heels to the door. Packard's voice 
 arrested him there. 
 
 "Just one thing, Barbee: I don't want any 
 trouble started. Not with Blenham or with any 
 of old man Packard's men. I know how you feel, 
 but if you work for me you'll have to let me be 
 the one who starts things. Understand?" 
 
 The new foreman paused irresolutely. Then, 
 without turning so that Packard might see his 
 face, and with no spoken reply, he ducked his 
 head again and went out, slamming the door after 
 him. 
 
 "I ain't sure he's the right man for the job, 
 Steve," began Royce a trifle anxiously. "An' I 
 ain't sure whether he's square or crooked. But I 
 don't know the rest of the men any better an' " 
 
 "I'll watch him, Bill. And, as Pve said al- 
 ready, I'm here to do most of the foreman act 
 myself. We'll give Barbee his chance." 
 
Man to Man 
 
 He came back to the table from whose top 
 there winked up at him the few gold and silver 
 coins which spelled his working capital, and stood 
 looking at them quizzically. 
 
 "I got a yarn to spin, Stevie," came thought- 
 fully from Royce with a great puff of smoke. 
 "You better listen in on it now while we're 
 alone." 
 
 Packard returned to his chair, made his own 
 smoke, and said quietly: 
 
 "Go to it, Bill. I'm listening." 
 
 "Barbee's gone, ain't he ? An' the door shut ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then pull up close so's I won't have to talk 
 loud an' I'll get it out of my system: Before your 
 father died he wasn't makin' much money, not 
 as much as he was spendin'. He'd tied into some 
 minin'-stock game that he didn't savvy any too 
 well, an' for a long time all I'd been clearin' here 
 he'd been droppin' outside. 
 
 "An* the deeper he got in the hole the wilder 
 he played the game: there was times when I 
 didn't believe he cared a tinker's damn what hap- 
 pened. Whenever he needed any cash all he had 
 to do was soak another plaster on the ranch, 
 borrow again from his father. An' ol' Number 
 Ten is plastered thick now, Steve; right square 
 up to the hilt. 
 
 "Well, when Phil Packard died he did it like 
 68 
 
Bank Notes and a Blind Man 
 
 he'd done everything else, like he had lived, makin' 
 a man think he was in a hurry to get a job over 
 an' done with. Ridin' horseback one week an' the 
 nex' week sendin' for me in there." He jerked 
 his head toward a remote room of the big house. 
 "An' he talked to me then about you." 
 
 Packard waited for him to go on, offering no 
 comment. Royce, hunched over in his chair, 
 straightened up a little, shook himself, and con- 
 tinued: 
 
 "He had drawed some money out'n the bank, 
 all he had left. I dunno what for, but anyways 
 he had it under his pillow alongside his oP Colt. 
 An' he give it to me, sayin' he was caught sudden 
 an' unexpected by his death, an' for me to take 
 care of it an' see that you got it when you come 
 back. It was in greenbacks, a little roll no big- 
 ger'n your thumb, an' when I counted 'em I 
 near dropped dead. Ten little slips of paper, 
 Steve, an' each good for one thousan' bucks ! 
 Ten thousan' dollars did Phil Packard slip me 
 that night not a half-hour before he went over. 
 For you. An* I got 'em for you, Steve; I got 
 'em safe for you." 
 
 His big shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh; 
 he ran a toil-hardened hand across his forehead. 
 Packard opened his lips as though to speak, but 
 was silent as Royce continued: 
 
 "1 took the money, Steve, an' went outside for 
 
Man to Man 
 
 a smoke, an* my hands was shakin' like I was cold ! 
 Ten thousan' bucks in my tail pocket ! It was a 
 dark night an* I didn't lose nineteen secon's 
 hidin' the wad in a good safe place. Which/' 
 slowly, "was the las' time I ever saw it !" 
 
 "I thought you said " 
 
 "I got it safe ? I have. But I ain't ever seen 
 anything since that night, Steve. The night your 
 dad died, the night I hid the money, was the night 
 I went blind." 
 
 "You haven't told me about that yet, Bill," 
 said Packard gently. 
 
 "No; but I'm goin' to now. It's part of the 
 yarn I got to spin to-night. Like I said I took the 
 wad your father had slipped it back in a flat sort 
 of pocketbook an' went outside. It was night 
 already an' dark. Ten thousan' bucks for me to 
 keep safe for you !" 
 
 Again he ran his hand across his forehead. 
 
 "I knew where there was a rock in the corner 
 foundation of the house that I could work loose; 
 where if I put the greenbacks they wouldn't spoil 
 if it rained or even if the house burned down. I 
 stuck 'em in there, got the rock back like it was 
 before, made sure nobody saw me, an' went off 
 by myself for a smoke. 
 
 "'Cause why did I take that chance ? I didn't 
 take no chances at all, I tell you, Steve ! How did 
 
 70 
 
Bank Notes and a Blind Man 
 
 I know, your father gettin' delirious at the finish 
 which came downright quick, but he'd give the 
 game away ? An' on the ranch then there was 
 men that would do mos' anything for ten thousan', 
 give 'em the show. 
 
 "Your grandfather had come over an' he had 
 brought Blenham with him an' his mechanic, Guy 
 Little; an' there was a couple of new men in the 
 outfit I'd picked up myself that I knew was tough 
 gents. 
 
 "No! I didn't take no chances, seein' the 
 money was yours an' not mine to fool with. I 
 stuck it in the wall an' I sneaked off an' for three 
 hours I squatted there in the dark with my gun 
 in my hand, waitin' an' watchin'. Which was 
 playing as safe as a man could, wasn't it, Steve ?" 
 
 Packard got up and came to Royce's side, 
 putting his hand gently on the foreman's shoulder. 
 
 "It strikes me you've done rather a good deal 
 for me, Bill," he said quite simply. 
 
 "Maybe," said Royce thoughtfully. "But no 
 more'n one pardner ought to do for another; no 
 more'n you'd do for me, Stevie. Don't I know 
 you ? Give you the chance you'd do as much for 
 me; eh, boy? Well, here's the rest of the story: 
 Your dad was dead: ol' Hell-Fire was blowin' his 
 nose so you'd hear it a mile an' I was feelin' weak 
 an' sick-like, knowin' all of a sudden that Phil 
 
Man to Man 
 
 Packard had been damn' good to me an' wantin* 
 to tell him so now it was too late. Late an' dark 
 as it was I went down to the bunk-house, tol' the 
 boys to stick aroun' for orders in the mornin', 
 saddled my horse and beat it for a quiet place 
 where I could think. I never wanted to think so 
 much in my life, Steve. Remember the ol' cabin 
 by the big timber over on the east side ?" 
 "The old McKittrick place ? Yes." 
 "Well, I went there to make a fire in the ol' 
 fireplace an' sit an' think things over. But I got 
 to tell you about a feller name of Johnny Mills. 
 You didn't know him; he's workin' for the Brocky 
 Lane outfit now. Well, Johnny was as good a 
 cow-man as you want, but you always had to 
 watch him that he didn't slip ofF to go quail- 
 huntin'. With a shot-gun he was the best wing- 
 shot I ever heard a man tell about. 
 
 "He used to sneak for the McKittrick cabin 
 where he kep' an ol' muzzle-loadin' shot-gun, an' 
 shot quail aroun' them springs up there when he'd 
 ought to be workin'. Then he'd come in an' brag, 
 tellin' how he'd never missed a shot. The boys, 
 jus' to tease Johnny, had gone to the cabin that 
 very day an' drawed his shot out, jus' leavin' 
 the powder alone so Johnny would think he'd 
 missed when he pulled the trigger an' no birdies 
 dropped. 
 
 72 
 
Bank Notes and a Blind Man 
 
 "See what I'm drivin' at ? I tied my horse an' 
 started along the little trail through the wild- 
 holly bushes to the cabin. Somebody was waitin' 
 for me an* give me both barrels square in the 
 face. That's when an* how my lights went out, 
 Steve." 
 
 It came as a shock, and Packard paled; Royce 
 had been so long making his explanations and 
 then put the actual catastrophe so baldly that for 
 a moment his hearer sat speechless. Presently 
 
 "Know who did it, Bill ?" he asked. 
 
 "If I knew for sure I'd go get him! But 
 I don't know; not for sure." His big hands 
 clenched until they fairly trembled with their own 
 tenseness. "It's tough to go blind, Steve!" 
 
 His hands relaxed; he sat still, staring into that 
 black nothingness which always engulfed him. 
 When he spoke again it was drearily, hopelessly, 
 like a man communing with his own sorrow, 
 oblivious of a listener: 
 
 "Yes, it's fair hell to be blind. If there's any- 
 thing worse I'd like to know what it might be. 
 To be walkin' along in the dark, always in the 
 dark to stumble an' fall an' hear a man laugh 
 to pitch head firs' over a box that had been slipped 
 quiet in your way " 
 
 "Blenham did that sort of thing?" demanded 
 Packard sharply. 
 
 73 
 
Man to Man 
 
 It would have done Bill Royce good to see the 
 look in his eyes then. Royce nodded. 
 
 "Blenham did whatever he could think of," 
 he muttered colorlessly. "An* he could think 
 of a good many things. Just the same maybe 
 some day " 
 
 "And yet you stayed on, Bill?" when Royce's 
 voice stopped. 
 
 "I'd promised your dad I'd be here with the 
 coin when you come back. He knew an' I 
 knew you might blow in an' blow out an' never 
 get word unless I was right here all the time. An' 
 ol' man Packard, after I was blind I went to him 
 an* he promised I could stick as long as I just 
 obeyed orders. Which I've done, no matter what 
 they was. 
 
 "But the end's come now; ain't it, Steve, ol' 
 pardner ? But to get this tale tol' an* the money 
 in your hands: I didn't know who'd tried to do 
 for me, but I guessed it must have been some one 
 who'd found out somehow about the ten thousan' 
 an' thought I had it on me. When I come to at 
 the cabin an' firs' thing tried to get a chaw of 
 tobacco I foun' my pockets all turned wrong side 
 out. It might have been Johnny Mills himself; 
 he didn't know about the gun bein' forced with; 
 it might have been Blenham; it might have been 
 Guy Little; it might have been somebody else. 
 
 74 
 
Bank Notes and a Blind Man 
 
 But IVe thought all along an* I pray God I was 
 right an* that some day I'll know, that it was 
 Blenham." 
 
 He rose suddenly. 
 
 "Come ahead, Steve," he said, his voice matter 
 of fact as of old. "It's up to you to ride herd on 
 your own simoleons now." 
 
 "You've left it in the same place ? In the rock 
 foundation-wall ?" 
 
 "Yes. I couldn't find a safer place." 
 
 "And you haven't been back to it all these 
 months?" 
 
 "Not until las' Saturday night. It was jus' 
 six months then. I figgered it out I'd make sure 
 once every six months. I went in the middle of 
 the night an' made sure nobody followed me, 
 Steve. Come ahead." 
 
 Packard slipped his arm through Royce's and 
 they went side by side. The night was filled with 
 stars; there was no moon. The wall, as they 
 came around the corner of the house, shone palely 
 here and there where a white surface glinted 
 vaguely through the shadows. 
 
 "Nobody aroun', is there, Steve?" whispered 
 Royce. 
 
 "Nobody," Packard assured him. "Where 
 is it, Bill?" 
 
 Royce's hands, groping with the wall, rested 
 75 
 
Man to Man 
 
 at last upon a knob of stone near the base of 
 the foundation. He tugged; the stone, rudely 
 squared, came away, leaving a gaping hole. 
 Royce thrust his hand in, searched briefly, and 
 in a moment brought out a flat wallet clutched 
 tightly. 
 
 "Yours, Steve !" he said then, a quick, palpitat- 
 ing note of pure joy in his cry. "Blind as I was, 
 I put it over for you ! Here's ten thousan', 
 Steve. An' the chance to get ol' Number Ten 
 back." 
 
 Packard was taking the wallet proffered him. 
 Suddenly Royce jerked it back. 
 
 "Let me make sure again," he said hastily. 
 "Let me be dead sure I've made good." 
 
 He fumbled with the wallet, opened the flap, 
 drew out the contents, a neat pack of folded bank- 
 notes. He counted slowly. 
 
 "Ten of 'em," he announced triumphantly as 
 he gave the wallet over to its proper owner. 
 
 Packard took them and they went back to the 
 house. The rays of the lamp met them; through 
 the open door, back to the living-room, they 
 walked side by side. The table between them, 
 they sat down. Packard put the wallet down, 
 spread out the ten bank-notes. 
 
 "Bill," he said, and there was a queer note in 
 his voice, "Bill, you've gone through hell for 
 
Bank Notes and a Blind Man 
 
 me. Don't I know it ? And you say I'd do as 
 much for you ? Are you sure of it, Bill ?" 
 
 Royce laughed and rubbed his hands together. 
 
 "Dead sure, Stevie," he said. 
 
 Packard's eyes dropped to the table. Before 
 him were the ten crisp bank-notes. Each was 
 for one dollar. Ten dollars in all. His heritage, 
 saved to him by Bill Royce. 
 
 "Bill, old man," he said slowly, "you've taught 
 me how to play the game. Pray God I can be 
 as white with a pardner as you have been." 
 
 And, crumpling the notes with a sudden gesture, 
 he thrust them into his pocket. 
 
 77 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE OLD MOUNTAIN LION COMES DOWN FROM 
 THE NORTH 
 
 IT was perhaps eight o'clock, the morning blue, 
 cloudless, and still. Packard had conferred 
 briefly with Barbee; the Ranch Number Ten men 
 had gone about their work. Steve and Bill Royce, 
 riding side by side, had mounted one of the flat, 
 treeless hills in the upper valley and were now 
 sitting silent while Royce fumbled with his pipe 
 and Steve sent a long, eager look down across the 
 open meadow-lands dotted with grazing cattle. 
 
 Suddenly their two horses and the other horses 
 browsing in a lower field, jerked up their heads, 
 all ears pricked forward. And yet Steve had 
 heard no sound to mar the perfect serenity of 
 the young day. He turned his head a little, 
 listening. 
 
 Then, from some remote distance there floated 
 to him a sound strangely incongruous here in the 
 early stillness, a subdued screech or scream, a 
 wild, clamorous, shrieking noise which for the 
 life of him he could not catalogue. 
 
 It was faint because it came across so great a 
 distance and yet it was clear; it was not the throb- 
 
 78 
 
The Old Mountain Lion 
 
 bing cry of a mountain lion, not the scream of a 
 horse stricken with its death, nothing that he 
 had ever heard, and yet it suggested both of these 
 sounds. 
 
 "Bill!" he began. 
 
 "I heard it," Royce muttered. "An' I've 
 heard it before ! In a minute ' 
 
 Royce broke off. The sound, stilled a second, 
 came again, seeming already much closer and 
 more hideous. Steve's horse snorted and plunged; 
 some of the colts in the pasture flung up their heels 
 and fled with streaming manes and tails. Royce 
 calmly filled and lighted his pipe. 
 
 Stillness again for perhaps ten or twenty sec- 
 onds. Steve, about to demand an explanation 
 from his companion, stared as once more came 
 the shrieking noise. 
 
 "You can hear the blame thing ten miles," 
 grunted Royce. "It's only about half that far 
 away now. Keep your eye glued on the road 
 across the valley where it comes out'n Blue 
 Bird Canon." 
 
 And then Steve understood. Into the clear air 
 across the valley rose a growing cloud of dust; 
 through it, out of the canon's shadows and into 
 the sunlight, shot a glistening automobile, hardly 
 more than a bright streak as it sped along the 
 curving down-grade. 
 
 79 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Terry Temple?" gasped young Packard. 
 Royce merely grunted again. 
 
 "Jus' you watch," was all he said. 
 
 And, needing no invitation, Packard watched. 
 The motor-car's siren he had never heard an- 
 other like it, knew that such a thing would not 
 be tolerated in any of the world's traffic centres 
 sounded again a long, wailing note which went 
 across the valley in billowing echoes. 
 
 Then it grew silent as, with the last of the dan- 
 gerous curves behind it, the long-bodied roadster 
 swung into the valley. Packard, an experienced 
 driver himself, with his own share of reckless 
 blood, opened his mouth and stared. 
 
 It was hard to believe that the big, spinning 
 wheels were on the ground at all; the machine 
 seemed more like an aeroplane content with skim- 
 ming the earth but hungry for speed. Only the 
 way in which it plunged and lurched and swerved 
 and plunged again testified to highly inflated 
 tires battling with ruts and chuck-holes. 
 
 "The fool!" he cried as the car negotiated a 
 turn on two wheels with never a sign of lessened 
 speed. "He'll turn turtle. He's doing sixty 
 miles an hour right now. And on these 
 roads " 
 
 "More likely doin' seventy-five," grunted 
 Royce. "Can do ten better'n that. Out on 
 
 80 
 
The Old Mountain Lion 
 
 the highway he's done a clean hundred. That 
 car, my boy " 
 
 "He's going into the ditch!" exclaimed Steve 
 excitedly. 
 
 The car, racing on, was already near enough 
 for Steve to make out its two passengers, a man 
 bent over the steering-wheel, another man, or 
 boy, for the figure was small, clinging wildly to 
 his place on the running-board, seeming always 
 in imminent danger of being thrown off. 
 
 "He's drunk !" snapped Packard angrily. "Of 
 all blind idiots!" 
 
 Another strident blast from the horn, that 
 sent staid old cows scurrying this way and that 
 to get out of the way, and the car swerved from 
 the road and took to the open field, headed straight 
 toward the hill where the two horsemen were. 
 Jerking his horse about, Steve rode down to meet 
 the new arrivals. And then 
 
 "My God! It's my grandfather! He's gone 
 mad, Bill Royce!" 
 
 "No madder'n usual," said Royce. 
 
 The car came to a sudden stop. The man 
 on the running-board he had a man's face, 
 keen and sharp-eyed and eager, and the body of 
 a slight boy jumped down from his place and 
 in a flash disappeared under the engine. The 
 man at the wheel straightened up and got down, 
 
 81 
 
Man to Man 
 
 stretching his legs. Steve, swinging down from 
 his saddle, and coming forward, measured him 
 with wondering eyes. 
 
 And he was a man for men to look at, was old 
 man Packard. Full of years, he was no less full 
 of vigor, hale and stalwart and breathing power. 
 A great white beard, cut square, fell across his 
 full chest; his white mustache was curled upward 
 now as fiercely as fifty years ago when he had 
 been a man for women to look at, too. 
 
 He was dressed as Steve had always seen him, 
 in black corduroy breeches, high black boots, 
 broad black hat a man standing upward of 
 six feet, carrying himself as straight as a ramrod, 
 his chest as powerful as a blacksmith's bellows, 
 the calf of his leg as thick as many a man's thigh; 
 big, hard hands, the fingers twisted by toil; the 
 face weatherbeaten like an old sea captain's, with 
 eyes like the frozen blue of a clear winter sky. 
 
 His voice when he spoke boomed out suddenly, 
 deep and rich and hearty. 
 
 "Stephen ?" he demanded. 
 
 Steve said "Yes" and put out his hand, his 
 eyes shining, the surprising realization upon him 
 that he was tremendously glad to see his father's 
 father once more. The old man took the prof- 
 fered hand into a hard-locked grip and for a mo- 
 ment held it, while, the other hand on his grand- 
 
 82 
 
The Old Mountain Lion 
 
 son's shoulder, he looked steadily into Stare's 
 eyes. 
 
 "What sort of a man have they made of you, 
 boy?" he asked bluntly. "There's the makings 
 of fool, crook an* white man in all of us. What 
 for a man are you ?" 
 
 Steve flushed a little under the direct, piercing 
 look, but said steadily 
 
 "Not a crook, I hope/' 
 
 "That's something, if it ain't everything," 
 snorted the old man as, withdrawing his hand, he 
 found and lighted a long stogie. "Blenham tells 
 me you fired him las' night?" 
 
 Young Packard nodded, watching his grand- 
 father's face for the first sign of opposition. But 
 just now the old man's face told nothing. 
 
 "Thinking of runnin' the outfit yourself, Ste- 
 phen ?" came the next question quietly. 
 
 "Yes. I had intended looking in on you in a 
 day or so to talk matters over. I understand that 
 my father left everything to me and that it is 
 pretty heavily mortgaged to you." 
 
 "Uhuh. I let Phil have a right smart bit of 
 money on Number Ten firs' an* las', my boy. 
 Don't want to pay it off this mornin', do you ?" 
 
 Steve laughed. 
 
 "I'm broke, Grandy," he said lightly, uncon- 
 sciously adopting the old title for the man who 
 
 83 
 
Man to Man 
 
 had made him love him and hate him a score of 
 times. "My working capital, estimated last 
 night, runs about seventy-five dollars. That 
 wouldn't quite turn the trick, would it ? " 
 
 The old man's eyes narrowed. 
 
 "You mean that seventy-five dollars is all 
 you've got to show for twelve years?" he asked 
 sharply. 
 
 Again, hardly understanding why, Steve flushed. 
 Was a man to be ashamed that he had not amassed 
 wealth, especially when there had never been in 
 him the sustained desire for gold ? He owed 
 no man a cent, he made his own way, he asked no 
 favors and yet there was a glint of defiance in 
 his eye, a hint of defiance in his tone, when he 
 replied briefly. 
 
 "That's all. I haven't measured life in dollars 
 and cents." 
 
 "Then you've missed a damn' good measure for 
 it, my son ! I ain't sayin' it's the only one, but 
 it'll do firs' class. But you needn't get scared 
 I've gone into the preaching business. . . . An' 
 with that seventy-five dollars you're startin' out 
 to run a big cow outfit like this, are you ? " 
 
 There was a gleam of mockery in the clear 
 blue eyes which Steve gave no sign of seeing. 
 
 "I've got a big job on my hands and I know it," 
 he said quietly. " But I'm going to see it through." 
 
The Old Mountain Lion 
 
 "There's no question about the size of the job ! 
 It's life-size, man's size Number Ten size, if you 
 want to put it that way. It wants a real man to 
 shove it across. Know just how much you're 
 mortgaged for?" 
 
 "No. I was going to ask you." 
 
 "Close to fifty thousan' dollars, countin' back 
 interest, unpaid. More'n you ever saw in a day, 
 I reckon." 
 
 Steve shrugged. This to hide his first inclina- 
 tion to whistle. Fifty thousand why, he didn't 
 know Number Ten ranch was worth that much 
 money. But it must be worth a good deal more 
 if his grandfather had advanced so much on it. 
 
 "It is a nice little pile," he admitted carelessly. 
 
 The old man grunted, thrust his hands into his 
 pockets, and drew deeply at his stogie. Steve 
 rolled a cigarette. In the silence falling upon 
 them they could hear the sound of the mechani- 
 cian's wrench. 
 
 "Anything wrong with the car?" asked Steve 
 for the sake of breaking unpleasant silence. 
 
 "Not that I know of. He's jus' takin' a peek 
 to make sure, I guess. That's what he's for. 
 He knows I got to get back to my place in a 
 couple of shakes." 
 
 Steve smiled; by wagon road his grandfather's 
 ranch home was fifty miles to the northward. 
 
 8s 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "You won't think of going back before noon." 
 "Won't I? But I will, though, son; Blen- 
 ham's sticking aroun', waitin' for my say-so what 
 he'll do nex*." He snapped open a big watch 
 and stared at it a moment with pursed lips. "I'll 
 be back horn in jus' one hour an' a half. All I 
 got is fifteen minutes to talk with you this 
 
 morninV 
 
 "You mean that you can drive those fifty miles 
 in an hour and a quarter !" 
 
 "Have done it in less; if I was in a hurry I'd 
 do it in an hour flat. But allowin' for time out 
 I want fifteen minutes more'n that. And now, 
 if we're goin' to get anywhere " 
 
 He stopped suddenly and stood toying with 
 his big watch passing it back and forth through 
 the loop he made of its heavy chain, his gaze 
 steady and earnest and searching upon his grand- 
 son. 
 
 "Stephen," he said abruptly, "I ain't playin' 
 any favorites in my ol' age. An' I ain't givin' 
 away big chunks of money hit or miss. You 
 wasn't countin* on anything like that, was you?" 
 
 "No, I wasn't," announced Steve quickly. "I 
 remember your old theory; that a man should 
 make his own way unaided, that " 
 
 "That whatever he got he's got to get with his 
 one head an' one set of han's. Now, the things 
 
 86 
 
The Old Mountain Lion 
 
 I got to say Pll spit out one at the time: Firs', 
 I'd like to have you come visit me for a spell at 
 my place. Will you do it ? To-day, to-morrow, 
 any time you feel like it." 
 
 "Yes; I'll be glad to." 
 
 "That's good. Nex', not even if you was the 
 right man for the job you can't save this ranch 
 now; it's too late, there's to much to dig up in 
 too short a time. I've got my hooks in deep an' 
 whenever that happens I don't let go. I want 
 you to quit before you get started." 
 
 Steve looked his surprise. 
 
 "Surely," he said wonderingly, "you don't 
 want me to give you the ranch just because you 
 happen to hold the mortgages on it ?" 
 
 "Business is business, Stephen," said the old 
 man sternly. "Sometimes, between Packards, 
 business is hell. It'd be that for you. Pve 
 started out to get this outfit an' I'd get it. An' 
 doin' it I'd be wastin' my time besides breakin' 
 you all to smithereens. Better drop it." 
 
 Steve had hardly expected this. But he an- 
 swered calmly, even lightly. 
 
 "I think I'd like a try at holding it." 
 
 "That's two things," old man Packard said 
 crisply. "Number three is this here: Blenham 
 tells me you've put Royce in as foreman under 
 you?" 
 
 87 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "I offered him the place. He could have it yet 
 if he wanted it. But he refused. I've passed 
 the job on to a man named Barbee." 
 
 " Barbee ! " cried the old man. " Barbee ! That 
 yellow canary-bird ? Meaning him ?" 
 
 "Yes," retorted Steve a trifle stiffly. "Any- 
 thing wrong with him ?" 
 
 "I didn't roll them fifty miles to talk about 
 jay-birds an' canary-birds an' such," growled his 
 grandfather. "But here's one thing I've got to 
 say: This ranch is goin' to be mine real soon; 
 that's in the cards, face up. It's as good as mine 
 now. I've been runnin' it myself for six months. 
 I want it right, hear me ? What do you know 
 about running a big outfit ? What does a kid 
 without whiskers like Barbee know about it ? 
 Think I want it all run down in the heel when it 
 comes to me ? No, sir ! I don't. Blenham 
 knows the lay of the land, Blenham knows my 
 ways, Blenham knows how to run things. I want 
 you to put Blenham back on the job !" 
 
 Steve bit his lip, holding back a hot reply. 
 
 "Grandfather," he said slowly, "suppose we 
 take a little more time in getting squared around ? 
 I want to do what's right; I know that you want 
 to do what's fair and square. I am willing to 
 consult you about ranch matters; I'll come to you 
 for advice, if you'll let me; I'll try to keep the 
 
 88 
 
The Old Mountain Lion 
 
 ranch up to time and" with a smile "in my 
 hands and out of yours. That's a good sporting 
 proposition. But as for Blenham 
 
 "Put him back as foreman and I'll talk fair 
 with you. I want Blenham back here, Stephen. 
 Understand that ?" 
 
 "And," cried Steve a trifle heatedly at last, 
 "I tell you that I am going to run the ranch 
 myself. And that I don't like Blenham." 
 
 "Damn it," cried the old man violently, "hear 
 the boy ! Don't like Blenham, huh ? Coin* to 
 run the ranch yourself, huh ? Why, I tell you 
 it's as good as mine right now! How are you 
 goin' to pay your men, how are you goin' to buy 
 grub for 'em, where are you goin' to find runnin'- 
 expense money ? Go an' tell folks you're mort- 
 gaged to me for fifty thousan' dollars an' see how 
 much they'll stake you for on top of that. Or 
 come over my way an' try to borrow some more, 
 if you think Fm an easy guy. Why, Steve Pack- 
 ard, you you're a tomfool !" 
 
 "Thanks," said Steve dryly. "I've heard that 
 before." 
 
 "An' you'll hear it again, by the Lord ! In 
 ten languages if you'll find men talkin' that many 
 lingos. Here I come chasin' all this way to be 
 decent to you, to see if there ain't some way to 
 help you out " 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Help me out of my property," amended Steve. 
 "I can't remember anything else you offered to 
 do for me ! " 
 
 "I said it once," shouted his grandfather, his 
 two big fists suddenly clinched and lifted threat- 
 eningly; "you're a howlin' young ass! That's 
 what for a man you've turned out to be, Stephen 
 Packard. Come here empty-handed an* try to 
 buck me, would you ? Me who has busted 
 better men than you all my life, me who has got 
 my hooks in you deep already, me who ain't no 
 pulin' oP doddeiin' softy to turn over to a lazy, 
 shifless vagabond all I've piled up year after 
 year. Buck me, would you ? Tuck in an' fire 
 my men, butt on my affairs Why, you im- 
 pudent young puppy-dog, you: I'll make you 
 stick your tail between your legs an* howl like a 
 kiote before I'm done with you !" 
 
 Steve looked at him hopelessly; he might have 
 expected this all along though he had hoped for 
 amity at least. If there were to be a conflict of 
 purpose he could have wished that it be con- 
 ducted in friendly fashion. But when did Hell- 
 Fire Packard ever clasp hands with the man he 
 opposed in anything, when did he ever see a 
 business rival without cloven hoof, horns, and 
 spiked tail ? 
 
 "I am sorry you look at it that way, Grandy. 
 90 
 
The Old Mountain Lion 
 
 It is only natural that I should seek to hold what 
 
 is mine." 
 
 "Then hold your tongue, you young fool!" 
 blazed out the old man. "But don't ask me to 
 hold my hand ! I'm goin' after you tooth and 
 big toe-nail ! If Ranch Number Ten ain't mine 
 in all particulars before you're a year older I want 
 to know why!" 
 
 "I think," said the grandson, fighting with 
 himself for calmness and quiet speech, "that any 
 further business I can take up with your lawyer. 
 Past due interest " 
 
 "Lawyer ?" thundered Packard senior. "Since 
 when did I ever have call for law an* lawyers in 
 my play? Think I'm a crook, sir? Mean to 
 insinuate I'm a crook?" 
 
 "I mean nothing of the kind. A mortgage is 
 a legal matter, the payment of interest and prin- 
 cipal " 
 
 "Guy Little!" called the old man. "Guy 
 Little ! Goin' to stay under that car all day ?" 
 
 The mechanician promptly appeared, hands 
 and face greasy and black and took his place on 
 the running-board. 
 
 "All ready, sir," he announced imperturbably. 
 
 With half-a-dozen strides his master reached 
 the car; in as many seconds the powerful engine 
 was throbbing. The screaming horn gave warn- 
 
 91 
 
Man to Man 
 
 ing, the quiet herds in the valley heeded, lifted 
 their heads and stood at attention, ready to scam- 
 per this way or that as need arose. The wheels 
 turned, the car jolted over the inequalities pre- 
 sented by the field, swerved sharply, turned, 
 gathered speed and whizzed away toward the 
 valley road. 
 
 Three times before they shot back into the 
 mouth of Blue Bird Canon the mechanician fan- 
 cied that his employer had spoken; each time 
 listening, he failed to catch any other sound than 
 that made by the engine and speeding wheels. 
 Once he said, "Sir?" and got only silence for an 
 answer. 
 
 He shook his head and wondered; it was not 
 Packard's way to mumble to himself. And 
 again, ready to jump for his life as the big car 
 took a dangerous turn, his eyes glued to the 
 sheer bank a few inches from the singing tires, he 
 caught a sound through the blast of the sparton 
 which surely must have come from the driver's 
 lips. 
 
 "What say ?" yelled Guy Little. 
 
 No answer. He caught a fleeting glimpse of 
 a farmer at the head of his two plunging horses 
 where the man had hurriedly got them out of the 
 way and up the flank of the mountain. They 
 
 92 
 
The Old Mountain Lion 
 
 raced on. And again, surely Packard had said 
 something. 
 
 "Talkin' to me?" called Little. 
 
 Then, for just a wee fraction of a second, Pack- 
 ard drew his eyes from the road and his look met 
 the mechanician's. The old man's eyes were shin- 
 ing strangely. 
 
 "Damn it, Guy Little," he boomed out boister- 
 ously, "can't a man laugh when he feels that- 
 away ? " 
 
 And it suddenly dawned upon Guy Little that 
 ever since they had left Ranch Number Ten the 
 old man had been chuckling delightedly. 
 
 93 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IN RED CREEK TOWN 
 
 THE little town of Red Creek had an individu- 
 ality all its own. It might have prided it- 
 self, had it any civic sense whatever, upon its 
 aloofness. It stood apart from the rest of the 
 world, at a safe distance from any of its rival settle- 
 ments, even drawn apart as though distrustfully 
 from its own railroad station which baked and 
 blistered in the sun a good half-mile to the west. 
 Grown up here haphazardly long before the "Gap" 
 had been won through by the "iron trail," it ig- 
 nored the beckoning of the glistening rails and 
 refused to extend itself toward the traffic artery. 
 
 More than all this, Red Creek gave the impres- 
 sion, not in the least incorrect, of falling apart 
 into two watchful sections which eyed each other 
 suspiciously, being cynically and unsociably in- 
 clined. Its main street was as wide as Van Ness 
 Avenue and down the middle of it, like a border 
 line between two hostile camps, sprawled a stream 
 which shared its name with the town. 
 
 The banks here and there were the brick-red 
 of a soil whose chief mineral was iron; here and 
 
 94 
 
In Red Creek Town 
 
 there were screened by willows. There were two 
 insecure-looking bridges across which men went 
 infrequently. 
 
 For the spirit which had brooded over the birth 
 of Red Creek when a sheepman from the north 
 and a cow-man from the south had set their 
 shacks opposite each other, lived on now; long 
 after the old feuds were dead and the whole of the 
 grazing lands had been won over to the cattle 
 raisers, a new basis for quarrels had offered itself 
 at Red Creek's need. 
 
 Much of this Steve Packard knew, since it was 
 so in his time, before he had gone wandering; 
 much he had learned from Barbee in a long talk 
 with him before riding the twenty-five miles into 
 the village. Old Man Packard had drawn to 
 himself a host of retainers since his interests were 
 big, his hired-men many, his wages generous. 
 And, throughout the countryside across which 
 he cast his shadow, he had cultivated and grown 
 a goodly crop of enemies, men with whom he had 
 contended, men whom he had branded sweepingly 
 as liars and thieves and cutthroats, men whose 
 mortgages he had taken, men whom, in the big 
 game which he played, he had broken. The 
 northern half of Red Creek was usually and signi- 
 ficantly known as Packard's Town; the southern 
 half sold liquor and merchandise, offered food and 
 
 95 
 
Man to Man 
 
 lodging, to men who harbored few friendly feel- 
 ings for Packard's "crowd." 
 
 Hence, in Red Creek were two saloons, con- 
 fronting each other across the red scar of the 
 creek; two stores, two lunch-counters, two black- 
 smith shops, each eying its rival jealously. At 
 this time the post-office had been secured by the 
 Packard faction; the opposition snorted contempt 
 and called attention to the fact that the constable 
 resided with them. Thus honors were even. 
 
 Steve Packard rode into town in the late after- 
 noon, his motive clear-cut, his need urgent. If 
 Blenham had stolen his ten thousand dollars for 
 which he had so imperative a call now, then Blen- 
 ham had been the one who had replaced the large 
 bank-notes with the small; there was the chance 
 that Blenham, just a week ago to-night, had gotten 
 the dollar bills in Red Creek. If such were the 
 case Packard meant to know it. 
 
 "There are things, Barbee," he had said 
 bluntly, "which I can't tell you yet; I don't 
 know you well enough. But this I can say: 
 I am out to get Blenham's tag." 
 
 "So'm I," said Barbee. 
 
 "That's one reason you've got the job you're 
 holding down right now. Here's one point though, 
 which it's up to you to know; I very much sus- 
 
 96 
 
In Red Creek Town 
 
 pect that for reasons of his own Blenham hasn't 
 set foot for the last time on Ranch Number Ten. 
 He'll come back; he'll come snooping around at 
 night; he'll perhaps have a way of knowing the 
 first night I'm away and come then. There's 
 something he left there that he wants. At least 
 that is the way I'm stringing my bet. And while 
 I am away you're foreman, Barbee." 
 
 A flickering light danced in Barbee's blue eyes. 
 
 "Orders from you, if Blenham shows up at 
 night " 
 
 "To throw a gun on him and run him out I 
 The quickest way. To-night I want you to 
 squat out under a tree and keep awake all night. 
 For which you can have two days off if you want.'* 
 
 "If I thought he'd show," and the boy's voice 
 was little more than an eager whisper, "I couldn't 
 sleep if I tried!" 
 
 Then Packard had spoken a little about Red 
 Creek, asking his few questions and had learned 
 that Blenham had his friends in "Packard's 
 Town" where Dan Hodges of the Ace of Diamonds 
 saloon was an old pal, that "Whitey" Wimble of 
 the Old Trusty saloon across the street hated both 
 Hodges and Blenham like poison. 
 
 "Us boys," added Barbee, "always hung out 
 at the Ace of Diamonds, bein' Packard's men. 
 After now, when I go on a rampage, I'm goin* 
 
 97 
 
Man to Man 
 
 to make frien's across the street. Friends some- 
 times comes in handy in Red Creek," he added 
 smilingly. 
 
 The road, as one comes into Red Creek from the 
 east, divides at the first bridge, one fork becom- 
 ing the northern half of the intersected street, the 
 other the southern half. Steve Packard, filling 
 his eyes with the two rows of similar shacks, 
 hesitated briefly. 
 
 Until now he had always gone to the Packard 
 side; when a boy he had regarded the rival sec- 
 tion with high contempt, looking upon it as in- 
 ferior, sneering at it as a thoroughbred might lift 
 lip at an unworthy mongrel. The prejudice was 
 old and deep-rooted; he felt a subtle sense of 
 shame as though the eyes of the world were upon 
 him, watching to see him turn toward the "low- 
 down skunks an* varmints" which his grand- 
 father had named these denizens of the defamed 
 section. 
 
 The hesitation was brief; he reined his horse 
 impatiently to the left, riding straight toward the 
 flaunting sign upon the lofty false front of the 
 Old Trusty saloon. But short as was his indeci- 
 sion it had not ended before he had glimpsed at 
 the far end of the street the incongruous lines of 
 an automobile red racing type. 
 
In Red Creek Town 
 
 "Boyd-Merril. Twin Eight," thought Pack- 
 ard. "So we'll meet on the same side after all, 
 Miss Terry Pert!" 
 
 There were seeds of content in the thought. 
 If it were to be range war between him and his 
 grandfather, then since obviously the Temples 
 had already been drawn into contention with the 
 old man Packard, it was just as well the fates 
 decreed that he and Terry should be on the same 
 side of the fence, the same side of the fight, the 
 same side of Red Creek. 
 
 He tickled his horse with a light spur; despite 
 the manner of their last encounter he could look 
 forward with something akin to eagerness to an- 
 other meeting. For, he told himself carelessly, 
 she amused him vastly. 
 
 But the meeting was not just yet. He saw 
 Terry, jauntily, even saucily dressed, as she came 
 out of the store and jumped into her car, marked 
 how the bright sunlight winked from her high 
 boots, how it flamed upon her gay red scarf, how 
 it glinted from a burnished steel buckle in her 
 hat band. As bright as a sunbeam herself, lov- 
 ing gay colors about her, across the distance she 
 fairly shone and twinkled. 
 
 There was a faint shadow of regret in his eyes 
 as she let in the clutch and whizzed away. She 
 was headed down the street, her back to him, 
 
 99 
 
Man to Man 
 
 driving toward the remote railroad station. Off 
 to the north he saw a growing plume of black 
 smoke. 
 
 "Going away ?" he wondered. "Or just meet- 
 ing some one?" 
 
 But he had come into Red Creek on a business 
 in no way connected with Terry Temple. 
 
 He had figured it out that Blenham, if it had 
 been Blenham who had chanced on Bill Royce's 
 secret and no longer ago than last Saturday night, 
 would have wasted no time in acquiring the one- 
 dollar bills for his trick of substitution; that if 
 he had come for them to Red Creek that same 
 night, after post-office and stores were closed, 
 he would have sought them at one of the two sa- 
 loons; that, since currency is at all times scarce 
 in cattle towns in the West, he might have had to 
 go to both saloons for them. 
 
 Packard began investigations at the Old Trusty 
 saloon whose doors stood invitingly open to the 
 faint afternoon breeze. 
 
 In the long room half-a-dozen idle men looked 
 up at him with mild interest, withdrawing their 
 yes briefly from solitaire or newspaper or crib- 
 bage game or whatever had been holding their 
 careless attention as he entered. 
 
 A glance at them showed him no familiar face. 
 He turned to the bar. 
 
 100 
 
In Red Creek Town 
 
 Behind it a man was polishing glasses with 
 quick, skilful hands. Steve knew him at once 
 for Whitey Wimble. He was a pronounced 
 albino, unhealthy-looking, with overlarge, thin 
 ears, small pale eyes, and teeth that looked like 
 chalk. Steve nodded to him and spun a dollar 
 on the bar. 
 
 "Have something," he suggested. 
 
 Wimble returned his nod, left off his polishing 
 to shove forward a couple of the glistening glasses, 
 and produced a bottle from behind him. 
 
 "Regards," he said apathetically, taking his 
 whiskey with the enthusiasm and expression of a 
 man observing his doctor's orders. "Stranger in 
 Red Creek?" 
 
 "I haven't been here," Steve answered, "for 
 several years. I never saw the town any quieter. 
 Used to be a rather gay little place, didn't it ?" 
 
 "It's early yet," said Whitey, going back to his 
 interrupted task. "Bein' Saturday, the boys 
 from the ranches will be showin' up before long. 
 Then it ain't always so quiet." 
 
 Packard made his cigarette, lighted it, and then 
 said casually: "How are you fixed for dollar bills 
 in your strong-box?" 
 
 "Nary," returned Whitey Wimble without 
 troubling himself to look into his till. "We don't 
 see overmuch rag money in Red Creek." 
 
 101 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Guess that's so," admitted Steve. "They 
 do come in handy, though, sometimes; when you 
 want to send a dollar in a letter or something of 
 that kind." 
 
 "That's a fac', too; never thought of that." 
 
 Which, since he never wrote or received letters, 
 was no doubt true. 
 
 "Men around here don't have much use for 
 paper money, do they ? " continued Packard care- 
 lessly, his interest seeming to centre in his cigarette 
 smoke. "I'd bet a man the drinks nobody else 
 has asked you for a dollar bill for the last six 
 months." 
 
 "You'd lose," said Whitey. "I had three of 
 *em in the drawer for a coon's age; feller asked me 
 for 'em jus' the other night." 
 
 "Yes ?" He masked his eagerness as he thrust 
 a quarter forward. "The drink's on me then. 
 Let me have a cigar." 
 
 Whitey also took a cigar, indicating friendli- 
 wise the better box. 
 
 "Who was it asked you for the paper money ?" 
 Steve went on. "He might have one he doesn't 
 need." 
 
 "It was Stumpy Collins. The bootblack across 
 the street." 
 
 "I'll look him up; yesterday he had them, 
 
 yon say ? " 
 
 102 
 
In Red Creek Town 
 
 Wimble shook his head, gave the matter his 
 thought a moment, and said: 
 
 "It was las' Saturday night; I remember 
 'cause there was a right smart crowd in an' I 
 was busy an' Stumpy kep' pesterin' me until I 
 'tended to him. He won't have nothin' lef by 
 this, though; it ain't Stumpy's way to save his 
 money long. Firs' time I ever knowed him to have 
 three dollars all at once." 
 
 From the Old Trusty Steve went across the 
 street, leaving his horse in front of Wimble's 
 door where there was a big poplar and a grate- 
 ful shade. Crossing the second of the two bridges 
 he turned his eyes toward the railroad station; 
 the red touring-car stood forth brilliantly in the 
 sunshine, a freight train was just pulling in, 
 Terry was not to be seen. 
 
 "She'll eat before she starts back home," 
 he thought, hastening his stride on to Hodges 's 
 place, the Ace of Diamonds. "I'll see her at the 
 lunch-counter." 
 
 Tucked in beside the Ace of Diamonds was a 
 bootblack stand, a crazy, home-made affair with 
 dusty seat. The wielder of the brush and polish 
 was nowhere in evidence. Steve passed and 
 turned in at the saloon door, wishing to come to 
 Hodges, Blenham's pal. For it required little 
 imagination to suspect that it had been Hodges 
 
 103 
 
Man to Man 
 
 at Blenham's behest, or Blenham himself, who had 
 sent Stumpy across the street to the Old Trusty. 
 
 Here, as in Wimble's place, a few men loitered 
 idly; here as there the proprietor stood behind 
 his own bar. Hodges, a short, squat man with 
 a prize-fighter's throat, chest, and shoulders and a 
 wide, thin-lipped mouth, leaned forward in dirty 
 shirt-sleeves, chewing at a moist cigar-stump. 
 
 "Hello, stranger," he offered offhandedly. 
 "What's the word?" 
 
 "Know Blenham, don't you?" asked Steve 
 quietly. "Works for old man Packard." 
 
 "Sure, I know him. What about him?" 
 
 "Seen him lately?" 
 
 "Ten minutes ago. Why ? Want him ?" 
 
 Packard had not counted on this, having no 
 idea that Blenham was in town. He hesitated, 
 then said quickly: 
 
 "Hasn't left yet, has he ? Where is he now ?" 
 
 "Down to the depot. Trailin' a skirt. An* 
 some skirt, too, take it from me." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 Steve wanted suddenly to slap the broad, ugly 
 face. Since, however, he could formulate no 
 logically sufficient reason for the act, he said 
 instead: 
 
 "Maybe I'll see him before I pull out. If I 
 don't, ask him if he lost a wad like this ?" 
 
 104 
 
In Red Creek Town 
 
 Fleetingly he flashed the little roll of banknotes 
 before Hodges's eyes. 
 
 "Greenbacks ?" asked Hodges. "How much ?" 
 
 Packard laughed. 
 
 "Not so all-fired much," he said lightly. "But 
 enough to buy a hat !" 
 
 "If hats are sellin' ten dollars or under?" 
 ventured Hodges. 
 
 Packard affected to look surprised. 
 
 "What do you know about how much is in 
 this roll ?" he demanded innocently. 
 
 "One-dollar bills?" said Hodges. "Ten of 
 'em?" 
 
 "You don't look like a mind-reader." 
 
 "Well, you're right about the wad bein' Blen- 
 ham's. Leave it with me, if you want. I'll see 
 he gets it. There ain't enough there for a man 
 to steal," he added reassuringly. 
 
 "How do you know it's Blenham's ? If he 
 told you that he had lost it he'd have told you 
 where. What's the answer; where did I pick 
 this up?" 
 
 "Blenham didn't say he los' nothin'. But 
 I know it's his because he got most of them bills 
 from me." 
 
 "Tell me when," and Packard held the roll in 
 a tight-shut hand, "and I'll leave them with 
 you." 
 
 105 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Las' Saturday night," said Hodges, after a 
 brief moment of reflection. 
 
 Packard tossed the little roll to the bar. 
 
 "There's the money. Tell Blenham I thought 
 it was his !" 
 
 He turned to the door, his blood suddenly 
 stirred with certainty: Blenham had stolen the 
 ten thousand dollars, and the theft had been com- 
 mitted no longer ago than last Saturday night. 
 Just a week there was the chance 
 
 "Hey, there," called Hodges. "Who'll I say 
 lef this ? What name, stranger?" 
 
 Steve turned and regarded him coolly. 
 
 "Tell him Steve Packard called. Steve Pack- 
 ard, boss of Ranch Number Ten." 
 
 And Dan Hodges, dull wit that he was, felt 
 that something was wrong. The look in the 
 stranger's eyes had altered swiftly, the eyes had 
 grown hard. Steve went out. As he reached 
 the sidewalk he glimpsed a red automobile racing 
 townward from the station. Behind it, riding in 
 its dust, came Blenham. 
 
 106 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 "IT'S MY FIGHT AND HIS. LET HIM GO !" 
 
 STEVE PACKARD, walking swiftly, reached 
 the west bridge just before the front tires of 
 Terry's car thudded on the heavy planks. He 
 glimpsed Blenham jogging along behind her and 
 knew that Blenham had seen him. 
 
 But his eyes were for Terry now. She, too, 
 had recognized him with but a few yards separat- 
 ing them. She gave him a blast of her hprn 
 warningly, and, slowing down no more than was 
 necessary for the sharp turn, came on across the 
 bridge. He read it in her eye that it would be an 
 abiding joy for Miss Terry if she could send him 
 scampering out of her way; the horn as much as 
 said: "You step aside or I'll run you down!" 
 
 With no intention of going under the wheels, 
 Steve waited until the last moment and then 
 jumped. But not to the side as Terry had an- 
 ticipated. Obeying his impulse and taking his 
 chance, he sprang up to her running-board as 
 she whizzed over the bouncing planks of the 
 bridge, grasping the door of her car to steady 
 himself. The feat safely accomplished, he grinned 
 up into Terry's startled eyes. 
 
 107 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "We meet again," he laughed sociably. 
 "Howdy!" 
 
 Her lips tight-pressed, she gave her attention 
 for a moment to her wheel and the rutty road in 
 front of her. Her cheeks were red and grew 
 redder. Perhaps a dozen men, here and there 
 upon the street, had seen. She had meant them 
 to see; it would have tickled her no little to have 
 had them note Steve Packard flying wildly to the 
 side of the road while she shot by. She had not 
 counted upon him doing anything else. 
 
 "Smarty!" she cried hotly. 
 
 "Smart enough to climb out from under when 
 an automobile driven by a manslaughter artist 
 comes along," he chuckled, sensing an advantage 
 and drawing a deep enjoyment from it. "Don't 
 you know, young lady, youVe got to be careful 
 sometimes ? Now, if you had run over me ' 
 
 "Serve you right," sniffed Terry. 
 
 "Yes, but think! Running over a man who 
 hasn't had time to take his spurs off yet, why you 
 stood all kinds of chances getting a puncture ! 
 You don't want to forget things like that." 
 
 Terry bit her lip, stepped on the throttle, 
 swung across the street, made a reckless turn, and 
 brought up in front of the lunch-counter. 
 
 "Do you know," remarked Packard lightly, 
 ignoring the fact that she had answered him with 
 
 108 
 
"It's My Fight and His" 
 
 only the contempt of her silence, "you remind me 
 of my grandfather. Fact ! You two have the 
 same little trick of driving. Wonder what would 
 happen if you and he met on a narrow road ?" 
 
 "At least," said Terry, eying him belligerently, 
 "he is a man, if he is a scoundrel. Not just a 
 hobo!" 
 
 "Oh, I didn't mean to call you a scoundrel! 
 Nor yet to say that you struck me as mannish. 
 Of course- 
 
 "Oh, you make me sick !" cried Terry. And she 
 flashed away from him, going into the lunch-room. 
 
 He followed her with speculative eyes. Then 
 he glanced across the street. Blenham had dis- 
 mounted in front of the Ace of Diamonds and 
 was watching. As Packard turned Blenham went 
 into Hodges's saloon. 
 
 "Wonder what he'll have to say when Hodges 
 hands him his roll?" mused Packard. 
 
 Well, he had accomplished his purpose. He 
 had done all that he had hoped to do in Red 
 Creek this afternoon, had assured himself that 
 his suspicions against Blenham were justified by 
 the fact and that the theft was only a week old. 
 He went back slowly to his horse in front of the 
 Old Trusty. But his eyes were frowning thought- 
 fully. 
 
 What would be Blenham's next move ? What 
 109 
 
Man to Man 
 
 would Blenham do, what would he say when 
 Hodges gave him Packard's message ? Might 
 he, in an unguarded moment, give a hint toward 
 the answer of that other question which now had 
 become the only consideration: "Were the larger 
 banknotes still hidden at Ranch Number Ten or 
 had Blenham already removed them?" 
 
 Instead of mounting to ride away, Packard 
 hung his spurs upon his saddlehorn and turned 
 again into Whitey Wimble's place. 
 
 The late afternoon faded into dusk, the first 
 stars came out, Whitey Wimble lighted his lamps. 
 Steve, advised of the fact by the purr of a motor, 
 knew when Terry left the lunch-room and drove 
 to the store for a visit with the storekeeper's 
 wife. Was she going to remain in town over- 
 night ? It began to look as though she were. 
 
 Across the street Hodges came out and lighted 
 the big lamps at each side of his doorway. A cow- 
 boy swung down from his horse and went in, his 
 spurs winking in the lamplight as though there 
 were jewels upon them. A buckboard pulled 
 up and two other men went in after him. A voice 
 in sudden laughter boomed out. Saturday night 
 had come. As Whitey Wimble had predicted, 
 the boys were showing up and Red Creek stood 
 ready to lose something of its brooding afternoon 
 quiet. 
 
 no 
 
"It's My Fight and His" 
 
 Once again Packard crossed the bridge and 
 made his way along the echoing wooden sidewalk 
 to the Ace of Diamonds. A dozen saddle-horses 
 were tied at the hitching-rail. Among them 
 was Blenham's white-footed bay. Up and down 
 the street glowing cigarette ends like fireflies came 
 and went. In front of the saloon a number of 
 men made a good-natured, tongue-free crowd, 
 most of whom had had their first drinks and were 
 beginning to liven up as in duty bound on a 
 Saturday night. 
 
 A four-horse wagon came rattling into town 
 from the east to pour out its contents, big, husky 
 men, at Hodges's door. Among them Packard 
 recognized one man. He was the lumber-camp 
 cook from whom he had gotten coffee and hot- 
 cakes the other day, that morning after he had 
 refused to accept Terry's cool invitation to break- 
 fast. 
 
 "I'll have to look in on those fellows to- 
 morrow," he thought as they shouldered past, 
 boisterous and eager. "Grandy's sure had his 
 nerve cutting my timber with never so much as 
 a by-your-leave." 
 
 Their foreman was with them; one glance 
 singled him out. He was of that type chosen 
 always by old man Packard to head any one of 
 the Packard units, a sort of confident mastery in 
 
 in 
 
Man to Man 
 
 his very stride, the biggest man of them, unkempt 
 and heavy, with a brutal face and hard eyes. 
 Joe Woods, his name. Packard had already 
 heard of him, a rowdy and a rough-neck but a 
 capable timberjack to the calloused fingers of 
 him. He followed the men into the saloon. 
 
 At his place behind the long bar was Hodges, 
 busy filling imperative orders, taking in the 
 money which he counted as good as his once it 
 left the paymaster's pocket. But it struck Pack- 
 ard that the bartender did not appear happy; 
 his face was flushed and hot, his eyes looked 
 troubled. Now and then he flashed a quick look 
 at Blenham who stood leaning against the bar 
 at the far end, twisting an empty whiskey-glass 
 slowly in his*, big hand, staring frowningly at 
 nothing. 
 
 "Hodges is a fool and he has just been told so !" 
 was Steve's answer to the situation. 
 
 " Hi, Blenham ! " called big Joe Woods. " Have 
 a drink/' 
 
 "No," growled Blenham, deep down i.i his 
 throat. "I don't want it. I 
 
 His eyes, lifted to the lumber-camp boss, passed 
 on and rested on Steve Packard. He broke off 
 abruptly, his look changing, probing, seeming full 
 of question. 
 
 "Get the money I gave Hodges for you?" 
 112 
 
"It's My Fight and His" 
 
 asked Packard, coming into the room. "The 
 ten one-dollar bills that you left behind you?" 
 
 "They wasn't mine/' said Blenham quickly, 
 his hand hard about the whiskey glass, his man- 
 ner vaguely nervous. "I tol' Dan to give 'em 
 back to you." 
 
 Steve smiled. 
 
 " Funny," he said carelessly. " Hodges said 
 
 "I made a mistake," called Hodges sharply. 
 "I got Blenham mixed up with some other guy. 
 I don't know nothin' about this here." He 
 slammed the little roll down on the bar. "Come 
 get it, if you want it." Packard promptly stepped 
 forward, taking the money. 
 
 "I figured there was a chance to make ten 
 dollars, easy money, if I just walked across the 
 street for it," he said, looking pleasantly from 
 Hodges to Blenham. "Sure, I want it. It's 
 luck-money; didn't you know? You see, when 
 a man loses anything he loses some of his luck 
 with it; when another man gets it, he gets the 
 luck along with it. Thanks, Blenham." 
 
 Blenham made no answer. His eyes were 
 bright with anger and yet troubled with uncer- 
 tainty. The uncertainty was there to be recog- 
 nized by him who looked keenly for it. Blenham 
 did not know just which way to jump. From 
 that fact Steve drew a deep satisfaction. For 
 
Man to Man 
 
 there would have been no reason for indecision if 
 Blenham knew that he had those other, bigger 
 bank-notes, safe. 
 
 At the rear of the long room a man was dealing 
 cards for seven-and-a-half. As though to demon- 
 strate the truth of his boast about "luck-money" 
 Steve stepped to the table, the roll of bills in his 
 hand. He was dealt a card. Without turning it 
 up to look at it he shoved it under the ten bank- 
 notes. 
 
 "Standing?" said the dealer. 
 
 Steve nodded. 
 
 "Playing my luck," he answered. 
 
 The dealer turned lack-lustre eyes upon Steve's 
 card, then upon his own which he turned up. It 
 was the four of clubs. 
 
 "I've the hunch that will beat you, pardner," 
 he said listlessly. "But I'll come again." 
 
 He turned another card, a deuce. 
 
 "That'll about beat you," he suggested. He 
 leaned forward for Steve's card. "Unless you've 
 got a seven in the hole." 
 
 And a seven it was; the bright red seven of 
 hearts. The dealer paid, ten dollars to Steve's ten. 
 
 "Come again ?" he asked. 
 
 "Not to-night," returned Packard. "I took 
 just the one flutter to show Blenham." 
 
 He turned and saw that Blenham had already 
 114 
 
"It's My Fight and His 
 
 f > 
 
 slipped quietly out of the room. Dan Hodges, 
 his face a fiery red, was just coming back from 
 the card-room. With him was the big timber boss. 
 
 "Tin-horn!" shouted Joe Woods at Packard. 
 "Quitter!" 
 
 A quick joy spurted up in Steve Packard's 
 heart; he was right about Blenham. Blenham, 
 filled with anxiety, had gone already, would be 
 rushing back to Ranch Number Ten to make sure 
 if the ten thousand dollars were safe or had been 
 discovered already by the rightful owner. He had 
 slipped away hurriedly but, after the fashion of 
 a careful, practical man, had taken time to con- 
 fer with Dan Hodges and had commissioned Joe 
 Woods to hold Packard here. And so, though 
 he could not remember of having ever run away 
 from a fight before, Steve Packard was strongly 
 of that mind right now. 
 
 "Joe Woods, I believe ? " he said coolly, his 
 mind busy with the new problem of a new situa- 
 tion. "Boss of the timber crew on the east side 
 of Number Ten ? I was planning on riding out 
 to-morrow for a word with you, Woods." 
 
 "So ?" cried Woods. "What's the matter with 
 havin' that word to-night ? " 
 
 "Haven't time," was the simple rejoinder. 
 "I'm about due across the street now; at Whitey 
 Wimble's place." 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Which is where you belong/' growled Woods, 
 his under jaw thrust forward, his whole attitude 
 charged with quarrelsome intent. "Over at the 
 White Rat's with the rest of the Willies !" 
 
 The ever-ready Packard temper was getting 
 into Steve's head, beating in his temples, pounding 
 along his pulses. He had never had a man bait 
 him like that before. But he strove to remember 
 Blenham only, to take stock of the fact that this 
 was a bit of Blenham's game, and that any trouble 
 with another than Blenham was to be avoided 
 at this juncture. So, though the color was rising 
 into his face and a little flicker of fire came into 
 his eyes, he said briefly: 
 
 "Then I'd better go across, hadn't I ? See 
 you in the morning, Woods." 
 
 But there is always the word to whip the hot 
 blood into the coolest head, to snare a man's cau- 
 tion out of him and inject fury in its stead, and 
 Joe Woods, a downright man and never a subtle, 
 put his tongue to it. On the instant Packard 
 gave over thought of such side issues as a man 
 named Blenham and hidden bank-notes. 
 
 He cried out inarticulately and leaped forward 
 and struck. Joe Woods reeled under the first 
 blow full in the face, staggered under the second, 
 and was borne back into the tight-jammed crowd 
 of his followers. 
 
 116 
 
"It's My Fight and His" 
 
 The men about him and Packard withdrew 
 this way and that, leaving empty floor space to 
 accommodate the two pairs of shuffling boots. 
 Joe Woods wiped his lips with the back of a big, 
 hairy hand, saw traces of blood, and charged. 
 The sound of blows given and taken and of little 
 grunts and of scraping feet were for a space the 
 only sounds heard in Hodges's saloon. 
 
 Packard's attack had been swift and sure and 
 not without a certain skill; against it Woods op- 
 posed all he had, ponderous strength, slow-mov- 
 ing, brutal force, broad-backed, deep-chested en- 
 durance. But from the first it was clear to all 
 who watched and was suspected by Woods him- 
 self that he had chosen the wrong man. 
 
 Steve was taller, had the longer reach, was 
 gifted by the gods with a supple strength no whit 
 less than the bearish power cf the timber boss. 
 With ten blows struck, with both men rocking 
 dizzily, it was patently Steve Packard's fight. 
 But a dull, dogged persistence was in Joe Woods's 
 eyes as again he shook his head and charged. 
 
 Steve struck for the stomach and landed 
 hard. Woods doubled up; the sweat came in 
 drops upon his forehead; his face went suddenly 
 a sick white. But the light in his eyes, as again 
 he lifted his head, was unaltered. 
 
 "He can lick me I know it ! He can lick me 
 117 
 
Man to Man 
 
 I know it!" he muttered and kept muttering. 
 "But, by God, he's got to do it !" 
 
 And Steve did it and men looked on queerly, 
 appraising him anew. He took Woods's blows 
 when he must and felt the pain go stabbing through 
 his body; but he stood up and struck back and 
 forced the fight steadily, crowding his adversary 
 relentlessly, seeming always to strike swifter and 
 harder. 
 
 It was a bleeding fist driven into Joe Woods's 
 throbbing throat, followed by the other fist, going 
 piston-like, at Joe Woods's stomach, that ended 
 the fight. 
 
 The bigger man crumpled and went down 
 slowly like one of his own trees just toppling, and 
 lay staring up into Packard's face with dull eyes. 
 Steve stepped over him, going to the door. 
 
 "I'll see you in the morning, Woods," he 
 panted. 
 
 But again boots were shuffling on the floor and 
 already several men, Dan Hodges among them, 
 were between him and the door. It dawned 
 upon him that Blenham must have given emphatic 
 orders and that Blenham had the trick of exacting 
 obedience. 
 
 "Hold him here," shouted Hodges, and being a 
 man of little spirit he withdrew hastily under 
 Steve's eyes, thrusting another man in front of 
 
 118 
 
The men about him and Packard withdrew this way and 
 that leaving empty floor space 
 
"It's My Fight and His" 
 
 him. "Keep him for the sheriff. Startin' a 
 fight in my place it's disturbin' the peace, that's 
 what it is ! I won't stand it !" 
 
 Packard drew back two or three paces, his eyes 
 narrowing. At that instant he was sure of what 
 he saw in the faces of at least three of the men 
 confronting him; they were going to rush him 
 together. 
 
 But now Joe Woods was on his feet again. 
 Packard drew still further back, getting the wall 
 behind him. And then came a diversion. It was 
 Joe Woods speaking heavily: 
 
 "I fought him fair an' he licked me. Think 
 I'm the kind of a she-man as stands for you guys 
 buttin' in on my fight? Stand back an' let him 
 go!" 
 
 "Blenham said " screamed Hodges. 
 
 "Damn Blenham an' you, too," growled Woods. 
 "It's my fight an' his. Let him go !" 
 
 They let him go, drawing apart slowly. With 
 watchful eyes Steve passed down the little lane 
 they made. At the door he turned, saying 
 briefly: 
 
 "I'll see you in the morning, Woods !" 
 
 Then he went out. 
 
 119 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 A RIDE WITH JERRY 
 
 RETURNING at once to the Old Trusty, on 
 the way passing Terry's car which still 
 stood in front of the store, Steve Packard asked 
 for the use of a telephone. Whitey nodded 
 toward the office, a little room thinly partitioned 
 off from the larger. A moment later Barbee's 
 voice was answering from Ranch Number Ten. 
 
 "He's on the way, Barbee," said Steve quickly. 
 '/Left Red Creek just a few minutes ago. I'll 
 trail him. Give him the chance to prowl around 
 a little; try and find what he's after. But don't 
 let him get away with it ! Understand ? Shoot 
 the legs out from under him if you have to. I'll 
 give you a month's pay for the night's work if 
 you nail him with the goods on." 
 
 Clicking up the receiver he went out on the 
 street again, giving no heed to the many glances 
 which followed him. They knew who he was; 
 they were speculating on him. "01' man Pack- 
 ard's gran'son," he heard one man say. 
 
 In the thick darkness lying under the poplar 
 tree it was several minutes before he was certain 
 
 120 
 
A Ride with Terry 
 
 that his horse was gone. He had tethered the 
 animal himself; there was no dangling bit of 
 rope to indicate a broken tie-rope. Blenham, 
 the practical, had simply taken thought of detail. 
 
 "Not missing a single bet, is Blenham," he 
 thought savagely. 
 
 He swung about and reentered the saloon. A 
 buzz of talk up and down the long room promptly 
 died away as again the eyes of many men travelled 
 his way. It struck him that they had all been 
 talking of him; he knew that they must have 
 marked those signs which Joe Woods's fists had 
 left on his ^ce; he stood a moment looking in on 
 them, conscious for the first time of his rapidly 
 swelling right eye, seeking to estimate what these 
 men made of him. 
 
 It seemed to him that the one emotion he 
 glimpsed on all hands and in varying degrees, was 
 distrust. Little cause for surprise there: he was 
 a Packard and this was not the Packard side of 
 Red Creek. 
 
 "Somebody's put me on foot," he announced 
 crisply. "I left my horse outside, tied. It's 
 gone now. Know anything about it, any of you 
 boys?" 
 
 They looked their interest. Hereabouts one 
 man did not trifle with another man's horse. 
 But there was no answer to his direct question. 
 
 121 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "I've got to be riding/' he went on quietly. 
 "Who can lend me a saddle-horse for the night? 
 I'll pay double what it's worth." 
 
 Whitey Wimble gave his bar a long swipe with 
 his wet towel. 
 
 "If you're askin' favors, seems to me you're 
 on the wrong side the street, ain't you, stranger ?" 
 
 "Meaning I am a Packard ?" 
 
 "You got me the firs' time. That's Packard's 
 Town over yonder. Your crowd " 
 
 "Look at my eye !" then said Steve quickly. 
 
 A big man with a thin little voice at the far 
 end of the room giggled. 
 
 "I seen it already," said Wimble. 
 
 " Know Joe Woods ? Well, he's got another 
 just like it. Know Blenham ? Blenham sicked 
 him on me ! Know old man Packard ? He's 
 sicking Blenham on me. Want to know what I 
 want a horse for? Blenham's got a head start 
 and I want to overhaul him ! To tell him he's 
 a crook and a thief. Now is this side of Red 
 Creek open to me or is it shut ? What's the an- 
 swer, Whitey Wimble ? " 
 
 Wimble appeared both impressed and yet 
 hesitant. Here was a Packard to deal with and 
 Whitey Wimble when taking over the destiny of 
 the Old Trusty had been set clear in the matter 
 that he had a ripe, old feud to maintain; and still, 
 
 122 
 
A Ride with Terry 
 
 looking at it the other way, here was a man who 
 carried the sign of Joe Woods's fist upon his 
 bruised face, who announced that he was out to 
 get Blenham, that there was open trouble between 
 him and old man Packard. 
 
 Whitey Wimble, beginning by looking puzzled, 
 wound up by turning a distressed face toward 
 Steve. 
 
 "It's kind of a fine point," he suggested finally. 
 "Now, come right down to it, it sort of looks to 
 me " 
 
 "Fine point!" cried Steve hotly, a sudden 
 anger growing within him as he thought how Blen- 
 ham had played the game all along the line, how 
 Blenham might well prove too shrewd for a boy 
 like Barbee, how a set of prejudiced fools here in 
 the Old Trusty by denying him the loan of a horse 
 might seriously be aiding Blenham whom none 
 of them had any love for. "Why, damn it, man, 
 haven't I told you that Blenham has just put a 
 raw deal across on me, that he's coming close to 
 getting away with it, that all I ask is a horse to 
 run him down ? Who's going to let me have one ? 
 I'm in a hurry!" 
 
 Never until now did he realize how strong a 
 factor in the life of the community was the prej- 
 udice against his blood. On every hand he saw 
 doubt, clouded eyes, distrust. Plainly many a 
 
 123 
 
Man to Man 
 
 man there held him for a liar; would even go so 
 far, it was possible, as to suggest later that Steve 
 Packard had meant to steal the horse he asked 
 for. Steve stared about him a moment, his back 
 stiffening. Then, with a little grunt of disgust, 
 he strode across the room. 
 
 "At least," he flung over his shoulder at Whitey 
 Wimble, "I am going to use your telephone 
 again!" 
 
 Without waiting for an answer and caring not 
 the snap of his fingers what that answer might 
 be, he went to the telephone, jerking down the 
 receiver, saying brusquely to the operator: 
 
 "Ranch Number Ten, please. In a hurry." 
 
 He waited impatiently and, it seemed to him, an 
 inexcusably long time. Finally the operator said 
 after the aloof manner of telephone girls : 
 
 "I am ringing them." 
 
 And again 
 
 "I am ringing them." 
 
 And then 
 
 "They do not answer." 
 
 And at last, and then only when Steve made 
 emphatic that there must be some one at the 
 Number Ten bunk-house at this hour, the girl 
 said: 
 
 "Wait a minute." 
 
 And after that: . 
 
 124 
 
A Ride with Terry 
 
 "There seems to be something the matter with 
 the line. I can't raise any of the ranch-houses 
 out that way. We'll send a man out in the 
 morning." 
 
 So he couldn't even warn Barbee that Blenham 
 had made good his head-start; that Blenham was 
 plainly of one mind to-night; that it was up to 
 young Barbee to keep his eyes open and his gun 
 cocked. He began to understand why his grand- 
 father had made Blenham one of his right-hand 
 men; he had the cool mind and the way of acting 
 quickly which makes for success. 
 
 "I got a horse for you, pardner," said a slow 
 voice as Packard came out of the office. "A cay- 
 use as can't be beat for legs an' lungs. Come 
 ahead." 
 
 Steve looked at him eagerly. He was a little 
 fellow, leather-cheeked, keen-eyed, leisurely; a 
 stranger, obviously a cowboy. 
 
 "I work for Brocky Lane," offered the stranger 
 as they went out together. "Know him, don't 
 you?" 
 
 "I did a dozen years ago," answered Steve 
 absently. "Where's your horse ? " 
 
 "You're Steve Packard, ain't you? You done 
 Brocky a favor when you was a kid, didn't you ? 
 Brocky told me. Brocky's done me a favor. 
 I'm doin' you a favor. That squares us up all 
 
 125 
 
Man to Man 
 
 'round. Like a circle, all in a ring, sort of; get 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes," agreed Steve, feeling vaguely that the 
 cowman had unknowingly touched upon a problem 
 in higher mathematics. He slipped a hand into 
 his pocket. 
 
 But the friend whom an old, long-forgotten 
 kindness raised now for him at his need, shook 
 his head, would have none of Packard's money, 
 and led the way to a shed behind the saloon. 
 Out of the darkness he brought a tall, wall-eyed 
 roan, quickly saddled and bridled and handed 
 over to Steve. 
 
 "Heeled?" came solicitously from the little 
 man as Steve swung up into the saddle. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, Blenham is. He goes that way all the 
 time. An* he's a right good shot, the boys say. 
 If there's some real sour blood stirred up between 
 him an* you there's no use bein' a plumb fool, is 
 there? The store's apt to be open yet; there's a 
 firs '-class double-barrel shot-gun, secon'-hand but 
 as good as new, in the window. Only seven dollars 
 an' a half." 
 
 "I'll send the horse over to Brocky's to-mor- 
 row," called Steve. "And as for being square 
 call on me at any time for the next favor. So 
 long." 
 
 126 
 
A Ride with Terry 
 
 "So long," responded the slow-voiced man. 
 
 Steve swung out toward the east, curbing his 
 mount's eagerness, settling himself in the saddle 
 for a couple of hours of hard riding. Slowly he 
 would warm up the big roan, letting him out 
 gradually, steadily. Already he sensed that in 
 truth here was "a cayuse hard to beat for legs 
 an' lungs." And Blenham's head-start was but a 
 matter of minutes, half an hour at most. 
 
 But before he had ridden fifty yards Steve 
 whirled his horse and rode back, going straight 
 to the store. After all, since Blenham was play- 
 ing a game in which the stakes were no less than 
 ten thousand dollars, since Blenham was without 
 doubt the man who had sought to kill Bill Royce 
 six months ago for the very same money, since 
 Blenham always "went heeled and was a right 
 good shot," why then, as Brocky Lane's cowboy 
 put it, "there was no use bein' a plumb fool." 
 And to ride a hundred yards or so and buy a Colt 
 .45 and a box of cartridges required but a moment. 
 
 In the store the long shelves upon one side held 
 dry-goods, while upon the opposite shelves a 
 miscellany of groceries was displayed; toward 
 the rear was the storekeeper's assortment of hard- 
 ware near a counter piled high with sweaters, 
 boots, chaparejos, all jumbled hopelessly. At the 
 flank of this confusion was a show-case contain- 
 
 127 
 
Man to Man 
 
 ing a rather fair line of side-arms. Steve, his eye 
 finding what it sought, went straight to the back 
 of the house. And then, looking through an open 
 door which gave entrance to the living-room of 
 the storekeeper's family, his glance met Terry's. 
 She was rising to her feet, drawing on her gauntlets. 
 
 "That's your train now," a woman's voice was 
 saying. 
 
 Packard heard the whistling of a distant en- 
 gine. He lifted his hat, she promptly whirled 
 about, giving him her back to look at. 
 
 "Here's what I want," said Steve as the store- 
 keeper came to his side. "That .45, and a box 
 of cartridges." 
 
 Terry turned again quickly and he surprised a 
 little look of interest in her slightly widened eyes. 
 A man doesn't buy a gun and a box of cartridges 
 at this time of night unless he has a use for them. 
 Packard took up his new purchases, went out, 
 swung again into the saddle, and clattered down 
 the street. 
 
 The night was bright with stars, clear and sweet. 
 Presently, with only a handful of miles behind 
 him, the moon rose above the distant ridge, at 
 the full, glorious and generous of light. He loos- 
 ened his reins a little, gave the big roan his head, 
 and swept on through the ghostly-lighted country. 
 
 Now and then, remarking some old remem- 
 128 
 
A Ride with Terry 
 
 bered landmark, he glanced from it to his watch; 
 more than once, having slipped his watch again 
 into his pocket, he leaned forward and patted the 
 horse's neck. 
 
 Then he had done a little more than half the 
 distance and was riding through the thick shad- 
 ows of Laurel Canon, which marks the beginning 
 of the long grade the unforeseen occurred; the 
 unlooked-for which, he knew now, he would have 
 fully expected, had he not counted always upon 
 Blenham playing a lone hand. 
 
 In the middle of the inky blotch made by the 
 laurels standing up against the moon there was 
 a spot through which the moon-rays found their 
 way, making a pool of light. As Packard rode 
 into this bright area he heard a rifle-shot, star- 
 tlingly loud; saw the spit of flame from just yon- 
 der, perhaps ten feet, certainly not more than 
 twenty feet away; felt the big roan plunge under 
 him, race on unsteadily, and sink. 
 
 He slipped out of the saddle as the horse crashed 
 down in the bushes at the side of the road, and as 
 he did so emptied his revolver into the shadows 
 whence had come the rifle-shot. But he knew 
 that he was a fool to hope to hit; the man had had 
 time to select his spot, to screen his own body with 
 a boulder or fallen log, to leave open behind him a 
 way to safety and darkness. 
 
 129 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Not Blenham himself but one of his crowd 
 did that," muttered Packard as he turned back 
 to the fallen horse. "Just to set me on foot again. 
 He isn't up to murder when he sees another way. 
 And for ten dollars he could hire one of his hang- 
 ers-on to kill a horse." 
 
 Well, it was just another trick for Blenham. 
 On foot now he must make what time he could to 
 the Pinchot farm, some three or four miles further 
 on, demand a horse there, and pray that Barbee 
 was equal to his task. But first he must not 
 leave the big roan to suffer needlessly and hope- 
 lessly. 
 
 He struck a match and made a flaring torch of 
 a little wisp of dry grass. Loving a good horse 
 as he did, he felt a sudden and utterly new sort of 
 hatred of Blenham go rushing along his blood. 
 It was with a deep sigh of relief that he straight- 
 ened up when he saw that either chance or a re- 
 markable skill with a rifle had saved Brocky Lane's 
 roan from any protracted pain. 
 
 Packard pushed on, seeking to make what 
 time he could, breaking into a jog-trot time 
 and again upon a down-slope, conserving wind and 
 strength for the up-hill climbs, keeping in the 
 shadows for the most part but taking his chances 
 over and over in the moonlit open. 
 
 Yet it was being borne in upon him that it was 
 130 
 
A Ride with Terry 
 
 useless to hurry now; that Blenham had made of 
 his advantage a safe lead; that he might as well 
 slow down, make a cigarette, take his time. And 
 still, being the sort of man he was, he kept dog- 
 gedly on, telling himself that a race is anybody's 
 race until the tape is broken; that Blenham 
 might be having his own troubles somewhere 
 ahead; that quitting did no good and that it is 
 not good to be a "quitter." But he had little 
 enough hope of coming up again with Blenham 
 that night. 
 
 And then, when he had been on foot not more 
 than twenty minutes, a faint, even, drumming 
 sound swelling steadily through the night some- 
 where behind him put a new, quick stir in his 
 blood. He stopped, stood almost breathless a 
 moment, listening. 
 
 The smooth drumming grew louder; suddenly 
 topping a rise the two headlights of an automobile 
 flashed into his eyes. Terry Temple, her errand 
 done in Red Creek, was racing homeward. 
 
 "And I'll beat Blenham to it yet!" cried 
 Steve. 
 
 Where the moonlight streamed brightest and 
 whitest across the road he sprang out so that she 
 could not fail to see him, tossing up both arms in 
 signal to her to stop. Her headlights blinded 
 him one moment; he heard the warning blast 
 
Man to Man 
 
 of her horn; he entertained briefly the suspicion 
 that she was going to refuse to stop. 
 
 Incredible and yet he had not thought of her 
 own likely emotions. To have a man leap out 
 into the road in front of her, all unexpectedly, wav- 
 ing his arms and calling on her to stop Why, 
 she'd think herself fallen into the hands of a high- 
 wayman ! 
 
 She was coming on, straight on, her horn emit- 
 ting one long, sustained shriek of menace. Pack- 
 ard ground his teeth; either she did not recognize 
 him and was bound upon getting by him, or she 
 did recognize him and was accepting her oppor- 
 tunity to emphasize her attitude toward him. 
 
 In any case she was going by, she in whom lay 
 his sole hope to come to grips with Blenham. 
 If he let her evade he might as well quit, quit 
 in utter disgust with the world. 
 
 With the world ? Disgust with himself, that 
 he had let Blenham beat him, that he wasn't 
 much of a man, that his old grandfather was 
 right about him. Her car was rushing down 
 upon him; if he let it pass, why, he'd be letting, 
 not only a girl laugh at him, but he'd be letting 
 his chance rush by him. His chance that loomed 
 up bigger than the oncoming machine and more 
 real; his chance not for to-night alone but for 
 ever after. 
 
 132 
 
A Ride with Terry 
 
 For if Blenham beat him to-night and his grand- 
 father beat him again later on, he knew that he 
 would pass away from the country about Ranch 
 Number Ten, that he would give over all sustained 
 effort to make something of his life, that he would 
 go back to drifting, rounding out his days after 
 the fashion of the last twelve years. It was while 
 Terry's car was speeding toward him that all of 
 this ran through his mind. 
 
 There was the possibility that, knowing who 
 he was, Terry would try to bluff him out of the 
 road, counting confidently upon his leaping to 
 safety at the last moment; there was the other 
 possibility that she mistook his motives and would 
 run him down in a sort of panic of self-defense. 
 
 Packard, with his rather clear-cut conception 
 of the girl's character to steer by, saw the one way 
 to master the situation. Whirling about, his back 
 to her now, he broke into a run, speeding along the 
 road in front of her. As he ran the hard lines 
 about his mouth softened into a rare grin: he'd 
 have her guessing for a minute, anyway. And 
 by the time she got through guessing 
 
 He had duplicated his feat of the afternoon 
 at the bridge in Red Creek. Terry, in her first 
 astonishment that the man should turn and run 
 straight on in front of her, slowed down, hesita- 
 tion in her mind. What was he up to ? Then 
 
 133 
 
Man to Man 
 
 there came sudden shadows in a narrow part of 
 the road, a sharp turn, the absolute necessity of 
 slowing down just a trifle more, and then 
 
 "It's all right; go ahead !" called Packard 
 lightly. He was standing on her running-board. 
 
 She had thrown off her hat to the cool of the 
 evening. As they passed out from the shadows 
 he could see her eyes. He pushed back his own 
 hat and Terry saw his eyes. For a moment, 
 while the car sped on, neither spoke. 
 
 Looking at her he had glimpsed wonder, an 
 annoyance that was swiftly growing into anger, 
 and a certain assurance that Miss Terry Temple 
 fully intended to remember this day and to square 
 accounts with Stephen Packard. 
 
 Returning his look, Terry had seen but one 
 emotion in his eyes: pure triumph. She could 
 not know how the man of him, having but just 
 now succeeded in this first task he had set him- 
 self, felt a sudden confidence of the future. 
 
 "If I had let you go by," said Packard quietly, 
 "I should have felt that I had let my destiny 
 pass me ! " 
 
 "Don't you start in getting fresh just because 
 it's moonlight !" 
 
 Steve looked puzzled, understood, put back 
 his head and laughed joyously. Then, his face 
 suddenly serious again, he considered her specu- 
 
 134 
 
A Ride with Terry 
 
 latirely. Now for the first time he became aware 
 that Terry was already carrying a passenger. A 
 small man, Japanese, immaculate, and frightened 
 so that his teeth were chattering. 
 
 He was Iki, who had come into Red Creek this 
 evening by train and due to cook for the Temple 
 ranch. Just now he was screwed up in his place, 
 ready to jump if Steve moved his way, his purse 
 clutched in his plump hand, half offered already. 
 Steve beamed upon him, then turned his eyes, 
 still speculative, upon Terry. 
 
 "Do you care to tell me," said Terry tartly, 
 "why you're always getting in my way ? Think 
 you're smart, climbing aboard like a monkey ? 
 You've done the trick twice; do I have to look 
 out for you every time I take the car out ?" 
 
 "I just happen to be in a hurry," said Packard. 
 "And going your way. Somebody shot my horse 
 back there for me." 
 
 Her eyes grew actually round; Iki shivered 
 audibly. But in the girl's case the emotion 
 aroused by Packard's words was short-lived. Why 
 should a man shoot the horse under Steve Pack- 
 ard ? Disbelief reshaped her eyes; she cried out 
 at him as her foot went down on the accelerator: 
 
 "Think I'm the kind to believe all the yarns 
 you can tell ? If you want to know what I think, 
 Stcrc Packard you're a liar!" 
 
 135 
 
Man to Man 
 
 He laughed, well content with the moment and 
 the situation, well content with his unwilling com- 
 panion just as she was. 
 
 "And do you know that what I told you this 
 afternoon was true?" he countered cheerfully. 
 "You're just like my blazing old Grandy! In- 
 stead of being my grandfather he c ught to be 
 yours. By golly, Miss Terry Pert," teasing the 
 blood higher into her cheeks with his laughter, 
 "that might be arranged, too! Mightn't it? 
 You and I " 
 
 "Oh!" cried Terry, and he had no doubts 
 about her meaning what she said. "Oh, I hate 
 you! Yes, worse than I hate old Hell-Fire: he 
 keeps out of my trail, anyway. And you, you 
 big bully, you woman-fighter, you you " 
 
 Just in time he guessed her purpose and threw 
 out his hand across her steering-wheel and grasped 
 her right hand. The car swerved dangerously a 
 moment, then came back to its steady course as 
 Steve's other hand closed over Terry's left. 
 Slowly, putting his greater strength gently against 
 hers, he took her automatic from her. 
 
 "Thirty-eight calibre?" he said coolly. 
 "There's nothing little about your way of doing 
 things, is there ? And you meant to drill a hole 
 through me, I'm bound !" 
 
 Terry's face gleamed white in the pale light; 
 136 
 
A Ride with Terry 
 
 and he knew from the look in her eyes as they 
 seemed fairly to clash with his, that it was the 
 white of sheer rage. 
 
 "I'd just as lief blow your head off as shoot a 
 rattlesnake," she announced crisply. 
 
 "I believe you," he grunted. "Just the same, 
 if you'd only " 
 
 "Oh, shut up !" she cried, shaking his hand free 
 from hers on the wheel and driving on recklessly. 
 
 "I would like to mention," came an uncertain 
 voice from a very pale Japanese, "that I must 
 walk on my feet. I am most regretful 
 
 "Oh, shut up !" cried Terry. "Shut up !" 
 
 And for the rest of the ride both Iki and Steve 
 Packard were silent. 
 
 137 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE TEMPTING OF YELLOW BARBEE 
 
 "TTERE'S where I get down," said Steve after 
 
 JL X a very long silence during which he watched 
 Terry's pretty, puckered face while Terry, grip- 
 ping her wheel, recklessly assumed the responsi- 
 bilities of their three lives, hurling the car on 
 through the moonlit night. 
 
 Iki, breathing every now and then a long quiver- 
 ing sigh and forgetting to breathe betweenwhiles, 
 held on tightly with both hands. 
 
 "Here's where I get down," said Steve again. 
 
 Here the road followed the line of his north 
 fence; less than a mile to the southward he could 
 see a light like a fallen star, gleaming cheerfully 
 through the trees. 
 
 He sensed rather than saw a quick stiffening 
 of Terry's already tense little body; fancied that 
 the car was steadily taking on greater speed, 
 read Terry's purpose in a flash. If he forced her 
 to carry him, why then she would take him as 
 far out of his way as possible. 
 
 "Terry Temple!" he cried sharply, leaning in 
 a little toward her. "What's the matter with 
 
 138 
 
The Tempting of Yellow Barbee 
 
 you anyway ? What if we're not friends exactly ? 
 I never did you any harm, did I ? Why, good 
 Lord, girl, when a man tells you his horse has been 
 shot under him; when he is trying to overhaul 
 the crook at the bottom of the whole mess whom 
 you hate as well as I do Oh, I mean Blenham 
 and you know it " 
 
 "Liar!" cried Terry, flashing her eyes at him, 
 and back to the road alternately white with the 
 moon and black with shadows. "Liar on two 
 counts ! Didn't I see your horse this afternoon ? 
 Tied in front of Wimble's whiskey joint ? Oh, it's 
 where I'd expect him ! Well and you needn't 
 think I looked to see or cared, either when I 
 came by just now, leaving town, I saw your horse 
 standing there yet. So you needn't " 
 
 "That couldn't be," muttered Steve. "And 
 yet Anyhow, I've got to get off here. Will 
 you stop, please?" 
 
 "No, I won't stop please! Nobody asked you 
 to ride that I know of. Get off the same way you 
 got on !" 
 
 Packard realized two things very clearly then: 
 If he jumped with the car going at its present 
 speed he would probably break his neck; if he 
 gave any considerable time to arguing the matter 
 with her he would be carried as far in five minutes 
 as he could walk in an hour. 
 
 139 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "I mean business to-night," he told her bluntly. 
 "If you don't slow down before I count ten I am 
 going to lean out a little like this and shoot a 
 hole in your tire. Then, if you keep on, Pll shoot 
 a hole in the other tire. Understand ?" 
 
 Terry laughed mockingly. 
 
 "You wouldn't dare!" she told him serenely. 
 "That would be some kind of a crime; they could 
 put you in jail for it. You'd be scared to." 
 
 "One, two, three, four, five," he counted briskly. 
 
 "I would seek to interrupt to advise, oh, Miss 
 Lady!" chattered Iki. "His voice has the sound 
 of bloodthirstiness." 
 
 "Six, seven, eight, nine ten," counted Pack- 
 ard. 
 
 Terry sniffed. He leaned out, she saw the glint 
 of the moon upon his revolver. 
 
 She threw out her clutch and jammed down 
 both brakes, hard. Steve swung out and down 
 to the ground. The car, as though it had gained 
 fresh power from the fact of being freed of his 
 weight, shot forward, stopped again. 
 
 "Not exactly friends?" cried Terry, and he 
 marked a new trembling in her voice. "I should 
 say not. You you darned snake, you!" 
 
 And she was gone, spinning along into the night, 
 hidden from him by the first hill around whose 
 base the road curved. He stared after her a 
 
 140 
 
The Tempting of Yellow Barbee 
 
 moment, shrugged, turned his back, and strode 
 rapidly toward the Ranch Number Ten cor- 
 rals. 
 
 He had planned correctly; he had correctly 
 measured Blenham's impulses and desires. Fur- 
 ther, he had come in time, just in time. 
 
 The light was in the ranch-house. Though but 
 little after eleven o'clock it was dark within the 
 bunk-house, the men long ago asleep. But Bar- 
 bee was awake, his wits about him; his voice and 
 Blenham's, both quiet, met Steve's ears as he 
 slipped about the corner of the house, coming 
 under the window where the light was. 
 
 Blenham was talking now. He sat loosely in 
 a chair, his hands one upon the other, idle in his 
 lap. Barbee, his eyes narrowed and watchful, 
 stood at the far side of the room. On the floor, 
 near his feet, was a revolver; from its position 
 Steve guessed that Barbee had just kicked it 
 safely out of Blenham's reach. Barbee's own gun 
 was in the boy's hand. 
 
 "You're a pretty foxy kid, Barbee," Blenham 
 was saying tonelessly. "You got the drop on 
 me; you're the firs' man as ever did that little 
 trick. Yes; you're a pretty foxy kid!" 
 
 Barbee shrugged and spat and answered Blen- 
 ham with a curse and a grunted: 
 
 "Nobody's askin' your opinion, Blenham." 
 141 
 
Man to Man 
 
 But Steve saw and Blenham must have seen 
 the gleam of triumph in Barbee's eye. 
 
 "What are you goin' to do with me?" asked 
 Blenham presently. 
 
 "Nothin'," replied Barbee. "Jus* keep you 
 where I got you until Steve Packard comes back. 
 Which ought to be mos' any time now." 
 
 "He'll be late," said Blenham. "He won't 
 be here for two or three hours. Suppose while 
 we wait, let's me an' you talk!" he said sharply, 
 sitting forward in his chair. 
 
 "Well?" said Barbee. "Talk an' be damned 
 to you, Blenham. Only you don't talk yourself 
 out'n the hole you're in right now. An', I promise 
 you, you make a quick jump for a get-away, an' 
 I'll shoot you dead." 
 
 "I know," Blenham nodded. "You'd do it. 
 But I ain't goin' to try any fool thing like that. 
 I'm jus' goin' Like I said to you, let's talk. 
 What's Packard payin' you for this night's 
 work?" 
 
 "He's no tightwad, if that's what you're drivin' 
 at. I'd of done to-night's job an' glad of the chance 
 an' you know it, Blenham, an' never asked pay 
 for it. But I'm drawin' down a whole month's 
 pay extra, if I've got you like you are when he 
 
 comes in." 
 
 Blenham laughed softly. Then he moved the 
 142 
 
The Tempting of Yellow Barbee 
 
 hands resting in his lap. Packard saw that they 
 were folded loosely about an old leather wallet. 
 
 "He's sure payin' you generous, Barbee," 
 jeered Blenham. "You know it ! Why, look 
 here: This is yours an' more to trail it if you jus' 
 pocket your gun an' let me go! I ain't askin* 
 much an' I'm payin' my way. Look it over, kid !" 
 
 Packard saw how he stripped a bank-note from 
 a thin sheaf of its fellows; how he tossed it toward 
 Barbee. It fell to the floor; a little draft set it 
 drifting; Blenham set his foot upon it. 
 
 "Look at it!" he snapped, for the first time 
 giving sign of the strain he was laboring under. 
 "It's yours if you ain't a fool." 
 
 Barbee, not to be tricked were this some ruse 
 to snare his attention, said crisply: 
 
 "Put you' han's up while I get it !" 
 
 Blenham obeyed; Barbee stooped swiftly, all 
 the while with eyes riveted on his prisoner. 
 Then, the muzzle of his gun raised another inch, 
 he looked at what he held. When he looked 
 back at Blenham his eyes were round, his mouth 
 stood a little open. 
 
 "My God!" he gasped. "It's a thousan' 
 dollars!" 
 
 "Yes," said Blenham quietly. "It's a thou- 
 san' dollars. That's quite a little wad, Barbee; 
 it's more, anyhow, than an extra month's wages, 
 
 H3 
 
Man to Man 
 
 ain't it ? An' it's yours if you want it ! Think 
 of the times you can go on, think of the way you 
 could make Red Creek open its eyes ! An' there's 
 more to come if you take that an' let me go an' 
 jus' watch my play an' take a chance with me 
 when I say so. What's the word, Barbee?" 
 
 Packard, having held back thus long, remained 
 motionless, glimpsing unexpectedly something of 
 Barbee's soul; watching a little human drama, 
 become spectator to the battle royal of the 
 two contending factions which made up a man's 
 self. 
 
 It seemed to him that young Barbee was pale 
 and grew paler; that a shiver ran through him; 
 that he was, for the moment, like one drugged. 
 And, side by side, two emotions, both primal 
 and unmistakable, peered out of his eyes: a 
 savage hatred of Blenham, a leaping greed of gold. 
 
 Thus for a little forgetting his own interest in 
 this scene, Packard watched, wondering what the 
 outcome would be. Blenham tempted. Barbee 
 hesitated. 
 
 "Right here in my hand," Blenham was saying 
 coldly, "are nine more like that, Barbee. Ten 
 thousan' dollars in all. One thousan' to go to 
 you for jus' keepin' out of my way. I said once 
 you're a foxy kid. Now let's see if you are. Tie 
 to a man like me that's out to make a pile, a damn 
 
 144 
 
The Tempting of Yellow Barbee 
 
 big pile, Barbee or hang to a fool like Steve 
 Packard an* take his pay in dribbles an* let him 
 be the one that gathers in all the big kale. Him 
 an' me when I get things goin' right; him an' me 
 with you jus' gettin' the scraps. Which is it ? 
 Eh, kid ? Which way 're you goin' ?" 
 
 Barbee held the bank-note in his left hand; 
 slowly his calloused fingers closed tightly about it, 
 crumpling it, clutching it as though they would 
 never release it. And then slowly the fingers 
 opened so that the wrinkled bit of paper lay in 
 his palm under his eyes. Barbee ran his tongue 
 back and forth between his dry lips. Steve, 
 staring in at him through the window, saw in his 
 eyes the two lights, that of hate, that of covetous- 
 ness; they burned side by side as a yellow candle 
 and a red might have done. 
 
 Which way would Barbee go ? Did Barbee 
 know? Blenham did not; Steve did not. Sud- 
 denly, seeing how the two fires flickered in Bar- 
 bee's eyes, Steve cried out within himself: 
 
 "It's unfair! It's asking too much of Bar- 
 bee!" 
 
 And aloud, shoving the nose of a Colt .45 
 through the window-pane which splintered noisily: 
 
 "Hands up there, Blenham! Good boy, Bar- 
 bee. You've got him, all right! Watch him 
 while I slip in." 
 
 145 
 
Man to Man 
 
 Blenham jumped to his feet, threw out his arms, 
 and cursed savagely. Then, grown abruptly 
 quiet, he dropped back into his chair, his two 
 big hands loose about the wallet hidden under 
 them. Steve threw a leg over the window-sill 
 and came in, his gun ready, his eyes taking stock 
 of Barbee while they appeared to be for Blenham 
 only. And Barbee, white now as he had never 
 been until now, shivered, filled his lungs with a 
 long sigh, and fell back a couple of paces, staring 
 at Steve, at Blenham, but most of all at the thing 
 in his hand. 
 
 "You put it across, Barbee!" cried Steve 
 heartily. 
 
 He reached forward and snatched the wallet 
 from Blenham's knee. Blenham's big hands, 
 clenching slowly, fell to his sides; Blenham's 
 eyes, sullen and evil, clung steadily to Packard's. 
 
 "You've saved me my inheritance to-night; 
 you've helped save me my ranch. You've helped 
 me square the game with a dirty dog named Blen- 
 ham!" 
 
 Like a dog Blenham showed his teeth. His 
 drawn face was stamped in the image of fury. 
 
 "You're a sweet picture of a dead game sport," 
 he growled, shifting nervously in his chair. "I 
 ain't got a gun; you an' Barbee have; go ahead 
 an' call me all the names you like !" 
 
 146 
 
The Tempting of Yellow Barbee 
 
 Steve counted the bank-notes in the wallet. 
 Blenham had spoken truly; there were nine one- 
 thousand-dollar bills. He put out his hand to 
 Barbee for the tenth. Barbee, staring strangely 
 like one rudely awakened from sleep and not yet 
 certain of his surroundings, let the bank-note go. 
 His eyes, leaving it at last to rest steadily on Blen- 
 ham, looked red and ugly. Packard slipped the 
 wallet into his shirt. 
 
 "Barbee," he said quietly, while he busied his 
 eyes with Blen> am's slightest movement, "this 
 money was left to me by my father. He gave it 
 to Bill Royce to keep for me. You know all that 
 Bill has stood from Blenham; now you know why. 
 There's quite a load of scoundrelism dumped off 
 at Blenham's door. And, thanks to you, we've 
 got the dead wood on him at last I" 
 
 "What are you goin' to do with him ?" Barbee, 
 speaking for the first time since Steve's entrance, 
 was husky-voiced. Blenham shifted again in his 
 chair; now there was only cold hatred in the boy's 
 look. "We'd ought to be able to put him in the 
 pen for a good long time." 
 
 Blenham laughed jeeringly. 
 
 "Try it!" he blustered. "See what you can 
 prove, actually prove to a jury an' a judge! 
 Try it ! You go to the law an' see ' 
 
 "To hell with the law!" cut in Steve, and 
 
Man to Man 
 
 though his voice was not lifted for the impreca- 
 tion Blenham shot a quick, startled look at him. 
 
 And both Blenham and Barbee, listening won- 
 deringly, understood that here was a Packard 
 talking; that in the shoes of the grandson, even 
 now, there might be standing the big bulk of the 
 uncompromising grandfather. 
 
 "What do I want with the law now? Blen- 
 ham would wriggle out, I suppose; or he would 
 get a light sentence and trim that down to noth- 
 ing with good behavior. No, Blenham, if you ever 
 go to jail it will be somebody's else doing; not 
 mine. Is it just jail for the man who shot down 
 my old pardner in cold blood, just for the sake of 
 a handful of money ? Is it to be just jail for the 
 man who has made Bill Royce's life a hell for six 
 months ? Just jail for the brute who had a horse 
 shot under me to-night? Why, damn you " 
 and at last his voice broke through the ice of re- 
 straint and rang out angrily, full of menace "do 
 you think I'm going to let you go out of my hands 
 into the hands of judge and jury after all you've 
 done?" 
 
 Blenham sprang up, drawing back. The muz- 
 zle of Steve's .45 followed him threateningly. 
 
 "Barbee," said Packard, his voice once more 
 under control, "go to the bunk-house and send 
 Bill Royce here. Don't wake the other boys. 
 
 148 
 
The Tempting of Yellow Barbee 
 
 Then you come back here with him. And bring 
 a whip with you." 
 
 "A whip?" repeated Barbee. 
 
 "Yes; a whip. Any kind you can lay your 
 hands to in a hurry; quirt or buggy-whip or bull- 
 whip!" 
 
 Blenham watched Barbee go. Then, drawn 
 back into a corner of the room, sullen and vigilant, 
 he stood biting nervously at a big, clenched, hairy 
 fist. 
 
 149 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 IN A DARK ROOM 
 
 BILL ROYCE, hastily and but half dressed, 
 came promptly to the house, stumbling along 
 at Barbee's heels. Blenham, his silence and 
 watchfulness unbroken, still chewed at his fist. 
 Barbee brought a heavy blacksnake in his hand. 
 
 "Barbee says you want me, Steve ?" said Royce 
 from the threshold. "An* that Blenham's here ?" 
 
 "Yes, Bill," Steve answered. And to Barbee, 
 "Close the door behind you. Lock it. Give me 
 the key. Now fasten the shutters across both 
 windows." 
 
 Barbee obeyed silently. Blenham's eyes fol- 
 lowed him, seeming fascinated by the whip in Bar- 
 bee's hand. 
 
 "Listen a minute, Bill," said Steve when Barbee 
 had done. "I want to tell you something." 
 
 And, as briefly as might be, he told Royce of 
 the ten dollar bills substituted for the real legacy, 
 of the results of his evening in Red Creek, of Bar- 
 bee's trapping Blenham, of the recovery of the ten 
 thousand dollars, of a horse shot dead on the Red 
 Creek road. 
 
 150 
 
In a Dark Room 
 
 "Then," said Royce at the end of it, his mind 
 catching eagerly one outstanding fact, "I was 
 right, Steve ? An' it was Blenham as gave me 
 both barrels of Johnny Mills's shot-gun ? It was 
 Blenham for sure, wasn't it, Steve?" 
 
 "Yes, Bill. It was Blenham." 
 
 "An' an' Blenham's right across there now ? 
 It's him I can hear breathin', Steve?" 
 
 "Yes, Bill." 
 
 "An' an' what for did you sen' for me, Steve ? 
 What are you goin' to do to him ?" 
 
 Packard beckoned to Barbee. The boy came 
 quickly to his side, giving him the blacksnake. 
 Steve laid it across Bill Royce's hand. 
 
 "I'm going to give him a taste of that, Bill," 
 he said. "And I wanted you here. You can't 
 see it; but before I am through with him, you 
 can hear it!" 
 
 "Goin' to tie him up an' whip him, Steve ? 
 That it?" 
 
 "Pack of low-bred mongrel pups!" cried Blen- 
 ham wrathfully, for the first time breaking his 
 silence. "Sneakin', low-lived curs an' cowards!" 
 
 "That it, Steve ?" persisted Royce. "Coin* to 
 tie him up an' give him a whippin* with a black- 
 snake?" 
 
 "I am going to whip him for your sake, Bill," 
 answered Steve sternly. 
 
Man to Man 
 
 He threw off his coat, tossing it behind him. 
 
 "Get the chairs and table out of the way, Bar- 
 bee! No, I am not going to tie him up; that 
 isn't necessary, Bill. I can handle him with my 
 hands without tying him; I am going to do it. 
 And then I am going to take the whip and lay 
 it across him until his hide is in strips or until 
 he begs to be let go. Ready, Blenham?" 
 
 "Mean that?" snarled Blenham, a new look 
 in his eye. "Mean you're goin' to give me an 
 even break ?" 
 
 But Bill Royce, fairly trembling with an eager- 
 ness strange to him, had clutched at Steve's arm, 
 had found it, was holding him back, crying out 
 excitedly : 
 
 "You're a good pal, Stevie; you're the best pal 
 as ever was an' I know it ! Didn't I always know 
 you'd be like this ? But can't you see, Stevie, 
 can't you see it ain't enough another man should 
 lick him, even when that man's my pardner, even 
 when it's Stevie himself doin' it ! Ain't I been 
 waitin' an' waitin' to get my hands on him !" 
 
 Blenham, a little comforted by Steve's words, 
 jeered openly now. 
 
 "Come on, Blind Billy," he taunted. "An' 
 when I've throwed you into the junk pile I'll take 
 on your friends ! One at the time you know 
 how the sayin' goes !" 
 
 152 
 
In a Dark Room 
 
 Steve was shaking Royce's hand from his 
 arm. 
 
 "Let me do this for you, Bill," he said firmly. 
 "It's only fair. If you could see, it would be 
 different." 
 
 But Royce clung on desperately, crying out 
 insistently : 
 
 "Blind as I am I can lick him! I know I 
 can lick him ! Ain't I done it in my sleep a 
 dozen times, a dozen ways ? Ain't I always 
 promised myself sometime I'd get him in my 
 two hands, I'd feel him wriggle an' squirm ? This 
 is my fight, Steve, an' Blenham, where are 
 you?" 
 
 "Here !" cried Blenham. "An' gettin' tired of 
 waitin'!" 
 
 Royce plunged toward him. But Steve Pack- 
 ard caught his old friend about the body, holding 
 him back a moment. 
 
 "Easy, Bill," he said gently. "Easy. I was 
 wrong, you are right. It's your fight. But take 
 your time. Get your coat off. Barbee, stand by 
 that window there; if Blenham tries to get out 
 stop him. I'll stand here. All ready, Bill ?" 
 
 "Ready!" cried Royce, his voice a roar of 
 eagerness. 
 
 "All ready, Blenham?" 
 
 'Ain't I said it ?" jeered Blenham. 
 
 153 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Then " and suddenly Steve had snatched 
 up the lamp, blowing down the chimney and plung- 
 ing the room into thick darkness "go to it ! 
 The light is out, Bill ! The room is pitch-black. 
 You're as well off as he is. And now, old pardner. 
 Now!" 
 
 It was suddenly very still in the room; the 
 thick, impenetrable darkness seemed almost a 
 palpable curtain screening what went forward; 
 the silence was for a little literally breathless. 
 
 Then there came the first faint, tell-tale sound, 
 the slow, tortured creaking of a board as a man 
 put his weight upon it. Through the darkness, 
 across the room, Bill Royce was going slowly, 
 questing the man who, surprised by the action of 
 Steve's which had reduced his advantage over a 
 blind man, held to his corner. And then, stranger 
 sound still through that tense silence, came Bill 
 Royce's low laugh. 
 
 "Good boy, Steve," he said softly. "I'd never 
 thought of that ! In the dark Blenham's as blind 
 as me ! How do you like it, Blenham ? How'd 
 you like to have it this way all the time ?" 
 
 Blenham's only answer lay in his leaping for- 
 ward, out from his corner, and striking; Royce's 
 answer to that was another quiet laugh. He had 
 slipped aside; Blenham had flailed at the thin 
 air; Royce, grown still again, knew one of the 
 
 154 
 
In a Dark Room 
 
 moments of sheer joy which had been his during 
 these last weary months. 
 
 Packard and Barbee, frowning unavailingly 
 toward each little noise, could only guess at what 
 went forward so few inches from them. A scrap- 
 ing foot might be either Royce's or Blenham's; 
 a long, deep sigh or quick breathing now here, 
 now there, might emanate from either man. 
 The strange thing, thought both Barbee and 
 Packard, was that even ten seconds could pass 
 without these two men at each other's throats. 
 
 But, a supreme moment his at last, Bill Royce 
 found himself grown miserly in its expenditure; 
 he would dribble the golden seconds through his 
 fingers, he would draw out the experience, tasting 
 its joy fully. 
 
 For the moment his blindness was no greater 
 than Blenham's; for a little Blenham would 
 grope and wonder and hesitate and grow tense 
 after the fashion the blind man knew so well. 
 And then at the end, when an end could no longer 
 be delayed, Bill Royce would mete out the long- 
 delayed punishment. 
 
 But, since the natures of both men were down- 
 right, since their hatreds were outright, since there 
 was little of finesse in either and a great impa- 
 tience stirring both, Royce's playing with Blen- 
 ham was short. 
 
 155 
 
Man to Man 
 
 There came a sudden shuffling of feet and 
 Royce's laugh; a blow landing heavily and 
 Royce's laugh; another blow, a grunt, and a 
 panted curse from Blenham and Royce's laugh. 
 
 And then only a scraping of feet up and down, 
 back and forth along the bare floor, the thudding 
 of heavy shoulders into an unexpected wall, 
 the impact of fist against body. In the utter dark- 
 ness the two men gripped each other, struck, 
 swayed together, staggered apart, only to come 
 together again to strike harder, more merciless 
 blows. 
 
 Packard and Barbee now held their breaths 
 while the others panted freely; both Packard and 
 Barbee, stepping quickly now this way and now 
 that as the battling forms swayed up and down, 
 sought to gauge what was happening by the sounds 
 which came to their ears. 
 
 Muttered imprecations, scuffling feet in a rude 
 dance of rage, another heavy, thudding blow, a 
 coughing curse. Whose ? Blenham's, since after 
 it came Bill Royce's laugh. Another blow, fresh 
 pounding and scraping of boots blow on top of 
 blow, curse on top of curse a man falling 
 heavily 
 
 Who was down ? Royce or Blenham ? 
 
 "Bill !" called Packard. "Bill !" 
 
 No answer save that of two big bodies rolling 
 
 156 
 
In a Dark Room 
 
 together on the floor. Both were down, Royce 
 and Blenham. Both were fighting, wordless and 
 infuriated. Who was on top ? 
 
 No man on top long, no man under the other 
 more than a second. The rolling bodies struck 
 against Packard's leg and he drew back, giving 
 them room. The dust puffing up from the floor 
 filled his nostrils. The room was becoming un- 
 endurably close, sickeningly close. The sweat 
 must be streaming from both men by now. Pack- 
 ard sniffed, fancying the acrid smell of fresh blood. 
 The big bulks rolled and threshed and whipped 
 here and there 
 
 "Hell!" 
 
 It was a cry of mingled rage and pain; it 
 came bursting explosively from Blenham's lips. 
 Royce 's laugh followed it; Packard shivered. 
 
 "Bill! "he cried. "Bill!" 
 
 Royce did not answer; perhaps for the very 
 good reason that he did not hear. There were 
 other matters now engaging his attention solely 
 and exclusively. The fighting fury, the hate 
 frenzy was riding him and he in turn was riding 
 his enemy. Cool sanity and hot blood-lust do 
 not find places side by side in the same brain. 
 A second time came the horrible cry from Blen- 
 ham. Packard struck a match hastily and 
 lighted the lamp. 
 
 157 
 
Man to Man 
 
 Packard and Barbee together dragged Royce 
 away, letting Blenham lie there. Both men 
 were naked to their waists, their shirts and under- 
 shirts in rags and strips hanging grotesquely about 
 their hips; Royce looked like some hideously 
 painted burlesque of a ballet-dancer in a comic 
 skirt. Only there was nothing of burlesque or 
 comedy in his face. 
 
 Packard, glancing from him down to the tor- 
 tured body of Blenham that breathed jerkily, 
 noisily, turned with a sudden revulsion of feeling 
 and hurled the heavy blacksnake away from him. 
 He had not fancied the sharp smell of fresh blood. 
 
 "I got him!" said Royce shakily. "With my 
 two hands, I got him ! Didn't I, Stevie ?" 
 
 "Better than you know, Bill !" muttered Pack- 
 ard. "Better than you know." 
 
 The thing had been an accident, at least in so 
 far as Bill Royce's intent was concerned. Pack- 
 ard knew that; he knew that his old pardner 
 fought hard, fought mercilessly, but fought fair. 
 But in a larger sense was it an accident ? Or 
 rather a mere retributive punishment decreed by 
 an eternal justice ? There in the pitch dark, for 
 no man to see the how of it, this is perhaps what 
 had happened: 
 
 There had been the old, long-rowelled Mexican 
 spur hanging on the wall; Royce's shoulder or 
 
 158 
 
In a Dark Room 
 
 Blenham's had knocked it down; their feet 
 had pushed it out to the middle of the floor. 
 They had fallen, together, heavily; they had 
 rolled. Blenham had gone over on his face, 
 
 Royce's hands worrying him. The spur 
 
 But it mattered little how it had come about. 
 The result was the thing. Blenham would never 
 see with his right eye again. 
 
 159 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 AT THE LUMBER CAMP 
 
 THEY did what they could for Blenham 
 which was but little and let him go when 
 he was ready. Before daylight he had ridden 
 away, dead white, sick-looking, and wordless save 
 for his parting words in a strangely quiet voice 
 
 "I'll get all three of you for this, s'elp me !" 
 
 They had bound his head up in a strip torn from 
 an old sheet; the last they saw of him in the un- 
 certain light was this bandage, rising and falling 
 slowly as his horse bore him away. 
 
 Blenham gone, Barbee and Bill Royce went 
 down to the bunk-house again, slipping in quietly. 
 Steve Packard, alone in the ranch-house, sat smok- 
 ing his pipe for half an hour. Then he went to 
 bed, the bank-notes still in his shirt, his gun under 
 his pillow. 
 
 Twice last night he had said to Joe Woods, the 
 lumber-camp boss, "I'll see you in the morning." 
 
 Morning come, Steve breakfasted early, saddled 
 his horse, and turned out across the fields to meet 
 the rising sun. And it seemed to his fancies, set 
 a-tingle in the early dawn freshness, that the rising 
 
 160 
 
At the Lumber Camp 
 
 sun, ancient symbol of youth and vigor and hope 
 with triumph's wings, was coming to meet him. 
 
 At this period of the day, especially when he 
 rides and is alone and the forests thicken all about 
 him, man is prone to confidence. It had been a 
 simple matter, so he looked upon it now, to have 
 discovered the truth of the substituted bills last 
 night; as simple a matter had been his winning at 
 seven-and-a-half or his whipping big Joe Woods or 
 his recovery of the lost legacy. 
 
 Blenham, or rather an agent of Blenham, had 
 killed his horse; what then ? His destiny had 
 stepped forward; Terry had come; he had 
 whizzed back to the ranch in her car and on time. 
 
 What if the ranch were mortgaged and to the 
 hardest man in seven counties ? What though 
 his grandfather had obviously fallen supine before 
 the old man's tempting sin, which is avarice, and 
 was bound to break him ? Was fate not playing 
 him for her favorite ? 
 
 To Steve Packard, riding to meet the sun and 
 to keep his promise to the lumber boss, the world 
 just now was an exceedingly bright and lovely 
 place; in this hour of a leaping optimism he could 
 even picture Terry Temple in a companionably 
 laughing mood. 
 
 So early did he take to saddle that the fag end 
 of the dawn was still sweet in the air when he 
 
 161 
 
Man to Man 
 
 passed under the great limbs of the stragglers of 
 the forests clothing his eastern hill-slopes. He 
 noted how between the widely separated boles the 
 grass was thick and rich and untrampled; re- 
 served against the time of need. There was no 
 stock here yet. 
 
 He passed on, swung into the little-used trail 
 which brought him first to the McKittrick cabin 
 where a double-barrelled shot-gun six months ago 
 had brought Bill Royce his blindness; then to 
 the lumber-camp a mile further on. Both were 
 on the bank of Packard's Creek; the flume con- 
 structed by Joe Woods's men followed the line of 
 the stream. 
 
 The new sun in his eyes, Steve drew his hat 
 low down on his forehead and looked curiously 
 about him. The timberjacks had come only 
 recently; so much was obvious. They had come 
 to stay; that was as plainly to be seen. Rough 
 slabs of green timber, still drying and twisting 
 and splitting as it did so, had been knocked 
 together rudely to make a long, low building where 
 cook and cookstove and a two-plank table indi- 
 cated both kitchen and dining-room. 
 
 A half-dozen other shacks and lean-tos, seen 
 here and there through the trees, completed the 
 camp. Great fallen trees they were taking only 
 the full-grown timber looking helpless and hope- 
 
 162 
 
At the Lumber Camp 
 
 less, lay this way and that like broken giants, 
 majestically resigned to the conqueror's axe. 
 
 Here in the peace and quiet of the pinking day 
 this inroad of commercialism struck Steve sud- 
 denly both as slaughter and sacrilege; among the 
 stalwart standing patriarchs and their bowed 
 brethren he sat his horse staring frowningly at the 
 little ugly clutter of buildings housing the in- 
 vaders. 
 
 "My beloved old granddad had his nerve with 
 him," he grunted as he rode on into the tiny 
 settlement. "As usual!" 
 
 The cook, yawning, bleary-eyed, unthinkably 
 tousled, was just bestirring himself. Steve saw 
 his back and a trailing suspender as he went into 
 the cook-shed carrying some kindling-wood in 
 one hand and a bucket of water in the other. 
 It was only when Packard, having ridden to his 
 door and looked in, startled the cook into swing- 
 ing about, that the dull-eyed signs of a night of 
 dissipation showed in the other's face. 
 
 "Up late last night, I'll bet," laughed Steve, 
 easing himself in the saddle. The cook made a 
 face unmistakably eloquent of a bad taste in his 
 mouth and went down on his knees before his 
 stove, settling slowly like a man with stiff, rheu- 
 matic joints or else a head which he did not in- 
 tend to jar. 
 
 163 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Drunk las' night," he growled, settling back 
 on his haunches as his fire caught. "A man 
 that'll get drunk is a damn' fool. I'm through 
 wid it." 
 
 "Where's Woods?" asked Steve. "Up yet?" 
 
 "Yes, rot him, he's up. He's always up. He's 
 holy smoke, I got a head !" 
 
 "Where is he?" demanded Packard. 
 
 The cook rose gently and for a moment clasped 
 his head with both hands. Then he immersed 
 it gradually in his bucket of icy water. After 
 which, drying himself with a dirty towel and 
 setting the bucket of water on his stove, he turned 
 red-rimmed eyes upon Steve. 
 
 "You're the guy I fed the other mornin', ain't 
 you ?" he asked. 
 
 Steve nodded. 
 
 "More'n which," continued the cook, "you're 
 the guy as licked Woodsy las' night in Red Crick ?" 
 Again Steve nodded. 
 
 "An' again you're claimin' to run the ranch 
 here ? An' to own it ? An' to be oF Hell-Fire's 
 gran'son ?" 
 
 "I asked you where Woods was," Packard 
 reminded him sharply. The cook threw up his 
 hand as though to ward off a blow. 
 
 "Whatcha yellin' in my ear for?" he moaned 
 dismally. "Want to split my head off? Wood- 
 
 164 
 
At the Lumber Camp 
 
 sy's over yonder; talkin' with a man name of 
 Blenham. Ever hear of him ?" 
 
 "Over yonder " plainly meant just across the 
 creek where there was a little flat open space 
 among the trees in which stood one of the larger 
 shanties. Steve saw a stove-pipe sticking out 
 crookedly through the shed roof; noted a thin 
 spear of smoke. He spurred across the stream 
 and to the timber boss's quarters. 
 
 Woods heard him and came out into the bright- 
 ening morning, drawing the door closed behind 
 him. His eyes, like the cook's though to a lesser 
 degree, showed indications of a wild night in 
 town. Steve guessed that he hadn't undressed 
 all night; that he was not entirely sober just now 
 though he carried himself steadily and spoke 
 well enough. 
 
 "I thought you'd show," said Woods quietly, 
 his big hands down in his pockets, his shoulders 
 against the wall. 
 
 "What is Blenham doing here?" Steve asked. 
 
 Woods narrowed his eyes in a speculative frown. 
 
 "He's damn' near dead. He's waitin' for me 
 to get one of the boys to hitch up an* haul him 
 to a doctor. He says you an* two other guys 
 gouged his eye out for him." 
 
 "He's a liar," announced Packard angrily. 
 "The thing was an accident. It was a fair fight 
 
Man to Man 
 
 between him and Bill Royce. Blenham fell on 
 an old spur. I promised you I'd be here this 
 morning, Woods." 
 
 "Yes," said Woods. "I expected you." 
 
 "You were square with me last night," went 
 on Packard quietly. "I appreciate the fact. If 
 ever I can do you a favor, just say so. So much 
 for that part of it. Next: Maybe you've heard 
 Fm the owner of Ranch Number Ten ? And that 
 I'm running it myself? I've come over to tell 
 you this morning that we're knocking off work 
 here. I don't want any more timber down." 
 
 There came a little twitching at the corner of 
 Woods's broad mouth. He made no answer. 
 
 "Hear me ?" snapped Steve. 
 
 "Sure I hear you," said Woods insolently. 
 "So does Blenham; he's right inside where he 
 can hear. I guess it's him you want to talk with. 
 I'm takin 5 my orders ofFn Blenham an' nobody 
 else." 
 
 "I've talked already with Blenham. I've told 
 him not to set his hoofs on my ranch again after 
 to-day. Since he's pretty badly hurt I'll let you 
 haul him to the doctor but I don't want him hauled 
 back. Further, I want work stopped here right 
 now. The men will be having breakfast in a 
 few minutes. After breakfast you can explain to 
 them and let them go." 
 
 166 
 
At the Lumber Camp 
 
 Woods shrugged. 
 
 "My orders, hot out'n Blenham's mouth, is to 
 stick on the job here an' saw wood," he said color- 
 lessly. "I'm takin' my pay off'n him an' I'm 
 doin' what he says." 
 
 There seemed only a careless indifference in 
 his gesture as he partly turned his back, staring 
 up-stream; but the slight movement served to 
 show Packard that Woods carried a gun on his 
 hip, in plain sight. Well, Woods himself had said 
 "I expected you !" 
 
 Last night and for a definite purpose Steve had 
 armed himself; this morning, setting out on this 
 errand, he had tossed the revolver into a table 
 drawer at the ranch-house. He had never been 
 a gunman; if circumstance dictated that he must 
 go armed, well and good. But his brows con- 
 tracted angrily at the display of Woods's readi- 
 ness for gun-play. 
 
 "Look here, you Joe Woods!" he cried out. 
 "And listen, too, you Blenham ! I'm no trouble- 
 seeker; I know it's a dead easy thing to start 
 a row that will see more than one man dead be- 
 fore it's ended, and what's the use ? But I mean 
 to have what is mine in spite of you and Hell- 
 Fire Packard and the devil ! The right of the 
 whole deal is as plain as one and one: This is 
 my outfit, if it is mortgaged; nobody excepting me 
 
 167 
 
Man to Man 
 
 has any business ordering my timber cut. And I 
 say that it's not going to be cut. If there is any 
 trouble it's up to you fellows." 
 
 From Blenham in the cabin came no sound; 
 Woods, having glanced swiftly at Packard's 
 angry face, again stared up-stream. 
 
 For a little Steve Packard gnawed at his lip, 
 caught in an eddy of helpless rage. Never an 
 answer from Blenham, never an answer from 
 Woods; angry already, their silences maddened 
 him. Across the creek he saw the cook standing 
 in his kitchen door, listening and smiling in sickly 
 fashion; two or three of the men, coming out for 
 their breakfasts, were watching him. 
 
 They were an ugly, red-eyed bunch, he thought 
 as he swept them with his flashing eyes; they'd 
 fight like dogs for the joy of fighting; soon or 
 late, if Blenham persisted, he'd have the job on 
 his hands of throwing them off his land. Of 
 course he could go "higher up"; he could appeal 
 to his grandfather. 
 
 He could, but in his present mood he had no 
 intention of doing any such thing. His grand- 
 father, before now, should have withdrawn these 
 men. 
 
 "Don't ask me to hold my hand !" the old man 
 had shouted at him. "I'm goin' after you tooth 
 an' big toe-nail!" 
 
 168 
 
At the Lumber Camp 
 
 Well, if the old man wanted trouble and range 
 war 
 
 His blood was rushing swift and hot through 
 his veins; his mind working feverishly. One man 
 alone against the crowd of them, he could do 
 nothing. But he could ride back to the ranch, 
 gather up a dozen men, put guns into their hands, 
 be back here in the matter of a couple of hours. 
 
 He saw the timberjacks as one by one they 
 came out into the clearing by the cook's shack; 
 counted them as they went in. The thought of a 
 morning cup of coffee was attracting them; among 
 the faces turned briefly his way he recognized 
 several he had seen last night in the Ace of Dia- 
 monds saloon. He saw two of them hitching up 
 the big wagon, evidently the only conveyance in 
 the camp. They were getting ready to take 
 Blenham. 
 
 Suddenly a new light flashed into Steve's eyes; 
 he turned his head abruptly that Joe Woods 
 should not see. 
 
 "How many men have you got here, Woods ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 Wondering at the question Woods answered it: 
 
 "Fourteen; startin' a new camp across the 
 ridge." 
 
 Steve had counted nine men go into the cook's 
 shed; with the cook there were ten; the two with 
 
Man to Man 
 
 the horses made twelve. There should be two 
 more. He waited. Meanwhile, secretly so that 
 Woods might not guess what he was doing or 
 see the busy hand, he loosened his latigo, seeming 
 merely to slouch in his saddle; while he made a 
 half-dozen random remarks which set Woods won- 
 dering still further, he got his cinch loose. An- 
 other man had gone into the kitchen. Thirteen. 
 
 "Fourteen counting you?" he asked Woods. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Then they were all accounted for; two with the 
 horses; eleven in the shed; Joe Woods in front of 
 him. 
 
 "My cinch is loose," said Packard and dis- 
 mounted, throwing the stirrup up across the sad- 
 dle out of his way, his fingers going to the latigo 
 which he had just loosened. 
 
 Woods watched him idly. Then suddenly 
 both men looked toward the kitchen. The door 
 had been slammed shut; there was a fairly hide- 
 ous racket as of all of the cook's pots and pans 
 falling together; after it a boom of laughter, and 
 finally the cook's voice lifted querulously. Woods 
 grinned. Unruffled by Packard's presence he 
 said casually: 
 
 "Cookie mos' usually has the hell of a head 
 after a night like las' night. The boys knows 
 it an* has a little fun with him !" 
 
 170 
 
At the Lumber Camp 
 
 The two men harnessing the horses had evi- 
 dently guessed as did Woods what was happening 
 in the cook's domain; at any rate, they hastily 
 tied the horses and hurried to see. Packard, still 
 busied with his latigo, saw them and watched them 
 until the door had shut behind them. 
 
 His horse stood between him and Woods. He 
 tickled the animal in the flank; it spun about, 
 pulling back, plunging, drawing Woods's eyes. 
 And the next thing which Woods clearly under- 
 stood was that Steve Packard was upon him, that 
 one of Packard's hands was at his throat, that the 
 other had gone for the gun on Woods's hip and 
 had gotten it. 
 
 "Back into your shack !" commanded Packard, 
 jabbing the muzzle of Woods's big automatic 
 hard into Woods's ribs. "Quick !" 
 
 To himself just now Steve had said: "One man 
 against the crowd of them, he could do nothing !" 
 Just exactly what Woods would be thinking; 
 what Blenham inside would be thinking; just 
 exactly what the rest of the men thought since 
 they turned their backs on him and forgot him 
 in their sport of badgering the cook. 
 
 What he was doing now was what he would 
 term, did he hear of another man attempting it, 
 "A fool thing to do !" And yet he had told him- 
 self many a time that a man stood a fair chance 
 
 171 
 
Man to Man 
 
 to get away with the unexpected if he hit quick 
 and hard and kept his wits about him. 
 
 Woods, taken thoroughly aback, allowed him- 
 self to be driven again into his cabin. Packard 
 followed and closed the door. Within was Blen- 
 ham, lying on Woods's bunk, his head still 
 swathed, a half-empty whiskey bottle on the floor 
 at his side. With one watery eye he looked from 
 one to the other of the two men bursting in on 
 him. 
 
 "Blenham," cried Packard, standing over him 
 while he was careful not to lose sight of Joe 
 Woods's working face, "I want work stopped 
 here and this crowd of men off the ranch. You 
 heard what I said outside, didn't you ?" 
 
 Blenham answered heavily: 
 
 "Woods, don't you pay no attention to what 
 this man says. You keep your men on the job. 
 An' if you got another drop of whiskey " 
 
 "The bottle's where you put it," retorted 
 Woods. "Under your pillow." 
 
 Blenham rolled on his side, slipping his hand 
 under his pillow. All the time his one red eye 
 shone evilly on Steve, who, his wits about him, 
 stepped back into the corner whence he might 
 at the same time watch Woods and that hand of 
 Blenham's which was making its stupid little 
 play of seeking a bottle. 
 
 172 
 
At the Lumber Camp 
 
 "Take it out by the neck, Blenham," said 
 Steve sternly. "Take it out by the neck and pass 
 it to me, butt end first ! Sabe? I'm guessing 
 the kind of drink you'd like to set up." 
 
 Blenham's one eye and Steve's two clashed; 
 Woods watched interestedly. He even laughed 
 as at last, with an exclamation which was as 
 much a groan as a curse, Blenham jerked out his 
 gun and flung it down on his quilt. Steve took 
 it up and shoved it into his pocket. 
 
 "There's jus' a han'ful of men over to the cook- 
 house," said Woods humorously. "Havin* stuck 
 up me an' Blenham you oughtn't to have no 
 trouble over there !" 
 
 "How many men?" demanded Steve quietly. 
 "Thirteen, if I counted right, eh, Woods ? That's 
 no kind of a number to pin your hopes on ! And 
 now listen; I'll cut it short: If there is any trou- 
 ble this morning, if any man gets hurt, remember 
 that this is my land, that you jaspers are trespass- 
 ing, that I am simply defending my property. 
 In other words, you're in wrong. You'll be skat- 
 ing on pretty thin ice if you just plead later on 
 that you were obeying orders from Blenham; fol- 
 low Blenham long enough and you'll get to the 
 pen. Now, I'm going outside. You and Blenham 
 stay in here until I call for you. I'll shut the 
 door; you leave it shut. Take time to roll yourself 
 
 173 
 
Man to Man 
 
 a smoke and think things over before you start 
 anything, Joe Woods/' 
 
 Then swiftly he whipped open the door, stepped 
 out, and snapped it shut after him. 
 
 "I'm taking a chance," he muttered, his eyes 
 hard, his jaw set and thrust forward. "A good 
 long chance. But that's the way to play the 
 game!" 
 
 The door of the cook's shed, facing him from 
 across the creek, was still closed. Steve moved 
 a dozen paces down-stream; now he could com- 
 mand Woods's cabin with the tail of his eye, look 
 straight into the kitchen when the door opened, 
 keep an eye upon the one little square win- 
 dow. 
 
 "It's all in the cards," he told himself grimly. 
 "A man can win a jack pot on a pair of deuces, if 
 he plays the game right !" 
 
 At this point Packard's Creek is narrow; the 
 distance between the spot where he stood and the 
 door of the cook-shed was not over forty feet. 
 He shifted Woods's gun to his left hand, taking 
 into his right Blenham's old-style revolver which 
 was more to his fancy. Then, to get matters 
 under way in as emphatic a manner as he knew 
 how, he sent a bullet crashing through the cook's 
 roof. 
 
 The murmur of voices died away suddenly; 
 
 174 
 
At the Lumber Camp 
 
 it was intensely still for a moment; then there was 
 a scrambling, a scraping of heavy boots and drag- 
 ging benches, and the cook's door snapped back 
 against the outside wall, the opening filled with 
 hulking forms, as men crowded to see what was 
 happening. What they saw was the nose of 
 Blenham's gun in Steve's hand. 
 
 "Back up there," shouted Packard. "Stand 
 still while you listen to me." 
 
 They hesitated, wondering. A man growled 
 something, his voice deep-throated and truculent. 
 Another man laughed. The forms filling the door- 
 way began a slow bulging outward as other forms 
 behind crowded upon them. 
 
 Within Woods's cabin there was a little noise. 
 
 "You men are leaving to-day," said Steve 
 hastily. "Just as fast as you can pull your freight. 
 Blenham and Woods are going with you. All 
 told there are above a dozen of you and only one 
 of me. But I've got Woods's gun and Blenham's 
 and I happen to mean business. This is my out- 
 fit; if you fellows start anything and there is 
 trouble, why you're on the wrong side of the 
 fence. Besides, you're apt to get hurt. Blen- 
 ham and Woods are quitting cold; so far as I 
 can see you boys would be a pack of fools to make 
 more of a stand than they are doing." 
 
 The man who had laughed and who now 
 
 I7S 
 
Man to Man 
 
 thrust his face forward through his companions, 
 grinned widely and announced: 
 
 "We mightn't worry none about where Blen- 
 ham an' Joe get off. But we ain't had our break- 
 fasts yet!" 
 
 "You don't get any breakfast on my land!" 
 said Steve sharply, more afraid just now of hav- 
 ing to do with good nature than with anger. 
 
 For if the dozen men there simply laughed and 
 stepped out and dispersed, his hands would be 
 tied; he couldn't shoot down a lot of joking men 
 and he knew it. And they would know it. 
 
 " You're on your way right now ! You, there !" 
 This to a big, stoop-shouldered young giant in 
 the fore, blue-eyed, straw-haired, northern-look- 
 ing. "Step out this way, Sandy! And step 
 lively." 
 
 The northerner shrugged and looked belliger- 
 ent. Steve moistened his lips. 
 
 "You can't bluff me " began the northerner. 
 
 And Steve knew that, having gone this far, he 
 could not stop at bluffing. And he knew that 
 he must not seem to hesitate. 
 
 "I can shoot as straight as most men," he said 
 smoothly. "But sometimes I miss an inch or 
 two at this distance. You men who don't want 
 to take any unnecessary chances had better give 
 Sandy a little more elbow-room!" 
 
At the Lumber Camp 
 
 The stoop-shouldered man squared himself a 
 little, jerked up his head, took on a fresh air of 
 defiance. Slowly Steve lifted the muzzle of his 
 gun slowly a man drew back from the north- 
 erner, a man fell away to the right, a man drew a 
 hasty pace back at the left. He was left standing 
 in the middle of the open doorway. He shifted a 
 little, doubled his fists at his sides, twisted his head. 
 
 Again a noise from Woods's cabin. Steve 
 saw that the door had quietly opened six inches. 
 There was a quick movement within; the door 
 was flung wide open. Woods was standing in 
 the opening, a rifle in his hands, the barrel trained 
 on Steve's chest. Steve saw the look in Woods's 
 eye, whirled and fired first. The rifle bullet cut 
 whistling high through the air; Woods dropped 
 the rifle and reeled and went down under the im- 
 pact of a leaden missile from a forty-five calibre 
 revolver. The rifle lay just outside now. 
 
 The squat ycung giant with the blue eyes and 
 shock head of hair had not stirred. His mouth 
 was open; his face was stupidly expressionless. 
 
 "Throw up your hands and step outside!" 
 Steve called to him roughly. 
 
 The man started, looked swiftly about him, 
 stepped forward, lifting his big hands. They 
 were still clenched but opened slowly and loosely 
 as they went above his head. 
 
 177 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Turn your back this way," commanded Steve, 
 feeling his mastery of the moment and knowing 
 that he must drive his advantage swiftly. " Belly 
 to the wall. That's it. Next !" 
 
 A man, the man who had twice laughed, 
 stepped forward eagerly. He needed no invita- 
 tion to lift his hands, nor yet to go to the other's 
 side, his face to the wall. His eyes were bulging 
 a little; they were fixed not on Steve Packard but 
 on the body of Joe Woods. The timber boss lay 
 across the threshold, half in, half out, twisting a 
 little where he lay. 
 
 Now, one after another, speaking in low voices 
 or not at all, the timber crew came out into the 
 stillness of the new day. Steve counted them 
 as they appeared, always keeping the tail of his 
 eye on Woods's door, always realizing that Blen- 
 ham was still to be dealt with, always watchful of 
 the small square window in the cook's shed. Once 
 he saw a face there; he called out warningly and 
 the face hastily withdrew. 
 
 At last they were outside, thirteen men with 
 their backs to him, their hands lifted. Stepping 
 backward Steve went to Woods's cabin. 
 
 "Come out, Blenham," he called curtly. 
 
 Blenham cursed him but came. Stepping over 
 Woods's body he said threateningly: 
 
 " Killed him, have you ? You'll swing for that." 
 178 
 
At the Lumber Camp 
 
 "Stand where you are, Blenham." He won- 
 dered dully if he had killed Woods. He consid- 
 ered the matter almost impersonally just now; the 
 game wasn't yet played, cards were out, the mind 
 must be cool, the eye quick. "You two boys on 
 the end come over here and help me with Woods." 
 
 Again Woods's big body twisted; it even turned 
 half over now, and Woods sat up. His hand went 
 to his shoulder; Steve saw the hand go red. 
 Woods's face was white and drawn with pain. 
 His eyes went to the rifle at his feet. Steve 
 stepped forward, took the thing up, tossed it 
 back into the cabin. Woods swayed, pitched a 
 little forward, caught himself, steadied himself 
 with a hand on the door-jamb, and shakily drew 
 himself to his feet. Steve marvelled at him. 
 
 "If you like, Woods," he said quietly, "I'll 
 have you taken over to my place and will send for 
 a doctor for you." 
 
 "Aw, hell, I ain't hurt bad," said Woods. 
 
 Steve saw how his brows contracted as he spoke. 
 The red hand was laid rather hurriedly on the 
 shoulder of one of the two men whom Steve had 
 summoned across the creek. 
 
 Blenham turned away and went down-stream, 
 toward the big wagon. Woods followed, walking 
 slowly and painfully, leaning now and again on 
 his support. 
 
 179 
 
Man to Man 
 
 As Steve called to them the men lined up along 
 the wall of the cook's shed, turned, and, their 
 hands still lifted, went down-stream. One after 
 another they climbed up into the wagon. Two or 
 three laughed; for the most part there were only 
 black faces and growing anger. Many of them 
 had drunk much and slept little last night; not a 
 man of them but missed his coffee. 
 
 Packard caught up his horse's reins and swung 
 into the saddle calling out: 
 
 "I don't know anything you're waiting for. 
 Climb into the seat, somebody. Get started. 
 Blenham and Woods both need a doctor. And 
 you needn't come back for anything you left; 
 I'll have all your junk boxed and hauled into Red 
 Creek this afternoon." 
 
 A man gathered up the four reins and climbed 
 to the high seat. The brake was snapped back, 
 the horses danced, set their necks into their col- 
 lars, and the wheels turned. Behind them Steve 
 Packard, still watchful, rode to escort them to a 
 satisfactory distance beyond the border of his 
 property. 
 
 Terry Temple out in front of the dilapidated 
 Temple home was amusing herself with a pair of 
 field-glasses. Her big wolf-hound had just tem- 
 porarily laid aside his customary dignity and was 
 
 1 80 
 
At the Lumber Camp 
 
 chasing a rabbit. Terry had her binoculars 
 focussed on a distant field, curious as to the out- 
 come. 
 
 Suddenly she lost this interest. Far down the 
 road she glimpsed a big wagon; it was filled with 
 standing men. She altered her focus. 
 
 "Dad!" she called quickly. "Oh, dad! 
 Come here !" 
 
 Her father came out on the porch. 
 
 "What do you want ?" he asked irritably. 
 
 Terry came running to him, flushed with her 
 excitement, and shoved the glasses up to his eyes. 
 Temple dodged, fussed with the focussing appara- 
 tus, lowered the glasses, and blinked down the road. 
 
 "It's just a wagon, ain't it?" he demanded. 
 "Looks like " 
 
 Again she snatched the binoculars. 
 
 :f A lot of men are standing up," she announced. 
 "That's the team from the Packard logging-camp. 
 There's a man sitting on the front seat with the 
 driver and he's got a rag around his head. There's 
 some sort of a bed made in the bottom of the 
 wagon; a man's lying down. I actually believe, 
 Dad Temple- 
 She broke off in a strange little gasp. Behind 
 the wagon a man rode on horseback; the sun 
 glinted on a revolver in his hand. They came 
 closer. 
 
 181 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "It's Blenham on the front seat with a bandage 
 around his head !" she cried. "He's hurt ! And 
 dad, that man back there is Steve Packard ! 
 And he's driving that crowd off his ranch, as sure 
 as you are Jim Temple and I'm Teresa Arriega 
 Temple!" 
 
 Temple started. 
 
 "What's that?" he demanded with a genuine 
 show of interest. 
 
 Together they stared down the road. On came 
 the wagon and the rider behind it. Slowly the 
 look in Terry's eyes altered. In a moment they 
 were fairly dancing. And then, causing her father 
 to stare at her curiously, she broke out into peal 
 after peal of delicious laughter. 
 
 "Steve Packard," she cried out, her exclama- 
 tion meant for her own ears alone and reaching 
 no further than those of her newly imported 
 Japanese cook who was peering out of his kitchen 
 window just behind her, "I believe you're a white 
 man after all ! And a gentleman and a sport ! 
 Dad, he's nabbed the whole crowd of them and 
 put them on the run. By glory, it looks to me 
 like a man has turned up ! Maybe he was telling 
 me the truth last night." 
 
 The wagon came on, drew abreast of the 
 Temple gate, passed by. Temple stared in what 
 looked like consternation. Steve, following the 
 
 182 
 
At the Lumber Camp 
 
 wagon, came abreast of the gate, stopped, watched 
 the four horses draw their freight around the next 
 bend in the road, accounted his work done, and 
 turned toward the Temples. 
 
 "Good morning," he called cheerily, highly 
 content with life just at this moment. "Fine 
 day, isn't it?" 
 
 Terry looked at him coolly. Then she turned 
 her back and went into the house. Iki, the new 
 cook, looked at her wonderingly. 
 
 "To me it appears most probable certain," 
 said the astute Oriental within his soul, "that 
 inhabitants of these wilderness places have much 
 madness within their brains." 
 
 Steve swung his horse back into the road and 
 set his face toward his own ranch. 
 
 "Darn the girl," he muttered. 
 
 183 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE MAN-BREAKER AT HOME 
 
 IN a short time the cattle country had come to 
 know a good deal of Steve Packard, son of 
 the late Philip Packard, grandson of Old Man 
 Packard, variously known. Red Creek gossiped 
 within its limits and sent forth word of a quarrel 
 of some sort with Blenham, a winning game of 
 seven-and-a-half, a fight with big Joe Woods. 
 Red Creek was inclined to set the seal of approval 
 on this new Packard, for Red Creek, on both sides 
 of its quarrelsome street, stood ready to say that 
 a man was a man even when it might go gunning 
 for him. 
 
 As the days went by Packard's fame grew. 
 There were tales that in a savage melee with Blen- 
 ham he had eliminated that capable individual's 
 right eye; and though there were those who had 
 had it from some of the Ranch Number Ten boys 
 that Blenham's loss was the result of an accident, 
 still it remained unquestioned that Blenham had 
 suffered injury at Packard's ranch and had been 
 driven forth from it. 
 
 Then, Packard had followed Blenham to the 
 logging-camp; he had tackled the crowd headed 
 
The Man-Breaker at Home 
 
 by Joe Woods; he had come remarkably close 
 to killing Woods; he had broken up the camp and 
 sent the timberjacks on their way. He had had 
 a horse killed under him; he had quarrelled with 
 his grandfather; he was standing on his own feet. 
 In brief 
 
 "He's a sure enough, out an' out Packard!" 
 they said of him. 
 
 To be sure, while there were men who spoke 
 well of him there were others, perhaps as many, 
 who spoke ill. There were the barkeeper of the 
 Ace of Diamonds, Joe Woods, Blenham; they had 
 their friends and hangers-on. On the other hand, 
 offsetting these, there were old friends whom 
 Steve had not seen for twelve or more years. 
 
 Such was Brocky Lane whose cowboy had 
 loaned Steve a horse which had been killed on the 
 Red Creek road. Young Packard promptly paid 
 for the animal and resumed auld lang syne with 
 the hearty, generous Brocky Lane. 
 
 What men had to say of him came last of all 
 to Steve. But some fifty miles to the north of 
 Ranch Number Ten, on the far-flung acres of 
 the biggest stock-ranch in the State, there was 
 another Packard to whom rumors came swiftly. 
 And this was because the old grandfather went 
 far out of his way upon every opportunity to 
 learn of his grandson's activities. 
 
 185 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "What for a man is he growed up to be, any- 
 how ?" was what Hell-Fire Packard was interested 
 in ascertaining. 
 
 When the old man wanted to get anywhere he 
 ordered out his car and Guy Little. When he 
 wanted information he sent for Guy Little. The 
 undersized mechanician was gifted with eyes 
 which could see, ears which could hear, and a 
 tongue which could set matters clear; he must 
 have been unusually keen to have retained his 
 position in the old man's household for the mat- 
 ter of five or six years. 
 
 To his employer he had come once upon a time, 
 half-starved and weary, a look of dread in his 
 eyes which had the way of turning swiftly over 
 his shoulder; the old man had had from the be- 
 ginning the more than suspicion that the little 
 fellow was a fugitive from the law and in a hurry 
 at that. 
 
 He had immediately taken him in and given 
 him succor and comfort. The poor devil fumbled 
 for a name and was so obviously making himself 
 a new one that Packard dubbed him Guy Little 
 on the spot, simply because, he explained, he 
 was such a little guy. And thereafter the two 
 grew in friendship. 
 
 Guy Little's first coming had been opportune. 
 The old man had only recently bought his first 
 
 1 86 
 
The Man-Breaker at Home 
 
 touring-car; in haste to be gone somewhere his 
 motor failed to respond to his first coaxing and 
 subsequent bursts of violent rage. While he was 
 cursing it, reviling it, shaking his fist at it, and 
 vowing he'd set a keg of giant powder under the 
 thing and blow it clean to blue blazes, Guy Little 
 ran a loving hand over it, stroked its mane, so to 
 speak, whispered in its ear, and set the engine 
 purring. Old Man Packard nodded; they two, 
 big-bodied millionaire and dwarfed waif, needed 
 each other. 
 
 "Climb on the runnin'-board, Guy Little," 
 he said right then. "You go wherever I go." 
 And later he came to say of his mechanician, 
 "Him? Why, man, he can take four ol' wagon 
 wheels an' a can of gasoline an' make the damn* 
 thing go. He's all automobile brains, that's 
 what Guy Little is !" 
 
 On the Big Bend ranch, the old man's largest 
 and favorite of several kindred holdings, an out- 
 fit which flung its twenty thousand acres this 
 way and that among the Little Hills and on either 
 side of the upper waters of the stream which 
 eventually gave its name to Red Creek, the oldest 
 of the name of Packard had summoned Guy Little. 
 
 It was some ten days after the stopping of all 
 activity in the Ranch Number Ten lumber- 
 camp. He had been sitting alone in his library, 
 
Man to Man 
 
 smoking a pipe, and staring out of his window and 
 across his fields. Suddenly he sprang to his feet, 
 went to his door, and shouted down the long hall: 
 
 "Ho, there! Guy Little!" 
 
 The house was big; rooms had been added now 
 and then at intervals during the last thirty or 
 forty years; the master's library was of generous 
 dimensions and could have stabled a herd of 
 fifty horses. This chamber was in the south- 
 west corner of the rambling edifice; Guy Little's 
 quarters were diagonally across the building. 
 But Packard asked no tinkling electric bell; as 
 usual he was content to stick his head out into 
 the hall and yell in that big, booming voice of his: 
 
 "Ho, there ! Guy Little, come here !" 
 
 Having voiced his command he went back to 
 his deep leather chair and refilled his pipe. It 
 was the time of early dusk; not yet were the coal- 
 oil lamps lighted; shadows were lengthening and 
 merging out in the rolling fields. Packard's eyes, 
 withdrawn from the outdoors, wandered along 
 his tall and seldom-used book-shelves, fell to the 
 one worn volume on the table beside him, went 
 hastily to the door. Down the hall came the 
 sound of quick boot-heels. He took up the single 
 volume and thrust it out of sight under the leather 
 cushion of his chair. The mechanician was in the 
 room before he could get his pipe lighted. 
 
 1 88 
 
The Man-Breaker at Home 
 
 4 You called, m'lord?" 
 
 Guy Little stood drawn up to make the most of 
 his very inconsiderable height, eyes straight 
 ahead, hands at sides, chin elevated and station- 
 ary. Nothing was plainer than that he aped 
 the burlesqued English butler -unless it be that 
 it was even more obvious that in his chosen role 
 he was a ridiculous failure. There never was the 
 man less designed by nature for the part than Guy 
 Little. 
 
 And yet he insisted; in the beginning of his 
 relationship with his employer, his soul swelling 
 with gratitude, his imagination touched by the 
 splendors into which his fate had led him, awed 
 by the dominant Packard, he had wanted always 
 upon an occasion like this to demand stiffly: 
 
 "You rang, your majesty ?" 
 
 Packard had cursed and threatened and brow- 
 beaten him down to 
 
 "You called, m'lord?" 
 
 But not even old Hell-Fire Packard could get 
 him any further. 
 
 "Yes, I called," grunted the old man. "I 
 hollered my head off at you. I want to know 
 what you foun' out. Let's have it." 
 
 Guy Little made his little butler-bow. 
 
 "Your word is law, m'lord," he said, once more 
 rigid and unbending. 
 
 189 
 
Man to Man 
 
 Although Packard knew this very well without 
 being told and had known it a good many years 
 before Guy Little had been born, and although 
 Guy Little had repeated the phrase time without 
 number, the old man accepted it peacefully as 
 a necessary though utterly damnable introduc- 
 tion. 
 
 "It's like this," continued the mechanician. 
 "Not knowin' what you thought an* not even 
 knowin' what you wanted to think, an' figgerin' 
 to play safe, I've picked up the dope all over. 
 Which is sayin' I bought drinks on both sides the 
 street, whiskey at Whitey Wimble's joint an' more 
 of the same at Dan Hodges's. An' I foun' out 
 several things, m'lord. If it is your wish " 
 
 "Spit 'em out, Guy Little! What for a man 
 is he?" 
 
 "Firs'," said Guy Little, shifting his feet the 
 fraction of an inch so that his chin bore directly 
 upon Packard, "he's a scrapper. He beat up 
 Joe Woods, a bigger man than him; later he took 
 part in some sort of a party durin' which, like is 
 beknown to you, somebody gouged Blenham's 
 eye out; after that, single-handed, he cleaned out 
 your lumber-camp, fifteen men countin' Blen- 
 ham. Tally one, he's a scrapper." 
 
 For an instant it seemed that all of the light 
 there was in the swiftly darkening room had 
 
 190 
 
The Man-Breaker at Home 
 
 centred in the blue eyes under the old man's 
 bushy white brows. He drew deeply upon his 
 pipe. 
 
 "Go on, Guy Little," he ordered. "What 
 more ? Spit it out, man." 
 
 "Nex'," reported the little man, "he's a born 
 gambler. If he wasn't he wouldn't of tied into a 
 game of buckin' you; he wouldn't of played seven- 
 an'-a-half like he did in at the Ace of Diamonds; 
 he wouldn't of took them long chances tacklin' 
 Woodsy 's timberjacks before breakfas'. Scrapper 
 an' gambler. That's tally one an' two." 
 
 The old man frowned heavily, his teeth re- 
 maining tight clamped on his pipestem as he 
 cried sharply: 
 
 "That's it! You've said it: gambler! Drat 
 the boy, I knowed he had it in his blood. An' 
 it'll ruin him, ruin him, Guy Little, as it would 
 ruin any man. We got to get that fool gam- 
 blin' spirit out'n him. A man that's always 
 takin' chances never gets anywhere; take a chance 
 an' you ain't got a chance ! That's the way of it, 
 Guy Little! Go on, though. What else about 
 him?" 
 
 "He's a good sport," went on the news-gatherer, 
 "an' he don't ask no help from nobody. He 
 stan's on his two feet like a man, m'lord. When 
 he sees a row ahead he don't go to the law with it; 
 
 191 
 
Man to Man 
 
 no, m'lord; no indeed, m'lord. He says 'Hell 
 with the law!' Like a man would, like me an' 
 you ... an' he kills his own rats himself." 
 
 "That's the Packard of him! For, by God, 
 Guy Little, he is a Packard even if he has got a 
 wrong start ! Rich man's son silver-spoon stuff 
 why, it would spoil a better man than you ever 
 saw! Didn't I spoil my son Phil that-a-way ? 
 Didn't Phil start out spoilin' his son Stephen that 
 same way ? But he's a Packard an' an' 
 
 "An' what, m'lord?" 
 
 The old man's fist fell heavily on the arm of his 
 chair. 
 
 "An' I'm still hopin' he's goin' to be a damn' 
 good Packard at that ! But you go on, Guy Lit- 
 tle. What else?" 
 
 "Sorta reckless, he is," resumed Guy Little. 
 "But that's purty near the same thing as havin' 
 the gamblin' spirit, ain't it ? Nex' an' final, 
 m'lord, he's got what you might call an eye for 
 a good-lookin' girl." 
 
 "The devil you say, Guy Little!" The old 
 man, beginning to settle in his chair, sat bolt 
 upright. "Is some female woman tryin' to get 
 her hooks in my gran'son already ? Name her 
 to me, sir!" 
 
 "Name of Temple," said Little. "Terry Tem- 
 ple as they call her, an' a sure good-lookin' party, 
 
 192 
 
The Man-Breaker at Home 
 
 if you ask me ! Classy from eyes to ankles an' 
 when it comes to " 
 
 "Hold on, Guy Little !" exploded old man Pack- 
 ard, leaping to his feet, towering high above the 
 little man, who looked up at him with an earnest 
 and placid expression. "That wench, that she- 
 devil, that Jezebel ! Settin' her traps for my boy 
 Stephen, is she ? Why, man alive, she ain't fit 
 to scrape the corral-mud ofF'n his boots. She's 
 a low-down, deceitful jade, that's what she is, sired 
 by a sheep-stealin', throat-cuttin', ornery, no- 
 'count, worthless cuss ! The whole pack of them 
 Temples, he an' she of 'em, big an' little of 'em, 
 ought to be strung up on the firs' tree ! The low- 
 down bunch of little prairie dawgs, tryin' to trap 
 a Packard with puttin' a putty-faced fool girl in 
 their snare. I say, Guy Little, I'll make the 
 whole crowd of 'em hunt their holes ! " 
 
 And he hurled his pipe from him so that on 
 the hearthstone it broke into many pieces. 
 
 Now that was a long speech for old man Pack- 
 ard and Guy Little listened interestedly. At the 
 end, when the old man went growling back to his 
 chair, the mechanician took up his tale. 
 
 "She's purty, though," he maintained. "Like 
 a picture !" 
 
 "Doll-faced," snorted the old man, who had not 
 the least idea what Terry Temple looked like, not 
 
 193 
 
Man to Man 
 
 having laid his eyes on her for the matter of years. 
 "Dumpy, pudgy, squidge-nosed little fool. I'll 
 run both her and her thief of a father out of the 
 country." 
 
 "An'," continued Guy Little, "I didn't exac'ly 
 say, m'lord, as how this Terry Temple party was 
 after him. I said as how he was after her ! That is, 
 as how, roundin' out what I know about him, he's 
 got a eye for a fine-lookin' lady. Which, against 
 argyment, I maintain that Terry Temple girl is." 
 
 "Guy Little," cried Packard sharply, "you're 
 a fool ! Maybe you know all there is about motor- 
 cars an* gasoline. When it comes to females 
 you're a fool." 
 
 "Ah, m'lord, not so!" protested Guy Little, 
 a gleam in his eye like a faint flicker from a dead 
 fire. "There was a time before I set these 
 hoofs of mine into the wanderin' trail when " 
 
 The rest might best be left entirely to the im- 
 agination and there he left it. But the old man 
 was all untouched by his henchman's utterance 
 and innuendoed boast for the simple reason that 
 he had heard nothing of it. 
 
 "Those Temple hounds," he muttered, star- 
 ing at Guy Little who stared butlerishly back, 
 "are leeches, parasites, cursed bloodsuckers and 
 hangers-on. They think I'm goin' to take this 
 
 194 
 
The Man-Breaker at Home 
 
 boy in an' give him all I got; they think they see 
 a chance to marry him into their rotten crowd 
 an' slip one over on me this way ! That simperin', 
 gigglin' fool of a girl try an' hook my gran'son ! 
 Fll show 'em, Guy Little; I'll show the whole 
 cussed pack of 'em ! I'll exterminate 'em, root 
 an' branch an' withered leaf! By the Lord, but 
 I'll go get 'em!" 
 
 "He'll do it," nodded Guy Little, addressing 
 the invisible third party in order not to directly 
 interrupt his patron's flow of words. 
 
 But for a little the old man was silent, running 
 his calloused fingers nervously through his beard, 
 frowning into the dusk thickening over the world 
 outside. When he spoke again it was softly, 
 thoughtfully, almost tenderly. And the words 
 were these: 
 
 " Break a fool an' make a man, Guy Little ! 
 That's what we're goin' to do for Stephen Pack- 
 ard. He's always had too much money, had life 
 too easy. We'll jus' nacherally bust him all to 
 pieces; we'll learn him the big lesson of life; we'll 
 make a man out'n him yet. An' when that's 
 done, Guy Little, when that time comes Go 
 send Blenham here," he broke off with sharp 
 abruptness. 
 
 Guy Little achieved his stage bow and departed. 
 
 195 
 
Man to Man 
 
 The door only half closed behind him, he was 
 shouting at the top of his voice: 
 
 "Hey, Blenham! Oh, Blenham! On the 
 jump. Packard wants you!" 
 
 The door slammed behind him. His back 
 once turned on "nVlord," Guy Little did not 
 wait to get out of earshot to become less butler 
 than human sparrow. 
 
 Blenham needed but the one summons and 
 that might almost have been whispered. He 
 was fidgeting in his own room, waiting for this 
 moment, knowing that he was to receive definite 
 instructions concerning Stephen Packard. Over 
 his right eye was a patch; his face was still a sickly 
 pallor; his one good eye burned with a sullen 
 flame which never went out. 
 
 Guy Little was the one human being in the 
 world with whom the old man talked freely, to 
 whom he unburdened himself. With his chief 
 lieutenant Blenham he was, as with other men, 
 short, crisp-worded, curt. Now, seeming to take 
 no stock of Blenham's disfigurement, in a dozen 
 snapping sentences he issued his orders. 
 
 Their gist was plain. Blenham was to go the 
 limit to accomplish two purposes: the minor one 
 of making the world a dreary place for certain 
 scoundrels, name of Temple; the major one of 
 
The Man-Breaker at Home 
 
 utterly breaking Steve Packard. When Blen- 
 ham went out and to his own room again the sul- 
 len fire in his good eye burned more brightly, as 
 though with fresh fuel. 
 
 A little later Guy Little returned, lighted the 
 lamps, made a small fire in the big fireplace, and 
 ignoring the presence of his master, went to stand 
 in front of the high book-shelves. After a long 
 time he got the step-ladder and placed it, climbed 
 to the top, and squatted there in front of his 
 favorite section. Ultimately he drew down a 
 volume with many colored illustrations; it was 
 a tale of love, its mise en scene the mansions of the 
 lords and ladies whose adventures occurred in 
 that atmosphere of romance which had captivated 
 the soul of Guy Little. 
 
 When he climbed down and sought the big 
 chair in which he would curl up to read and chew 
 countless sticks of gum, chewing fast when the 
 action hurried, slowly when there was the dramatic 
 pause, stopping often with mouth wide open 
 when tense and breathless interest held him, he 
 discovered that the old man had gone out. 
 
 Guy Little pursed his lips. Then he went to 
 the recently vacated leather chair. Not to sit 
 in it; merely to draw out the little volume from 
 under the cushion. 
 
 197 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "' Lyrics from Tennyson," he read aloud. 
 "What the devil are them things?" 
 
 He turned the pages. 
 
 "Pomes!" he grunted in disgust. 
 
 Whereupon he carried his own book to his own 
 chair. But, beginning to turn the pages, he 
 stopped and looked up wonderingly. 
 
 "Funny ol' duck," he mused. "Here I've 
 knowed him all these years an' I never guessed 
 he read pomes!" 
 
 He shook his head, admitted to himself that the 
 "ol' duck" was a keen ol' cuss, returned to his 
 book, began stripping the paper from the first 
 stick of gum, and knew no more of what went on 
 about him. 
 
 198 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 AT THE FALLEN LOG 
 
 SINCE the hill ranch operated by the Temples 
 and the Packard Ranch Number Ten had 
 over two miles of common border-line, it was un- 
 avoidable that Steve and Terry should meet fre- 
 quently. Truly unavoidable since further they 
 were both young, Terry as pretty as the proverbial 
 picture, Steve the type to stick somehow in such 
 a girl's mind. She turned up her nose at him; 
 she gave him a fine view of her back; but in rid- 
 ing her father's range she let her eyes travel curi- 
 ously across the line. 
 
 For his part Steve, seeing where some of his 
 calves had invaded Temple property, followed the 
 errant calves himself instead of sending one of 
 his men. And as he rode he was apt to forget 
 his strayed cattle as he watched through the trees 
 for a fluttering, gay-hued scarf. 
 
 Certainly of girls and women he had known she 
 was the most refreshing; certainly she was the 
 prettiest after an undeniably saucy style. And 
 life here of late, with Blenham and Woods gone 
 and unheard from, was a quiet, uneventful affair. 
 
 199 
 
Man to Man 
 
 Terry, for her part, told herself and any one 
 else who cared to listen, that he was a Packard, 
 hence to be distrusted, avoided, considered as 
 beneath a white person's notice. His breed were 
 all crooked. Sired and grandsired by precious 
 scoundrels, he was but what was to be expected. 
 And yet 
 
 For "yets" and "ifs" and "howevers" had al- 
 ready begun to intrude, befogging many a con- 
 sideration hitherto clear as cut glass. He had 
 not lied about a horse being shot under him; he 
 had been party to Blenham's departure from the 
 ranch; he had been man enough in Red Creek 
 to whip Joe Woods; and, single-handed, he had 
 driven a crew of rough-and-ready timber jacks off 
 his property. 
 
 Further, it was undeniable that he had a good- 
 natured grin, that his eyes though inclined either 
 to be stern or else to laugh at her, were frank and 
 steady, that he made a figure that fitted well in 
 the eye of a girl like Terry Temple. 
 
 "Oh, the Packards are men," said Terry be- 
 grudgingly, "even if they are pirates!" 
 
 This to her father and, it is to be suspected, 
 for her father's sake. For, despite the girl's 
 valiantly repeated hope that Temple "would 
 come back yet" and be again the man he once 
 was, he seemed in fact to grow more shiftless day 
 
 200 
 
At the Fallen Log 
 
 after day, communing long over his fireplace with 
 his drink, passing from one degree to another of 
 untidiness. He made her "feel just like scream- 
 ing and running around the house breaking 
 things" at times. 
 
 "You are impatient, my dear," said Temple 
 as one speaking to a very young child. "And 
 there are matters which you don't understand; 
 which I cannot even discuss with you. But," 
 and he winked very slyly, less at Terry than just 
 in a general acknowledgment of his own acumen, 
 "you just wait a spell! I've got somethin' up 
 
 my sleeve somethin' that Oh, you just 
 
 wait, my dear!" 
 
 Terry sniffed. 
 
 "I ought to be pretty good at waiting by now," 
 she told him, little impressed. "And if you have 
 anything up your sleeve besides the flabby arm 
 of a do-nothing, then it must be another bottle of 
 whiskey ! You can't flim-flam me, dad, and you 
 ought to know it." 
 
 She whisked out of the house, her face reddened 
 with vexation, a sudden moisture in her eyes. 
 It took all of the fortitude she could summon 
 into her dauntless little bosom to maintain after 
 days like this that there was still a "come-back" 
 left in her father. 
 
 In an hour made fragrant by the resinous odors 
 201 
 
Man to Man 
 
 of the upland pines and the freshly liberated per- 
 fumes of the little white evening flowers thick 
 in the meadows, Terry on her favorite horse 
 went flashing through the long shadows of the 
 late afternoon, riding as Terry always rode when 
 her breast was tumultuous and her temper rising. 
 
 The recently imported Japanese cook and house- 
 boy peered out after her from his kitchen window, 
 his eyes actually losing their Oriental cast and 
 growing round; a trick, this, of Iki's whenever 
 Terry came into his view. 
 
 "Part bird," mused Iki, "part flower, big part 
 wild devil-girl! Oof! Nice to look at, but for 
 wife Japonee girl more better. Think so." 
 
 Little by little as she rode, letting her horse 
 out until she fairly raced through the fields and 
 into the woods beyond, the pitiful picture of her 
 father faded from her mind. As the vision 
 dimmed of Temple's shoddiness in his worn- 
 out slippers another image formed in Terry's 
 jnind; an image which was there more than the 
 girl had as yet come to realize. 
 
 Yes, as types the Packards were all right; how 
 many times had she admitted that to herself? 
 But as individuals . . . Oh, how she hated 
 them ! And to-day, for some reason not clearly 
 defined in Terry's consciousness, she found it 
 convenient to assure herself with new emphasis 
 
 202 
 
At the Fallen Log 
 
 that she hated and despised the Packards with a 
 growing detestation, and from this point to go 
 on and inform Miss Teresa Temple exactly why 
 she looked on those of the Packard blood just as 
 she did. 
 
 She summoned a host of reasons, set them in 
 ranks like so many soldiers to wage war for her, 
 marshalled and deployed and reviewed and dress- 
 paraded them, and found them all eminently satis- 
 factory mercenaries. 
 
 There was one reason which she thrust into the 
 background, seeking to keep it hidden behind 
 the serried ranks of its brothers-in-arms. And 
 yet it insisted in mutinous fashion on pushing to 
 the fore. Seeking to consider the Packards en 
 masse, as a curse rather than as individuals, she 
 found that she was remembering Steve Packard 
 rather vividly. 
 
 In the outward seeming Steve Packard was 
 a gentleman; he had that vague something called 
 culture; he bore himself with the assurance and 
 ease of one who knew the world; he had been to 
 college and Terry knew nothing more of school 
 than was to be learned at a country high school. 
 Steve's father had "broken" her father finan- 
 cially; had such not been the fact Terry herself 
 would have had her own college diploma on her 
 wall; Terry would have known something more 
 
 203 
 
Man to Man 
 
 of the world than she now knew; she would have 
 been "a lady." 
 
 "Oh, pickles!" cried Terry aloud, bringing her 
 runaway thoughts to a sharp halt. "What dif- 
 ference does it make if he knows Latin and I 
 don't ? And a hot specimen of a 'lady' I'd make 
 anyhow!" 
 
 Over a ridge she flew, the low sun glistening 
 from her spurs and the polished surfaces of her 
 boot-tops, down into the dusk-filled fragrance of 
 a woodsy canon, into the mouth of a silent trail, 
 around a wide curve* and to her own favorite 
 spot of all these woods. A nook of haunting 
 charm with its sprawling stream, its big-boled and 
 widely scattered trees, its grass and flowers. 
 "Mossy Dell," she called it, having borrowed the 
 name from an old romance read in breathless 
 fashion in her room. 
 
 Slipping out of her saddle and leaving her 
 horse to browse if such pastime suited him, 
 Terry went through the trees and down along the 
 flashing creek, humming softly, her voice confused 
 with the gurgle of the noisy little stream, her eyes 
 at last growing content. 
 
 She was half smiling at some shadowy thought 
 before she had gone twenty paces; she tossed 
 off her hat and let it lie, meaning to come back 
 for it later; she unfastened the scarf about her 
 
 204 
 
At the Fallen Log 
 
 neck, baring her white throat to the hour's cool 
 invitation, she let her bronze-brown hair down in 
 two loose, curling braids across her shoulders, 
 toying with the ends as she went. 
 
 Coming here at troubled moments altered the 
 girl's mood very much as an hour in a quiet 
 cathedral may soothe the soul of the orthodox. 
 
 A little further on, lying across the stream and 
 just around another bend, was a great fallen cedar, 
 its giant trunk eight or ten feet through at the 
 base. Approximately it marked the border-line 
 between the Temple Ranch and Ranch Number 
 Ten; it was quite as though the wilderness itself 
 had cast down the big tree across an old trail to 
 indicate a line which must not be crossed. 
 
 Upon the top of this supine woodland monarch 
 Terry was accustomed to sit, her back against one 
 of the big limbs, her heels kicking at the mossy 
 sides, while she glanced back and forth from 
 Temple property to Packard land and told her- 
 self how much finer was her side than the other. 
 
 Just where the tree had fallen the creek-bed 
 was rocky and uneven; the water eddied and 
 whirled and plunged noisily into its pools. Terry, 
 clambering up from her side of the big log, heard 
 only the shouting of the brook. She grasped the 
 dead branches, pulled herself up, slipped a little, 
 got a new foothold; Terry's head, her face flushed 
 
 205 
 
Man to Man 
 
 rosily, her eyes never brighter, popped up on one 
 side of the log just in time with the tick of her 
 destiny's clock. 
 
 That is to say just as Steve Packard, climbing 
 up from the other side, thrust his head up above 
 the top. An astonished grunt from Steve who in 
 the first start of the encounter came close to fall- 
 ing backward; a little choking ejaculation from 
 Terry whose eyes widened wonderfully and the 
 two of them settled silently into their places on 
 the cedar and stared at each other. Some three 
 or four feet only lay between the brim of Steve's 
 hat and Terry's upturned nose. 
 
 "Well ?" demanded Terry stiffly. 
 
 "Well?" countered Steve. 
 
 He regarded her very gravely. He had never 
 had a girl materialize this way out of space and 
 his own thoughts. This sudden confronting sa- 
 vored of the supernatural; for the moment it 
 set him aback and he was content to stare won- 
 deringly into the sweet gray eyes so near his own 
 and to take note of the curve of her lips, the red- 
 ness of them, the dimple which, though departed 
 now and, he felt, in hiding, had left a hint of 
 itself behind in its hasty flight. 
 
 "If there's one thing I hate worse than a po- 
 tato-bug," said Terry, "it's a fresh guy! Think 
 you're funny, don't you ?" 
 
 206 
 
Terry's head, her face flushed rosily, her eyes never brighter, 
 popped up on one side of the log 
 
At the Fallen Log 
 
 "Fresh? Funny?" 
 
 He lifted his eyebrows. And then, her sus- 
 picion clear to him, his gravity departed the way 
 Terry's dimple had gone and he put back his 
 head and laughed. Laughed while the girl with 
 deepening color and darkening eyes looked at him 
 indignantly. 
 
 "Think I did that on purpose?" he cried in 
 vast good nature. "That I was spying on you ? 
 That I waited until you started to climb up here 
 and that then I popped my head up just at the 
 same time? All on purpose?" 
 
 "That's just exactly what I do think!" Terry 
 told him hotly. "You you big smarty ! Every- 
 where I go, have you got to keep showing up ?" 
 
 "I'll tell you something," said Steve. "If I 
 had climbed up here just to give you a little sur- 
 prise party; if I had known you were there and 
 that I could have poked my head up just as you 
 did yours know what I would have done?" 
 
 "What?" Terry in her curiosity condescended 
 to ask. 
 
 "I'd have kissed the prettiest girl I ever saw!" 
 he chuckled. "Honest to grandma! That's just 
 what I'd have done. As it was, you half scared 
 me out of my wits; I came as close as y&u please 
 to going over backward and breaking my neck." 
 
 "Not as close as I please. And as for kissing 
 207 
 
Man to Man 
 
 me, Long Steve Packard, you just try that on 
 sometime when you want your face slapped good 
 and hard and a bullet pumped into you besides !" 
 
 "Mean it?" grinned Steve. 
 
 "I most certainly do," she retorted emphati- 
 cally. 
 
 "Offered merely as information?" he wanted 
 to know. "Or as a dare ? Or an invitation ?" 
 
 When she did not reply at once but contented 
 herself by putting a deal of eloquence into a 
 look which, by the way, had no visible effect 
 upon his rising good humor he went on to re- 
 mark: 
 
 "If you just slapped my face it would be worth 
 it. If you just shot me through the finger-nail 
 or something like that, it would be worth it still." 
 He examined her critically. " Even if you plugged 
 me square through the thumb " 
 
 "If you don't know it," she informed him 
 aloofly, "you are trespassing right now where 
 you are not wanted. The sooner you trail your 
 big feet off Temple land the better I'll like it !" 
 
 "Temple land ? Since when was a tree con- 
 sidered as land, Miss Teresa Arriega Temple?" 
 
 "Think that's funny?" she scoffed. 
 
 "And besides," he continued, "the tree is on 
 Packard property. See that old pine stump over 
 yonder ? And that big rock there ? Those things 
 
 208 
 
At the Fallen Log 
 
 mark the boundary-line and you'll notice we're on 
 my side !" 
 
 Terry's temper flamed higher in her eyes, flashed 
 hotter in her cheeks. 
 
 "We are not ! And you know we are not ! 
 The line runs yonder, just beyond that big white 
 rock on the creek-bank. And you are a good ten 
 feet on my side. Where, if you please, you are 
 not wanted." 
 
 "That isn't a pretty enough thought to bear 
 repetition," he offered genially. "Look here, 
 Terry Temple, what's the use " 
 
 "Are you going ? Or do you intend just to 
 squat there like a toad and spoil the view for me ?" 
 
 "Toads are fat animals," he corrected her. 
 "I'm not. More like a bullfrog, if you like. 
 What am I going to do? Why, just squat, I 
 guess." 
 
 As he leaned back against the limb which 
 offered its support to his shoulders Terry noted 
 that he wore in full sight at his side the heavy 
 Colt he had bought the other night in Red Creek. 
 A new habit, with Steve Packard. 
 
 "Gunman, are you?" she jeered. "I might 
 have known it. Gunmen are all cowards." 
 
 He sighed. 
 
 "You can be the most irritating young lady I 
 ever met. And why ? What have I ever done 
 
 209 
 
Man to Man 
 
 to you besides save you from drowning ? Since 
 we are neighbors, why not be good friends ? By 
 the way, where do you carry your gun ?" 
 
 "It's different with a girl," she said bluntly. 
 "There's some excuse for her. With the kind 
 that's filling the woods lately she's apt to need 
 
 it." 
 
 "And you wouldn't be afraid to use it ?" 
 
 "I'm not here to chin with you all day," ob- 
 served Terry coolly. "And you haven't told me 
 what you're doing on my land." 
 
 "Your land ?" he demanded. 
 
 "On my side of the line, then." 
 
 He considered the question. 
 
 "I'm here to meet some one," he answered 
 finally. 
 
 "I like your nerve! Arranging to meet your 
 friends here ! Steve Packard, you are the 
 the the " 
 
 "Go on," he prompted. "You'll need a cuss- 
 word now; any other finish will sound flat." 
 
 "the Packardest Packard I ever heard of!" 
 she concluded. "You and your friend " 
 
 "No more my friend than he is yours," he said, 
 interrupting her. "An individual named Blen- 
 ham. And I'm not here so much to meet him 
 as let's say to head him off." 
 
 Terry set it down that, since it was next to 
 210 
 
At the Fallen Log 
 
 impossible at any time for a Packard to speak 
 the truth, he was just lying to her for the sake of 
 the devious exercise. As she was on the point 
 of saying emphatically when Steve said "Sh!" 
 and pointed. She heard a breaking of brush and 
 saw the horns of a steer; the animal was coming 
 into the trail from the Packard side. 
 
 "You just watch," whispered Steve. "And 
 sit right still. It won't do you any harm to know 
 what's going on." 
 
 The big steer broke through into the trail, 
 stopped and sniffed, and then came on up the 
 stream. Behind came another and another, 
 emerging from the shadows, passing through the 
 swiftly fading light of the open, gone again into 
 the shadows that lay over the wooded Temple 
 acreage. In all nine big fat steers. And behind 
 them, sitting loosely in his saddle, came Blen- 
 ham. 
 
 Only when the last steer had crossed the line 
 did Steve rise suddenly, standing upright on the 
 great log, his hands on his hips. Terry looking 
 up into his face saw that all of the good humor 
 had gone from it and that there was something 
 ominous in the darkening of his eyes. 
 
 "Hold on, Blenham!" he called. 
 
 Blenham drew a quick rein. 
 
 "That you, Packard ?" he asked quietly. 
 211 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "It is," answered Steve briefly. "On the job, 
 too, Blenham. All the time." 
 
 Blenham laughed. 
 
 "So it seems," he said, his look like his tone 
 eloquent of an innuendo which embraced Terry 
 evilly. "If you're invitin' me to join your little 
 party, I ain't got the time. Thanks jus' the 
 
 same." 
 
 Since one's consciousness may harbor several 
 clear-cut impressions simultaneously, Steve Pack- 
 ard, while he was thinking of other matters, felt 
 that never until this moment had he hated Blen- 
 ham properly; no, nor respected him as it would 
 be the part of wisdom to do. 
 
 The man's glance running over Terry Tem- 
 ple's girlishness was like the crawling of a slug 
 over a wild flower and supplied a new and per- 
 haps the key-note to Blenham's ugliness. It 
 was borne in upon Steve that his grandfather's 
 lieutenant was bad, absolutely bad; that, old 
 adages to the contrary notwithstanding, here was 
 a character with not a hint of redemption in it; 
 after the Packard outright way, this youngest 
 Packard was ready to condemn out of hand. 
 
 And further, to all of this Steve marked how 
 Blenham had drawn a quick rein but had shown 
 no tremor of uneasiness; had considered that 
 though the man had been taken completely by 
 
 212 
 
At the Fallen Log 
 
 surprise he had given no sign of being startled, but 
 had answered a sharp summons with a cool, quiet 
 voice. So, summing it up, here was one to be 
 hated and watched. 
 
 "What are you doing on my land, Blenham?" 
 asked Steve sharply. "And where are you driv- 
 ing those steers ?" 
 
 Blenham eased himself in his saddle, drew his 
 broad hat lower over his eyes; thus he partly 
 hid the patch which he had worn since he came 
 from the doctor's hands. 
 
 "I ain't on your land any more," he returned. 
 "An' as for them steers what's it to you, any- 
 how?" 
 
 Open defiance was one thing Steve had not 
 looked for. 
 
 "Looking for more trouble yet, Blenham?" 
 he asked briefly. 
 
 Blenham shrugged. 
 
 "I'm tendin' to business," he said slowly. 
 "No, I'm not lookin' for trouble yet. Since 
 you want to know, I'm hazin' them cow-brutes 
 the shortes' way off'n Number Ten an' on to 
 the North Trail. I'm puttin' 'em on the trot 
 to the Big Bend ranch where they happen to 
 belong." 
 
 Steve lifted his brows, for the moment wonder- 
 ing. Blenham was not waiting for pitch dark to 
 
 213 
 
Man to Man 
 
 move these steers; he manifested no alarm at 
 being discovered; now he calmly admitted that 
 he was driving them to old man Packard's ranch 
 where they belonged. It was possible that he 
 was right. 
 
 In the few weeks that he had been back Steve 
 had not had the time to know every head on his 
 wide-scattered acreage; as the steers had trotted 
 through the shadows and into the open his eyes 
 had been less for them than for the coming of 
 Blenham and he was not sure of the brands. 
 
 He felt that Terry's eyes, as Terry sat very still 
 on her log, were steadily upon him. 
 
 "Blenham," he said curtly, "I don't know whose 
 cattle those are. But I do know this much: If 
 they are mine I am going to have them back; if 
 they are not mine I am going to have them back 
 just the same." 
 
 "How do you make that out?" demanded 
 Blenham. 
 
 "I make out that neither you nor any other 
 man has any business driving stock off my range 
 without consulting me first." 
 
 "They're Big Bend cows," muttered Blen- 
 ham. "The ol' man's orders " 
 
 "Curse the old man's orders!" Steve's voice 
 Bang out angrily. "If he can't be decent to me, 
 
 214 
 
At the Fallen Log 
 
 can't he at least let me alone ? Need he send you 
 here to do business with me ? If you want 
 orders, Blenham, you just take these from me: 
 Ride back to the old man on Big Bend ranch and 
 tell him that what stock is on my ranch I keep here 
 until he can prove it is his ! Understand ? If he 
 can prove that these steers belong to him and 
 I don't believe he can and you can tell him that, 
 too why then, let him send me the money to 
 pay for their pasturage and he can have them. 
 And in the meantime, Mr. Blenham, get out and 
 be damned to you !" 
 
 For the moment Steve lost all thought of Terry 
 sitting very still so close to him, his mind filled 
 with his grandfather and his grandfather's chosen 
 tool. So when he thought that he heard the sus- 
 picion of a stifled giggle, a highly amused and 
 vastly delighted little giggle, he was for the in- 
 stant of the opinion that Blenham was laughing 
 at him. 
 
 But the intruder was all seriousness. He sat 
 motionless, his glance stony, his thought veiled, 
 his one good eye giving no more hint of his pur- 
 pose than did the patch over the other eye. In 
 the end he shrugged. 
 
 "My orders," he said finally, "was simply to 
 haze them steers back to the Big Bend. The ol' 
 
 215 
 
Man to Man 
 
 man didn't say nothin' about startin' anything if 
 you got unreasonable." Again he shrugged elab- 
 orately. "I'll come again if he says so," he 
 concluded and, jabbing his spurs viciously into 
 his horse's flanks, his sole sign of irritation, 
 Blenham rode away through the woods. 
 
 "He let go too easy," murmured Terry. "He's 
 got a card in the hole yet." 
 
 Her eyes followed the departing rider, she pursed 
 her lips after him. 
 
 Steve turned and looked down upon her. 
 
 "I hope you don't mind if I trespass to the ex- 
 tent of riding after those steers ?" he offered. "I 
 want to drive them back and at the same time I 
 don't mind making sure that Blenham is still on 
 his way." 
 
 Terry regarded him long and searchingly. 
 
 "Go ahead," she said at last. And, as though 
 an explanation were necessary, she continued: 
 "There's just one animal I hate worse than I do a 
 Packard ! For once the fence is down between 
 you and Temple land, Steve Packard." 
 
 "Let's keep it down!" he said impulsively. 
 "You and I " 
 
 "No, thanks !" Terry rose swiftly to ner feet, 
 balancing on her log, reminding him oddly of a 
 bright bird about to take flight. "You just re- 
 
 216 
 
At the Fallen Log 
 
 member that there's just one animal I hate almost 
 as much as I do Blenham; and that that's a 
 Packard." 
 
 And so she jumped down from the log and left 
 him. 
 
 217 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 TERRY DEFIES BLENHAM 
 
 BLENHAM must have ridden late into the 
 night. For at a very early hour the next 
 morning he was at the Big Bend ranch fifty miles 
 to the north and reporting to his employer. 
 Early as it was, the old man had breakfasted, and 
 now the wide black hat far back on his head, the 
 spurs on his big boots, bespoke his readiness to be 
 riding. 
 
 At times he stood stock-still, his hands on his 
 hips, staring down at Blenham's lesser stature; 
 at other times and in a deep, thoughtful silence he 
 strode back and forth in the great barn-like li- 
 brary, his spurs jingling. 
 
 "Why, burn it, man," he exploded once during 
 the fore part of the interview, "the boy is a Pack- 
 ard ! I'm proud of him. We're going to make a 
 real man out of Stephen yet. Haven't I said the 
 words a dozen tirr^s: * Break a fool an' make a 
 man !' I'm tellin' you, the las' Packard to be 
 spoiled by havin' too much easy money has lived 
 an' died. All we got to do with Stephen is put 
 him on foot; set him down in the good ol'-fash- 
 
 218 
 
Terry Defies Blenham 
 
 ioned dirt where he's got to work for what he gets, 
 an' he'll come through. Same as I did. Yessir !" 
 
 Blenham waited for his signal to continue his 
 report, and when he got it, a look and a nod, he 
 resumed, face, voice, and eye alike expressionless 
 of any personal interest in the matter. 
 
 "You know them nine big steers as strayed 
 from here some time ago ? I tol' you about 'em 
 two or three weeks ago ? Well, I found 'em like 
 I said I would, all nine of 'em, an' on Ranch 
 Number Ten." 
 
 "It's quite a way for cattle to stray," said the 
 old man sharply. Blenham shrugged carelessly. 
 
 "Oh, I dunno," he returned lightly. "I've 
 knowed 'em to go fu'ther than that. Well, I 
 made a pass to haze 'em on back this way an' 
 young Packard blocks my play." 
 
 The old man's eye brightened. 
 
 "What did he say ?" he asked eagerly. 
 
 "He said," said Blenham, picking at his hat- 
 band, "as how if the stock was yours which he 
 didn't believe he'd hold 'em until you sent over 
 enough coin to pay for their feed. He said as 
 how, if you couldn't be decent you better anyhow 
 leave him alone. He said hell with both of 
 
 us.' 
 
 "He did ?" cried old Packard. "He said that, 
 Blenham?" 
 
 219 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "He did," answered Blenham with a quick, 
 curious, sidewise glance. 
 
 Packard's big hand was lifted and came down 
 mightily upon his thigh as, suddenly released, the 
 old man's voice boomed out in a great peal of 
 laughter. 
 
 "Ho!" he cried, shouting out the words to 
 be heard far out across the open meadow. "Say 
 to hell with me, does he ? Holds my stock for 
 pasture money, does he ? Defies me to do my 
 worst, him a young, penniless whippersnapper, 
 me a millionaire an' a man-breaker! Why, 
 curse it, he's a man already, Blenham ! He's a 
 Packard to his backbone, I tell you ! By the 
 Lord, I've a notion to jump into my car and go 
 get the boy!" 
 
 A troubled shadow came and went swiftly 
 across Blenham's face, not to be seen by the old 
 man who was staring out of his window. All of 
 the craft there was in the ranch foreman rose to the 
 surface. 
 
 "Yes," he agreed quietly, "he's got the makin's 
 in him. He ain't scared of the devil himself, 
 which is one right good earmark. He's inde- 
 pendent, which is another good sign. Why, 
 when I runs across him an' that Temple girl out 
 in the woods " 
 
 "What's that!" snapped the old man, though 
 220 
 
Terry Defies Blenham 
 
 he had heard well enough. "Do you mean to tell 
 
 "They was sittin' on top a big log," said Blen- 
 ham tonelessly. "Confidential lookin', you know. 
 I won't say he was holdin' her hands, an* at the 
 same time I won't say he wasn't. An' I won't say 
 he'd jus' kissed her, two seconds before I rode 
 aroun' a bend in the trail." One of his ponderous 
 shrugs and a grimace concluded his meaning. 
 Then he laughed. "Nor I wouldn't say he hadn't. 
 But, like I was tellin' you " 
 
 "You were tellin' me," growled the old man, 
 "that that scoundrel of a Temple's fool of a girl 
 is tryin' her hand at spellbindin* my gran'son 
 Stephen ! The dirty little saphead Look here, 
 Blenham; you've got more gumption than most: 
 tell me how far things have gone an' what Tem- 
 ple's game is. Guy Little has been tellin' me the 
 same sort of thing." 
 
 "There ain't much to tell," answered Blen- 
 ham. "That is, that a man couldn't guess with- 
 out bein' told. He's your gran'son; even with a 
 scrap on between you an' him, still blood is thick- 
 er'n water an' some day, maybe, you'll pass on to 
 him all you got. Leastways, there's a chance, an' 
 also he oughta fit pretty snug in a girl's eye. 
 Fu'ther to all that, it's jus* the same ol' story. 
 A feller an' a girl, an' the girl with a fine figger an' 
 
 221 
 
Man to Man 
 
 a fine pair of eyes which, bein' a she-girl, she knows 
 how to use. Seein' as you ask the question, I guess 
 I could answer it by jus' say in' that the Temples 
 are makin' the one move they'd be sure to make." 
 
 The senior Packard's scowl had known fame as 
 long as fifty years ago; never was it blacker than 
 right now. For a little he stood still glaring at 
 the floor. Blenham watched him covertly, a look 
 of craft in the one good eye. 
 
 "Better go over an' see Temple right away," 
 said Packard presently. "He won't be able to 
 pay up his next instalment. Tell him I'm goin' to 
 foreclose an' drive him out. While you're at it 
 you can show him the plum foolishness of sickin' 
 his idiot girl on Stephen. How it won't bring 
 'em any good an' will jus' get me out on his trail 
 red-hot. He'll understand." And the stern old 
 mouth set into lines of which Blenham read the 
 full and emphatic meaning. "Go on: anything 
 else to report ?" 
 
 After his fashion in business matters he had 
 pondered deeply but briefly upon this inter- 
 ference of Terry, had planned, had instructed his 
 agent, and now turned to whatever might next 
 demand his attention in connection with his 
 campaign against and for Steve Packard. And 
 Blenham, deeming that he had scored a certain 
 point, moved straight on to another. 
 
 222 
 
Terry Defies Blenham 
 
 "He said an' she watched an' listened an* 
 giggled as how he was in right an' you was in 
 wrong; as how the law was on his side an' he'd 
 stick it out; how he could take the whole ruction 
 into court an' beat you; how " 
 
 Old Hell-Fire Packard stared at him, mum- 
 bling heavily: 
 
 "He said that? Stephen, my gran'soa said 
 that?" 
 
 "Yes," lied Blenham glibly. "Them was his 
 words. An', not knowin' a whole lot about law 
 an' such " 
 
 He ended there, knowing that his words went 
 unheeded. The look upon the old man's face 
 changed slowly from one of pure amazement to 
 one of pain, grief, disappointment. Stephen, 
 his gran'son, threatened to go to law! It was 
 unthinkable that any one save a thief and an out- 
 right scoundrel, such by the way as were all of 
 his business rivals and the men who refused to 
 tote and carry at his bidding, should make a 
 threat like that; worse than unthinkable, utterly, 
 depravedly disgraceful that one of the house of 
 Packard should resort to such devious and damna- 
 ble practices. For an instant Blenham thought 
 that tears were actually gathering in the weary 
 old eyes. 
 
 But the emotion which came first was gone in 
 223 
 
Man to Man 
 
 a scurry before a sudden windy rage. The face 
 which had been graven with humiliation and cha- 
 grin went fiery red; the big hands clenched and 
 were uplifted; the great booming voice trembled 
 to the shouted words : 
 
 "Let him; burn him, let him ! I can break the 
 fool quicker that way than any other; don't he 
 know it takes money, money without end, for 
 the perjurin', trickery, slippery law sharks that'll 
 bleed a man, aye, suck out his life-blood an' then 
 spit him out like the pulp of an orange ? Infernal 
 young puppy-dawg ! See what it's done for him 
 already, this rich-man 's-son business. To think 
 that one of my blood, my own gran'son, should 
 go to law! Why, by high heaven, Blenham, the 
 thing's downright disgraceful!" 
 
 Swiftly, deftly, employing a remark like a sur- 
 geon's lancet, Blenham offered: 
 
 "I have the hunch that Temple girl put it in 
 his head." 
 
 "You're right !" This new suggestion required 
 no weighing and fine balancing. You could at- 
 tribute no villainy whatever to one of the old 
 man's enemies that he would not admit the ex- 
 treme likelihood of your being right. "Stephen 
 ain't that sort; she's got him by the nose, hell 
 take her ! She's drivin' him to it, an' it's Temple 
 drivin' her. An 5 it's up to you an' me to drive 
 
 224 
 
Terry Defies Blenham 
 
 him clean out'n this corner of the universe. Which 
 we can do without goin* to the law!" he inter- 
 jected scornfully. "I reckon you understan', 
 don't you, Blenham?" 
 
 Blenham nodded and put on his hat. 
 
 "I'm to hound him from the start to finish; 
 until we drive him an' her out the country. 
 An' I'm to pound at your gran'son too an' at the 
 same time until we bust him wide open. That 
 right?" 
 
 "Right an' go to it!" cried Packard. 
 
 Blenham saluted as he might have done were 
 he still a sergeant down on the border, wheeled 
 and went out. Five minutes later he was riding 
 again toward the south. And now the look on 
 his face was one of near triumph. For at last the 
 time had come when the old man had given out- 
 right the instructions which could make many 
 things possible. 
 
 That same day, about noon, Terry Temple, 
 flashing across country in her car, met Blenham 
 on the country road. She was going toward Red 
 Creek, her errand urgent as were always the er- 
 rands of Terry. Half a mile away she knew him, 
 first by the white stocking of his favorite mare, 
 second by his big bulk and the way it sat the 
 saddle. 
 
 So, quite like the old Packard whom she so 
 225 
 
Man to Man 
 
 heartily detested, she gave him the horn and never 
 an inch of the road which was none too wide. 
 Blenham, his mouth working, jerked his horse 
 out of the way, down over the edge of the slope, 
 and cursed after her as she passed him. 
 
 Terry, in Red Creek, went straight to the store 
 and to a shelf in a far and dusty corner where were 
 all of the purchasable books of the village. A 
 thumb in her mouth, a frown in her eyes, she re- 
 garded them long and soberly. 
 
 In the end she severed the Gordian knot by 
 taking an even dozen volumes. There were a 
 grammar, an ancient history, some composition 
 books, and, most important of all, a treatise upon 
 social usages. 
 
 How to write letters, what R. S. V. P. meant, 
 "Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so request and so forth," 
 how a lady should greet a gentleman friend in 
 short, an answer to all possible questions of right 
 and wrong ways of appearing in polite society. 
 With her purchases stowed away in a cracker-box 
 Terry turned again toward the ranch. 
 
 In the ordinary course of events Terry should 
 have returned to her home well ahead of Blenham. 
 But this afternoon she made a wide, circling de- 
 tour to chat briefly with Rod Norton's young 
 wife at the Rancho de las Flores, and so came 
 under the Temple oaks after dusk. 
 
 226 
 
Terry Defies Blenham 
 
 As she turned in at the gate she saw Blenham's 
 horse standing tied down by the stable. Terry's 
 eyes opened wonderingly and a little flush came 
 into her cheeks. Plainly Blenham was closeted 
 with her father. Terry bit her lip, gathered her 
 books in her arms, and hastened toward the 
 house. 
 
 The bawling of a mother cow and a baby calf, 
 separated by a corral fence, had quite drowned 
 out the purr of her motor; her step as usual was 
 light upon the porch. The first that Temple and 
 Blenham knew of her coming was her form in 
 the doorway, her face turned curiously upon 
 them. 
 
 And in that instant, while all three stood mo- 
 tionless, Terry saw and wondered at a look of 
 understanding which had flashed between her 
 own father and the despised representative of a 
 hated race. Further she noted how the glass 
 in Temple's hand was still lifted, as was the glass 
 in Blenham's, the whiskey still undrunk, winking 
 at her in the pale lamplight. 
 
 "Isn't your eternal drinking bad enough with- 
 out your asking such as that to drink with you ?" 
 she asked quietly. Very, very quietly for Miss 
 Terry Temple. 
 
 Her father shifted a trifle uneasily. Blenham 
 watched her intently, admiringly after a gross 
 
 227 
 
Man to Man 
 
 fashion and yet a bit contemptuously. Blen- 
 ham could put a look like that into his eye; to 
 him a girl was a thing that might be both sneered 
 at and coveted. 
 
 "My dear," said Temple, striving for clear enun- 
 ciation and in the end achieving it heavily, "I 
 am glad you came. I want you to listen. We 
 must act wisely. We must not misjudge Mr. 
 Blenham." 
 
 While Terry remained silent, looking from one 
 to the other of the two men, Temple drank his 
 whiskey hastily, furtively, snatching the second 
 when her gaze had gone to Blenham. 
 
 "What's the game ?" asked Terry in a moment. 
 
 She set her books down upon the table at 
 her side, put out her hand to the back of a chair, 
 and like the men remained standing. 
 
 Temple looked to Blenham, who merely 
 shrugged his thick shoulders and sipped at his 
 whiskey, as though it had been a light wine and 
 very soft to an appreciative palate. In some 
 vague way the act was vastly insolent. Temple 
 appeared uncertain, no uncommon thing with him; 
 then, going to set his emptied glass down he put 
 an elbow on the mantel, dropped his head, and 
 spoke in a low, mumbling voice : 
 
 "The game ? It's what it always was, Terry 
 girl; what it always will be. The game of the 
 
 228 
 
Terry Defies Blenham 
 
 ear of corn and the millstones; the game of the 
 unfortunate under the iron heel." 
 
 "Unfortunate!" cried Terry in disgust. 
 "Pooh!" 
 
 "Listen to me," commanded her father. "You 
 ask: What's the game? and I'm telling you." 
 His head was up now; Terry noted a new look 
 in his eyes, as he hurried on. "It's just the game 
 of life, after all. The war of those who have 
 everything against those who have nothing; of 
 men like Old Hell-Fire Packard against men like 
 me. A game to be won more often than not 
 through the sheer force of massed money that 
 squeezes the life out of the under dog but to 
 be lost when the moneyed fool, curse him, runs 
 up against a team like Blenham and me !" 
 
 "Blenham and you ?" she repeated. "You and 
 Blenham ? You mean to tell me that you are 
 chipping in with him ?" 
 
 Blenham turned his whiskey-glass slowly in 
 his great thick fingers. His eye shone with its 
 crafty light; his lips were parted a little as though 
 they held themselves in readiness for a swift in- 
 terruption if Temple said the wrong thing or 
 went too far. 
 
 "You are prejudiced," said Temple. "You 
 always have been. Just because Blenham here 
 
 has represented Packard, and Packard " 
 
 229 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Is an old thief!" she cried passionately. 
 < And worse ! As Packard's Man Friday Blen- 
 ham doesn't exactly make a hit with me !" 
 
 "Come, come," exclaimed Temple. "Curb 
 your tongue, Teresa, my dear. If you will only 
 listen " 
 
 "Shoot then and get it over." 
 
 Terry sank into her chair, clasped her gauntleted 
 hands about a pair of plump knees which drew 
 Blenham's gaze approvingly, and set her white 
 teeth to nibbling impatiently at her under lip as 
 though setting a command upon it for silence. 
 
 "Let's have it, Dad." 
 
 "That's sensible," mumbled Temple. "You 
 always were a smart girl, Teresa, when you cared 
 to be. Let's see; where had I got ? Oh, yes; 
 speaking of Blenham chipping in with us, as you 
 put it." 
 
 "With you!" corrected Terry briefly. 
 
 "We're mortgaged to old man Packard," con- 
 tinued Temple, somewhat hasty about it now that 
 he had fairly plunged into the current of what 
 he had to say, as though the water were cold and 
 he was anxious to clamber out upon the far side. 
 "Not much in a way; a good deal when you figure 
 on how tight money is and how little we've seen 
 of it these last few years. Now, Packard sends 
 Blenham across with a message; he's going to 
 
 230 
 
Terry Defies Blenham 
 
 foreclose; he is going to drive us out; to ruin us. 
 That is Packard's word." 
 
 Terry stiffened in her chair; her chin rose a 
 little in the air; her eyes brightened; the color 
 in her cheeks deepened. That was her only an- 
 swer to Packard's ultimatum as quoted to her 
 father by Blenham and by Temple to her. Know- 
 ing that there was still more to come, she sat still, 
 her clasped hands tightening about her knees. 
 Blenham, as still as she, was sipping at his whiskey. 
 
 "But Blenham is a white man." 
 
 Temple attempted to say it with the force of 
 conviction, but Terry merely sniffed, and Temple 
 himself failed somewhat to put his heart into his 
 words. He hurried on, repeating: 
 
 " Yes, a white man. And he's got a little money 
 of his own that he's been tucking away all these 
 years of working for Packard. He comes over 
 this evening, Teresa, my dear, and makes us a 
 curse it, a generous offer. You see, as things are, 
 we are bound to lose the whole place, lock, stock, 
 and barrel, to Packard; you don't want to do 
 that, do you ?" 
 
 "Go on," said Terry. Her face was suddenly 
 as white as the hands from which she was swiftly, 
 nervously stripping her gauntlets. "Just what is 
 Blenham's generous offer, Dad?" 
 
 "It's one of two things." 
 231 
 
Man to Man 
 
 He hesitated and licked his lips. Terry's 
 heart sank lower yet; it took him so long to set 
 the thing into words ! "You see, as Old Man 
 Packard's foreman and agent he comes to tell us 
 that he is ordered to foreclose; to break us utterly. 
 As a friend to us he says " 
 
 "For God's sake!" cried Terry sharply. 
 "What does he say?" 
 
 "He will pay us a thousand dollars to let him 
 take over everything ! He will assume the mort- 
 gage; he will scrap it out with old Packard; he 
 will clear the title; and, if we get where we want 
 the ranch back some time, he will let us buy him 
 out for just what he has put in it." 
 
 Terry looked at him gravely. 
 
 "In words of one syllable," she said quietly, 
 "Blenham plans to give you one thousand dol- 
 lars; then to pay to old Packard the seven thou- 
 sand you owe him; and for this amount of eight 
 thousand to grab an outfit that is worth twenty 
 thousand if it's worth a nickel ! That's his gener- 
 ous offer, is it ?" 
 
 "My dear " 
 
 "Don't my dear me !" she snapped impatiently. 
 "Just go on and get the whole idiotic thing out of 
 your system. What else ?" 
 
 "That's all. As I have said already, as things 
 are we are bound to lose everything to Pack- 
 
 232 
 
Terry Defies Blenham 
 
 ard. Blenham steps up and offers us a thou- 
 sand " 
 
 "I should think he would step up! Lively! 
 Well, I can't stop you, can I ? You don't have to 
 have my consent to make a laughing-stock out of 
 yourself? Have you signed up with Blenham 
 already?" 
 
 Temple sought to assume an air of dignity 
 which went poorly with his ragged slippers and 
 bleary eye. 
 
 "Blenham has his money in a safe in Red 
 Creek. There will be papers to be signed. We 
 are going there now. I I am sorry you take it 
 this way, Teresa." 
 
 Then she sprang to her feet, her two hands 
 clenched, her eyes blazing. 
 
 "And I," she cried hotly, "am sorry. Oh, 
 I am ashamed ! that one of the name of Temple 
 should sink so low as to hobnob with a cur and a 
 scoundrel, a cheat, a liar, and all that Blenham 
 is, and that you and I and the whole country 
 know he is ! I'd rather see Old Hell-Fire Packard 
 break you and grind you under foot than see you 
 stand there and drink with that thing !" 
 
 And that there should be no mistake her finger 
 shot out, pointing at Blenham. 
 
 "Terry!" commanded her father, "be silent. 
 You don't know what you are saying!" 
 
 233 
 
Man to Man 
 "Don't I, though! I I " 
 
 Blenham laughed as she broke off, laughed again 
 as he stood watching how she was breathing 
 rapidly. 
 
 "Pretty puss," he said impudently, "you need 
 them pink-an'-white nails of your'n trimmed." 
 
 "Don't you dare say a word to me," she flung 
 at him. "Not a word." 
 
 "Not a single little word, eh ?" He tossed off 
 his whiskey, dropped the empty glass to the floor 
 behind him, and came a quick stride toward her, 
 an ugly leer twisting at the corner of his mouth, 
 his one eye burning. "I've got your ol' man 
 where I want him; he knows it an' I an' you know 
 it. An' when I like I can have you where I want 
 you, too. Understan ' ? " 
 
 He had taken another step toward her. The 
 sudden thought leaped up in her mind that he 
 and her father had had many drinks together 
 before her arrival. She drew back slowly. Tem- 
 ple, seeing that for the moment all attention 
 had been drawn from him, reached out for a bottle 
 on the far end of the mantel. 
 
 Then suddenly and without another word be- 
 ing spoken Terry was galvanized into action. 
 Blenham was coming on toward her and she saw 
 the look in his eye. She whipped back; her 
 breath caught in her throat; the color ran out of 
 
 234 
 
Terry Defies Blenham 
 
 her cheeks. She glanced wildly toward her father; 
 his fingers were closing about the neck of a bottle 
 when they should have been at the neck of a 
 man. 
 
 Terry whipped up a book from the table it 
 was a volume answering many a question about 
 how to act in society but without any mention of 
 such a situation as now had arisen and flung 
 it straight into Blenham's hectic face. Then 
 she slipped through the door behind her, slammed 
 it, and ran out, down the porch and into the night. 
 Behind her she heard Blenham's heavy, spurred 
 boots 2nd Blenham's curse. 
 
 "If he comes on I will kill him !" 
 
 She was at her car; her revolver was in her 
 hand. She saw Blenham come outside. A mo- 
 ment he seemed to hesitate, his big bulk outlined 
 against the door's rectangle of light. Then she 
 heard him laugh and saw him return to the room. 
 She came back slowly, tiptoe, to stand under the 
 window. 
 
 "You can drive the girl's car, can't you?" 
 Blenham was asking. And when Temple ad- 
 mitted that he could: "Let's pile in an* be on 
 our way. Like I said, you close with me to- 
 night or I won't touch the thing." 
 
 Then again Terry ran back to her car. She 
 sprang in, started her engine, opened the throttle 
 
 235 
 
Man to Man 
 
 as she let in the clutch, and making a wide circle 
 shot up the road, out the gate, and away into the 
 darkness. 
 
 "I'll take this pot yet, Mr, Cutthroat Blen- 
 ham!" she was crying within herself. 
 
 236 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 AND CALLS ON STEVE 
 
 THOUGH a tempest brewed in her soul and 
 her blood grew turbulent with it, Terry did 
 not hesitate from the first second. Just the other 
 day upon a certain historic log had she not said: 
 "I hate Blenham worse than a Packard!" 
 
 True, she had gone on to intimate that the 
 youngest of the house of Packard was scarcely 
 more to her liking than was the detested foreman. 
 But Well, if Steve didn't know, at least Terry 
 did, that that remark was uttered purely for its 
 rhetorical effect. 
 
 "He's been a pretty decent scout from the 
 jump," Terry admitted serenely to herself as she 
 threw her car into high and went streaking 
 through the pale moonlight. Then she smiled, 
 the first quick smile to come and go since she 
 had hurled a book in Blenham's face. ''A pretty 
 decent scout from the jump !" 
 
 He had literally jumped into her life, going 
 after her quite as though 
 
 "Oh, shucks !" laughed Terry. "It's the moon- 
 light!" 
 
 237 
 
Man to Man 
 
 There came a certain sharp turn in the road 
 where even she must slow down. Here Terry 
 came to a dead stop, not so much in hesitation 
 as because she was conscious of a departure from 
 the old trails and felt deeply that the act might 
 be filled with significance. For when she had 
 made the turn she would have crossed the old 
 dead line, she would have passed the boundary 
 and invaded Packard property. 
 
 "Well," thought Terry, "when you are be- 
 tween the devil and the deep sea what are you 
 going to do?" 
 
 So she let in her clutch, opened her throttle, 
 sounded her horn purely by way of defiance, and 
 when next she stopped it was at the very door of 
 the old ranch-house where Steve Packard should 
 be found at this early hour of the evening. 
 
 The men in the bunk-house had heard her 
 coming, and to the last man of them pushed to 
 the door to see who it might be. Their first 
 thought, of course, would be that the old moun- 
 tain-lion, Steve's grandfather, had come roar- 
 ing down from his place in the north. Terry 
 tossed up her head so that they might see and 
 know and marvel and speculate and do and say 
 anything which pleased them. Having crossed 
 her Rubicon, she didn't care the snap of her 
 pretty fingers who knew. 
 
 238 
 
And Calls on Steve 
 
 "I want Steve Packard," she called to them. 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 It was young Barbee who answered, Barbee 
 of the innocent blue eyes. 
 
 "In the ranch-house, Miss Terry," he said. 
 And he came forward, patting his hair into place, 
 hitching at his belt, smiling at her after his most 
 successful lady-killing fashion. "Sure I won't 
 do?" 
 
 "You?" Terry laughed. "When I'm look- 
 ing for a man I'm not going to stop for a boy, 
 Barbee dear!" 
 
 And she jumped down and knocked loudl/ at 
 Steve's door, while the men at the bunk-house 
 laughed joyously and Barbee cursed under his 
 breath. 
 
 Steve, supposing that it was one of his own 
 men grown suddenly formal, did not take his 
 stockinged feet down from his table or his pipe 
 from his lips as he called shortly 
 
 "Come in!" 
 
 And Terry asked no second invitation. In she 
 went, slamming the door after her so that those 
 who gawked at the bunk-house entrance might 
 gawk in vain. 
 
 And now Steve Packard achieved in one flash- 
 ing second the removal of his feet from the table, 
 the shifting of his pipe from his teeth, the swift 
 
 239 
 
Man to Man 
 
 buttoning of his shirt across his chest. And as 
 he stared at her he gasped: 
 
 "I'll be " 
 
 "Say it!" laughed Terry. "Well, I'm here. 
 Came on business. There's a hole in the toe of 
 your sock," she ended with a flash of malice, as 
 she noted how, embarrassed for the first time since 
 she had known him, he was trying to hide a pair 
 of man-sized feet behind his table. 
 
 Steve grew violently red. Terry laughed de- 
 liciously. 
 
 "I I didn't know- 
 
 "Of course you didn't," she agreed. "Now, 
 I'm in something of a rush of the red streak 
 variety, but in a little book of mine I have read 
 that a young gentleman receiving a young lady 
 caller after dark should have his hair combed, 
 his shirt buttoned, and at least a pair of slippers 
 on. I'll give you three minutes." 
 
 Packard looked at her wonderingly. Then, 
 without an answer, he strode by her and to the 
 window. The shade he flipped up so that any- 
 one who cared to might look into the room. 
 Next he went to the door and called : 
 
 "Bill, oh, Bill Royce. Come up here. Here's 
 some one who wants a word with you !" 
 
 Terry Temple's face went a burning, burning 
 red. There came the impulse to put both arms 
 
 240 
 
"Say it !" laughed Terry. "Well, I'm here. Came on 
 business" 
 
And Calls on Steve 
 
 about this big shirt-sleeved, tousled Packard 
 man and squeeze him hard and at the end of 
 it pinch him harder. For in Terry's soul was 
 understanding, and he both delighted her and 
 shamed her. 
 
 But when Steve came back and slipped his feet 
 into his boots and sat down across the table from 
 her, Terry's face told him nothing. 
 
 "You're a funny guy, Steve Packard," she ad- 
 mitted thoughtfully. 
 
 "That's nothing," grinned Steve, by now quite 
 himself again. "So are you !" 
 
 She had come from the Temple ranch without 
 any hat; her hair had tumbled down long ago and 
 now framed her vivacious face most adorably. 
 Adorably, that is, to a man's mind; other women 
 are not always agreed upon such matters. At any 
 rate, Steve watched with both admiration and 
 regret in his eyes as Terry shook out the loose 
 bronze tresses and began to bring neat order out 
 of bewilderingly becoming chaos. Her mouth 
 was full of pins when Bill Royce came in. But 
 still she could whisper tantalizingly 
 
 "If you picked on Bill for a chaperon because 
 he's blind- 
 
 Royce stopped in the doorway. 
 
 "That you, Terry Temple?" he asked. "An 5 
 you wanted me ? What's up ?" 
 
 241 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "I came to have a talk with Steve Packard," 
 answered Terry promptly. 
 
 She got up and took Royce's hands between 
 hers and led him to a chair before she relinquished 
 them. And before she went back to her own 
 place she had said swiftly: 
 
 "I haven't seen you since you licked Blenham. 
 I I am glad you got your chance, Bill." 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Terry," said Royce quietly. 
 "I sorta evened up things with him. Not quite. 
 But sorta. Then you didn't want me ?" 
 
 "Not this trip, Bill. It's just a play of Mr. 
 Packard's here. He didn't like to have it known 
 that I had him all alone here; afraid it might com- 
 promise him, you know." 
 
 She giggled. 
 
 "Or queer him with his girl, mos' likely!" 
 chuckled Royce. 
 
 Whereat Steve glowered and Terrj looked 
 startled. 
 
 "You're both talking nonsense," said Packard. 
 He reached out for his pipe but dropped it again 
 to the table without lighting it. "If there is any- 
 thing I can do for you, Miss Temple " 
 
 He saw how the look in her eyes altered. Noth- 
 ing less than an errand of transcendent impor- 
 tance could have brought her here and he knew it. 
 And now, in quick, eager words she told him : 
 
 "Blenham has almost put one across on us, 
 242 
 
And Calls on Steve 
 
 Our outfit is mortgaged to your old thief of a 
 grandfather for a miserable seven thousand dol- 
 lars. Old Packard sent Blenham over to tell dad 
 he is going to shove us out. Blenham plays 
 foxy and offers dad a thousand dollars for the 
 mortgage. Oh, I don't understand just how to 
 say it, but Blenham has a few thousand dollars 
 he has saved and stolen here and there, and he 
 means to grab the Temple ranch for a total of 
 eight thousand dollars; seven thousand to old 
 Packard, one thousand to dad 
 
 "But surely- 
 
 " Surely nothing! Dad's half full of whiskey 
 as usual, and a thousand dollars looks as big to 
 him as a full moon. Besides, he's sure of losing 
 to old Hell-Fire sooner or later." 
 
 "And you want me " 
 
 "If you've got any money or can raise any,'* 
 said Terry crisply, "I'm offering you a good 
 proposition. The same Blenham is after. The 
 ranch is worth a whole lot better than twenty 
 thousand dollars. My proposition is But can 
 you raise eight thousand?" 
 
 Steve regarded her a moment speculatively. 
 Then, quite after the way of Steve Packard, he 
 slipped his hand into his shirt and brought out a 
 sheaf of banknotes and tossed them to her across 
 the table. 
 
 "I'm not a bloodsucker," he said quietly. 
 243 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Take what you like; I'll stake you to the wad." 
 
 Terry looked, counted and gasped. 
 
 "Ten thousand !" she cried. "Good Lord, 
 Steve Packard ! Ten thousand and you'd lend 
 me " 
 
 "To pay off a mortgage to my grandfather, 
 yes," he answered soberly, quite conscious of 
 what he was doing and of its recklessness and, 
 perhaps, idiocy. "And to beat Blenham." 
 
 She jumped up and ran around the table to 
 put her two hands on his shoulders and shake 
 him. 
 
 "You're a God-blessed brick, Steve Pack- 
 ard !" she cried ringingly. ''But I'm not a blood- 
 sucker, either. If you're a dead game sport 
 Well, that's what I'd rather be than anything 
 else you can put a name to. Lace your boots, 
 get into a hat, shove that in your pocket." And 
 she slipped the roll of bills into his hand. "By 
 now dad and Blenham will be on the road to 
 Red Creek; we'll beat them to it, have a lawyer 
 and some papers all ready, and when they show 
 up we'll just take dad out of Blenham's hands." 
 
 "I don't quite get you," said Steve. "If you 
 won't borrow the money " 
 
 "I'll make dad sell out to you for eight thou- 
 sand; he pockets one thousand and with the other 
 seven your money-grabbing, pestiferous old grand- 
 
 244 
 
And Calls on Steve 
 
 dad is paid off. Then you and I frame a deal be- 
 tween us " 
 
 "Pardners!" ejaculated Bill Royce. "Glory 
 to be ! Steve Packard an' Terry Temple pard- 
 ners " 
 
 " Don't you see ? " Terry was excitedly tugging 
 at Steve's arm. "Come on; come alive. We're 
 going to play freeze-out with Hell-Fire Packard 
 and his right-hand bower, both. And we're going 
 to keep dad from doing a fool thing. And we're 
 going to Oh, come on, can't you ? " 
 
 Steve got up and stood looking down at her 
 curiously. Then he laughed and turned away 
 for his coat and hat. 
 
 "Lead on; I'm trailing you," he said briefly. 
 
 Bill Royce rubbed his hands and chuckled. 
 
 "Even if I ain't got eyes," he mused, "there's 
 some things I can see real clear." 
 
 245 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 "IF HE KNOWS DOES SHE?" 
 
 THERE seemed no particular need for haste. 
 And yet Terry ran eagerly to her car, and 
 Steve hurried after her with long strides while 
 the men down at the bunkhouse surmised and 
 looked to Bill Royce for a measure of explanation. 
 Steve was not beyond the age of enthusiasm; 
 Terry was all atingle. Life was shaping itself to 
 an adventure. 
 
 And so, though it appeared that all of the time 
 in the world was theirs for loitering for it should 
 be a simple matter to come to Red Creek well in 
 advance of Blenham and his dupe Terry yielded 
 to her excitement, Steve yielded out of hand to the 
 lure of Terry, and, quite gay about it, they sped 
 away through the moonlight. While Terry, 
 driver, perforce kept her eyes busied with the 
 road, Steve Packard leaned back in his seat and 
 contented himself with the vision of his fellow 
 adventurer. 
 
 "Terry Temple," he told her emphatically and 
 utterly sincerely, "you are absolutely the prettiest 
 thing I ever saw." 
 
 246 
 
"If He Knows-Does She?" 
 
 "I'm not a thing," said Terry. "And besides, 
 I know it already. And " 
 
 Then it was that they got their first puncture; 
 a worn tire cut through by a sharp fragment of 
 rock so that they heard the air gush out windily. 
 Terry jammed on her brakes. Steve jumped out 
 and made hasty examination. 
 
 "Looks like a man had gone after it with 
 a hand-ax," he announced cheerfully. " Good 
 thing you've got a spare." 
 
 Terry flung down from her seat impatiently. 
 
 "I need some new tires," she said, as she from 
 one side and he from the other began seeking in 
 the tool-box under the seat for jack and wrench. 
 "That spare is soft, too, and half worn through; 
 Fll bet we get more than one puncture before the 
 job's done. But it's mounted, anyway." 
 
 Steve went down on his knee and began jack- 
 ing the car up; Terry standing over him was busy 
 with her wrench loosening the lugs at the rim. 
 Then, while he made the exchange and tightened 
 the nuts, she strapped the punctured tire in its 
 carrier and slipped back into her seat. As Steve 
 got in beside her he marked how speculatively her 
 eyes were busied with the road. 
 
 "We've got them behind us, haven't we?" 
 he asked. 
 
 Terry nodded quickly. 
 247 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Yes. We've got the head start and they're 
 on horseback. It's no trick to beat them to it. 
 But Oh, I saw a look on Blenham's face to- 
 night ! He's bad, Steve Packard; all bad; the 
 kind that stops at nothing ! And somehow, some- 
 how he's got a strangle-hold on poor old dad and 
 is making him do this. We've got the head start; 
 we can beat them to Red Creek, but " 
 
 "But you don't like the idea of leaving your 
 father alone in Blenham's company to-night?" 
 he finished for her. "Is that it ?" 
 
 Again she nodded. He could see her teeth set 
 to nibbling at her lips. 
 
 "Then," he suggested, "why go to Red Creek 
 at all ? Why not turn back here and stop them ? 
 You can take Mr. Temple back home with you. 
 I imagine that between the two of us we can make 
 Blenham understand he is not wanted this time." 
 
 "I was thinking of that," said Terry. 
 
 And where the Ranch Number Ten road runs 
 into the country road, Terry turned to the right, 
 headed again toward her own home. 
 
 When, with Steve at her heels, she ran up on the 
 porch it was to be met by Iki, the Japanese cook, 
 his eyes shining wildly. 
 
 "Where's my father ?" she asked, and Iki wav- 
 ing his hands excitedly answered: 
 
 "Departed with rapid haste and many curse- 
 248 
 
"If He Knows-Does She?" 
 
 words from his gentleman friend. The master 
 could not make a stop for one little more drink 
 of whiskey. The other strike and vomit threats 
 and say: 'Most surely will I cause that you tarry 
 long time in jail-side.' Saying likewise: 'I got 
 you by the long hair like I want you and yes-by- 
 God, like some day soon I get your lovely 
 daughter!' Only he say the latter with un- 
 pleasant words of 
 
 Terry was shaking him by both shoulders. 
 
 "Where did they go?" she demanded. "How 
 long ago?" 
 
 "On horses, running swiftly," gibbered Iki. 
 "Ten minutes, maybe perhaps twenty or thirty. 
 Who can tell the time when " 
 
 "Why didn't we meet them?" asked Steve of 
 Terry. "If they are really headed for Red 
 Creek?" 
 
 "They are taking all of the short-cuts there are," 
 she answered promptly. " They'll take a cow- 
 trail through the ranch, cut across the lower end 
 of your place, and come into the old road just 
 beyond. Blenham's all fox; he has guessed that 
 I am out to put a spoke in his wheel somehow. 
 He won't be wasting any perfectly good moon- 
 light. Come on!" And again she was running 
 to the car. "We'll overhaul them just the 
 
 same." 
 
 249 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "I believe you," grunted Steve, once more 
 seated beside her, the engine drumming, the wheels 
 spinning. "You don't know what a speed law 
 is, do you ?" 
 
 "Speed law?" she repeated absently, her eyes 
 on the next dark turn in the road, "What's 
 that?" 
 
 He chuckled and settled back in his seat. His 
 eyes, like the girl's, were watchfully bent upon the 
 gloom-filled angle which Terry must negotiate 
 before the way straightened out again before 
 her. Her headlights cut through the shadows; 
 Terry's little body stiffened a bit and her hands 
 tensed on her wheel; her flying speed was les- 
 sened an almost negligible trifle; she made the 
 turn and opened the throttle. Steve nodded ap- 
 provingly. 
 
 For the greater part they were silent. He 
 had never seen her in a mood like to-night's. He 
 read in her face, in her eyes, in the carriage of her 
 body, one and the same thing; and that was a 
 complex something made of the several emotions 
 of determination, sorrow, and fiery anger. 
 
 He read her thought readily; it was clear 
 that she made no attempt to conceal it: She was 
 going to consummate a certain deal, she was 
 grieved and ashamed for her father, she remem- 
 bered the "look on Blenham's face to-night," and 
 
 250 
 
"If He Knows Does She?" 
 
 again and again her fury shot its red tide into her 
 cheeks. 
 
 "Blenham put his dirty hands on her," was 
 Steve's thought; "or tried to." 
 
 And he found that his own pulses drummed the 
 hotter as he let his imagination conjure up a 
 picture for him, Blenham's big, knotted hands 
 upon the daintiness that was Terry. In that 
 moment it seemed to him that he had been drawn 
 home across the seas to help mete out punish- 
 ment to a man: a man who had stricken old Bill 
 Royce, and who now dared look evilly upon Terry 
 Temple. 
 
 Then came their second puncture, an ugly gash 
 like the first caused by a flinty fragment of rock 
 driven against the worn outer casing. 
 
 "I ordered new tires a month ago," said Terry 
 by way of explanation, as she and Steve in the 
 road together set about remedying the trouble. 
 
 While he was getting the inner-tube out, squat- 
 ting in front of her car so as to work in the glow 
 from her headlights, she was rummaging through 
 her repair kit. 
 
 ''These rocky roads, you know, and the way 
 I drive." 
 
 He laughed. "The way she drove!" That 
 meant, "Like the devil!" as he would put it. 
 Over rocky roads, racing right up to a turn, 
 
 251 
 
Man to Man 
 
 jamming on her brakes when she must slow down 
 a little; swinging about a sharp bend so that her 
 car slid and her tires dragged; in short getting all 
 of the speed out of her motor that she could possi- 
 bly extract from it, regardless and coolly contemp- 
 tuous of skuffed tires and other trifles. 
 
 Finding the cut in the inner-tube was simple 
 enough; the moonlight alone would have shown 
 it. He held it up for her to look at and she shook 
 her head and sighed. But making the patch so 
 that it would hold was another matter; and pump- 
 ing up the tire when the job was done was still 
 another, and required time and ate up all of Terry's 
 rather inconsiderable amount of patience. 
 
 "A little more luck like this," she cried as once 
 more they took to the road, "and Blenham will 
 put one over on us yet !" 
 
 It was borne in upon Steve that Terry's fears 
 might prove to be only too well founded. The 
 time she had taken to drive to him at his ranch, 
 the time lost in returning to her home and in 
 changing tires and mending a puncture, had been 
 put to better use by Blenham. True, he was on 
 horseback while they motored. And yet, for a 
 score or so of miles, a determined, brutally merci- 
 less man upon a horse may render an account of 
 himself. 
 
 But while they both speculated they sped on. 
 252 
 
"If He Knows-Does She?" 
 
 They came to the spot where the "old road" 
 turned into the new; Blenham and Temple were 
 to be seen nowhere though here the country was 
 flat and but sparsely timbered, and the moon 
 pricked out all objects distinctly. 
 
 And so on and on, beginning to wonder at last, 
 asking themselves if Blenham and Temple had 
 drawn out of the road somewhere, hiding in the 
 shadows, to let them go by ? But finally only 
 when they were climbing the last winding grade 
 with Red Creek but a couple of miles away, they 
 saw the two horsemen. 
 
 Teny's car swung about a curve in the road 
 her headlights for a brief instant aiding the moon 
 in garishly illuminating a scene to be remembered. 
 Blenham had turned in his saddle, startled per- 
 haps by the sound of the oncoming car or by the 
 gleam of the headlights; his uplifted quirt fell 
 heavily upon the sides of his running horse; rose 
 and fell again upon the rump of Temple's mount, 
 and the two men, their horses leaping under 
 them, were gone over the ridge and down upon 
 the far side. 
 
 In a few moments, from the crest of the ridge, 
 they made out the two running forms on the road 
 below. Blenham was still frantically beating his 
 horse and Temple's. Terry's horn blared; her 
 car leaped; and Blenham, cursing loudly, jerked 
 
 253 
 
Man to Man 
 
 his horse back on its haunches and well out of the 
 road. With wheels locked, Terry slid to a stand- 
 still. 
 
 "Pile in, dad," she said coolly, ignoring Blen- 
 ham. "Steve Packard and I will take you into 
 Red Creek. Packard is ready to make you a 
 better proposition than Blenham's. Turn your 
 horse loose; he'll go home, and pile in with us/' 
 
 "He'll do nothing of the kind !" shouted Blen- 
 ham, his voice husky with his fury. "Just you 
 try that on Temple, an' He'll do nothing of 
 the kind," he concluded heavily, his mien elo- 
 quent of threat. 
 
 "We know you think you've got some kind of 
 a strangle-hold on him, Blenham," cut in Terry 
 crisply. "But even if you have, dad is a white 
 man and dad! What is the matter?" 
 
 Temple slipped from his saddle and stood shak- 
 ing visibly, his face dead white, his eyes staring. 
 Even in the moonlight they could all see the big 
 drops of sweat on his forehead, glistening as they 
 trickled down. He put out his hand to support 
 himself by gripping at his saddle, missed blindly, 
 staggered, and began slowly collapsing where he 
 stood as though his bones were little by little 
 melting within him. Blenham laughed harshly. 
 
 "Drunker'n a boiled owl," he grunted. "But 
 
 jus' the same sober enough to know " 
 
 254 
 
"If He Knows Does She?" 
 
 "Dad!" cried Terry a second time, out in the 
 road beside him now, her arms belting his slack- 
 ing body. "It isn't just that. You ' 
 
 "Sick," moaned Temple weakly. "God knows 
 he's been hounding me to death I don't know 
 I wanted to stop, to rest back there but I'm 
 afraid that " 
 
 He broke off panting. Steve jumped out 
 and slipped his own arms about the wilting 
 form. 
 
 "Let me get him into the car," he said gently. 
 And when he had lifted Temple and placed him in 
 the seat he added quietly: "You'd better hurry 
 on I think. Get a doctor for him. I'll follow 
 on his horse." 
 
 Terry flashed him a look of gratitude, took her 
 place at the wheel and started down grade. Her 
 father at her side continued to settle in his place 
 as long as Steve kept him in sight. 
 
 "Well?" growled Blenham, his voice ugly and 
 baffled and throaty with his rage. "You butt 
 in again, do you ?" 
 
 Steve swung up into the saddle just now va- 
 cated by Temple. 
 
 "Yes," he retorted coolly. "And I'm in to 
 stay, too, if you want to know, Blenham. To the 
 finish." 
 
 With only the width of a narrow road between 
 
 255 
 
Man to Man 
 
 them they stared at each other. Then Blen- 
 ham jeered: 
 
 "Oho! It's the skirt, huh? Stuck on her 
 yourself, are you ?" 
 
 Steve frowned, but met his piercing look with 
 level contempt. 
 
 "Your language is inelegant, friend Blenham," 
 he said slowly. "Like yourself it is better with- 
 drawn from public notice. As to your meaning 
 why, by thunder, I half believe you are right ! 
 And I hadn't thought of it !" 
 
 Blenham caught in one of his rare bursts of 
 heady rage shook his fist high above his head and 
 cried out savagely: 
 
 "I'll beat you yet, the both of you! See if J 
 don't. Yes you an' your crowd an' him an' her 
 an' " 
 
 "Don't take on too many all at once," suggested 
 Steve. 
 
 Only the tail of his eye was on Blenham; he 
 was looking wonderingly and a bit wistfully down 
 the moonlit, empty road. 
 
 "I got him where I want him right now," 
 snarled Blenham. "An' her I'll have her, too, 
 where I want her! An', inside less time than 
 you'd think I'll have- 
 But he clamped his big mouth tight shut, 
 glared at Steve a moment and then, striking with 
 
 256 
 
"If He Knows-Does She?" 
 
 spur and quirt together, so that hie frightened 
 horse leaped out frantically, he was gone down the 
 road after Temple and Terry. 
 
 As Steve followed a smile was in his eyes, a 
 smile slowly parting his lips. 
 
 "The scoundrel was right!" he mused. "And 
 I hadn't even thought of it. Now how the devil 
 do you suppose he knew ?" 
 
 And then, before he had gone a dozen yards 
 a curious, puzzled, uncertain look come into his 
 face. 
 
 "If he knows," was his perplexity, "Does she ?" 
 
 257 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 TERRY CONFRONTS HELL-FIRE PACKARD 
 
 "TT^ATHER'S got it in his head he is going to 
 
 JT die!" cried Terry. "He sha'n't. I won't 
 let him!" 
 
 Steve Packard, riding into Red Creek, met 
 Terry coming out. She was just starting, her 
 car gathering speed; seeing him she drew down 
 abruptly. 
 
 "I left him at the store," she added breath- 
 lessly. "He is sick. They are friends there; 
 they'll take care of him. He knows you are 
 coming; he has promised to do business with 
 you and shut Blenham out of the running. You 
 are to hurry before Blenham gets there he's 
 across the street at the saloon already. After 
 his money, I guess; next thing, unless you block 
 his play, he'll be standing over poor old dad's 
 bed, bullyragging him. Come alive, Steve Pack- 
 ard, and beat him to it." 
 
 And with the last words she had started her 
 car, after Terry's way of starting anything, with 
 a leap. Steve reined in after her, urging his 
 
 258 
 
Terry Confronts Hell-Fire Packard 
 
 horse to a gallop for the first time, calling out 
 sharply: 
 
 "But you where are you going? Why "" 
 
 "After Doctor Bridges," Terry called back, 
 "The fool is over at your old thief of a grand- 
 father's, playing chess ! The telephone won't ' 
 
 He could merely speculate as to just what the 
 telephone would not do. Terry was gone, was 
 already at the fork of the roads, turning north- 
 ward, hasting alone on a forty-mile drive over 
 lonely roads and into the very lair of the old 
 mountain-lion himself. Steve whistled softly. 
 
 "I wish she had invited me to go along," he 
 grunted. 
 
 But, instead she had commissioned him other- 
 wise. So, though his eyes were regretful he rode 
 on to the store. A backward glance showed him 
 a diminishing red tail-light disporting itself like 
 some new species of firefly gone quite mad; it 
 was twisting this way and that as the road in- 
 vited; it fairly emulated the gyrations of a cork- 
 screw what with the added motion necessitated 
 by the deep ruts and chuck-holes over and into 
 which the spinning tires were thudding. 
 
 Then the shoulder of a hill, a clump of brush, 
 and Terry and her car were gone from him, swal- 
 lowed up in the night and silence. He looked at 
 his watch. It was twenty minutes after eight. 
 
 259 
 
Man to Man 
 
 She had forty miles ahead of her, a return of 
 forty miles. 
 
 "It will take her two hours each way/* he mut- 
 tered, "unless she means to pile her car up in a 
 ditch somewhere. Four hours for the trip. That 
 means I won't see her until well after midnight." 
 
 And then he grinned a shade sheepishly; Blen- 
 ham was right. He had thought of those four 
 hours as though they had been four years. 
 
 But for her part Terry had no intention of 
 being four hours driving a round trip of any 
 eighty miles that she knew of; she had never done 
 such a thing before and could see no cause for 
 beginning to-night. True, the roads were none 
 too good at best, downright bad often enough. 
 
 Well, that was just the sort of thing she was 
 used to. And to-night there was need for haste. 
 Great haste, thought the girl anxiously, as she 
 remembered the look on her father's face when she 
 and the storekeeper's wife had gotten him into 
 bed. 
 
 "I'll have the roads all to myself; that's one 
 good thing." 
 
 She settled herself in her seat, preparing for a 
 tense hour. She, too, had marked the time; 
 it had been on the verge of twenty minutes after 
 eight as she left the store. "What right has the 
 only doctor in the country to play chess, any- 
 
 260 
 
Terry Confronts Hell-Fire Packard 
 
 way ? And with old Hell-Fire Packard at that ? 
 Two precious old rascals they are, I'll be bound. 
 But a rascal of a doctor is better than no doctor 
 at all, and Ah, a good, open bit of road !" 
 
 The car leaped to fresh speed under her. She 
 glanced at her speedometer; the needle was wa- 
 vering between twenty-seven and thirty miles. 
 She narrowed her eyes upon the road; it invited; 
 she shoved the throttle on her wheel a little further 
 open; thirty miles, thirty-three, thirty-five 
 forty, forty-five there she kept it for a moment 
 only a moment it seemed to her breathless impa- 
 tience. For next came a series of curves where her 
 road, rising, went over the first ridge of hills and 
 where on either hand danger lurked. 
 
 Beyond the ridge the road straightened out 
 suddenly. Better time now: twenty-five miles, 
 thirty, thirty-five and then, down in the valley, 
 forty-five miles, fifty, fifty-five her horn blaring, 
 sending far and wide its defiant, warning echoes, 
 her headlights flashing across trees, fences, patches 
 of brush, and rolling hills sixty miles. 
 
 "If my tires only stick it out they ought to 
 this road hasn't a sharp rock on it." 
 
 But from sixty miles she must pull down 
 sharply. Far ahead something was across the 
 road; perhaps'only a shadow, perhaps -a tangible 
 barrier; she didn't know these roads any too well. 
 
 261 
 
Man to Man 
 
 She cut off her power, jammed on foot and 
 emergency brakes, and so came to a stop just in 
 time. Here a fence stretched across the road; 
 the tall gate throwing its black shadows on the 
 white moonlit soil was not five feet from her 
 hood when she stopped. 
 
 She jumped down, threw the gate wide open, 
 propped it back with a stone knowing full well 
 how the farmers and cattlemen hereabouts builded 
 their gates to shut automatically, drove through 
 in such haste that she grazed the gate itself and 
 so jarred it into closing behind her, and was again 
 glancing from road to speedometer twenty- 
 five, thirty-five, a turn to negotiate, seen far 
 ahead, dropping back to twenty-five, to twenty. 
 A straight, alluring stretch twenty-five, thirty- 
 five, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, sixty, sixty-two, 
 sixty-three the far rim of the valley, another 
 line of hills black under the stars fifty again 
 and down to twenty-five, to twenty and horn 
 blowing as she sped into the mouth of the first 
 canon. 
 
 And again, when at last she was down in Old 
 Man Packard's valley and within hailing distance 
 of his misshapen monster of a house, she set her 
 horn to blaring like the martial trumpet of an 
 invading army. Cattle and horses along her road 
 awoke from their dozing in the moonlight, per- 
 
 262 
 
Terry Confronts Hell- Fire Packard 
 
 haps leaped to the conclusion that it was old 
 Hell-Fire himself in their midst, flung their tails 
 aloft and scampered to right and left, and Terry's 
 car stood in front of Packard's door. 
 
 Right square in front of the door so that Terry 
 herself could jump from her running-board and so 
 that her front wheels were planted firmly in the 
 old man's choice bed of roses. There were two 
 flat tires, punctured on the way; two ruined, 
 battered rims; her tank still held perhaps a gal- 
 lon of gasoline. But she had arrived. 
 
 Before she leaped out Terry had glanced at 
 her clock; she had made the trip of forty miles 
 in exactly fifty-three minutes. Considering the 
 state of the roads 
 
 "Not bad," admitted Terry. 
 
 Then with a final clarion call of her horn she 
 had presented herself at Packard's door. She 
 had got a few of the wildest blown wisps of brown 
 hair back where they belonged before the door 
 opened. She heard hurrying feet and prepared 
 herself by a visible stiffening for the coming of 
 the arch villain himself. There was a sense of 
 disappointment when she saw that it was only 
 the dwarfed henchman come in the master's stead. 
 Guy Little stared at her in pure surprise. 
 
 "Terry Temple, ain't it?" gasped the mecha- 
 nician. "For the love of Pete !" 
 
 263 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "I want Doctor Bridges," said Terry quickly. 
 "He's here, isn't he?" 
 
 Guy Little instead of making a prompt and 
 direct answer presented as puzzled a countenance 
 as the girl ever saw. He was in slippers and shirt- 
 sleeves; he had a large volume which in his hands 
 appeared little less than huge; his hair was as 
 badly tousled as Terry's own: his eyes were 
 frankly bewildered. Terry spoke again impa- 
 tiently: 
 
 "Answer me and don't gawk at me ! Is the 
 doctor here r" 
 
 "For the love of Pete !" was quite all that Guy 
 Little offered in response. 
 
 She sniffed and pushed by him, standing in the 
 hallway and for the first time in her life fairly in 
 the lion's den. She looked about her with lively 
 interest. 
 
 "Say," said Little then. "Hold on a minute." 
 
 He came quietly close to her, his slipper-feet 
 falling soundlessly. 
 
 "Doc Bridges is in there with the ol' man." 
 He jerked his head toward the big library and 
 living-room whose door stood closed in their 
 faces. "They're playin' chess. Unless your sick 
 man's dyin' I guess you better wait until they get 
 through. Even if he is dyin' " 
 
 "I'll do nothing of the kind!" retorted Terry 
 264 
 
Terry Confronts Hell-Fire Packard 
 
 emphatically. "When I've raced all the way 
 from Red Creek, banging my car all up, risking 
 my precious life every jump of the way, doing 
 the trip in fifty-three minutes do you think 
 that- 
 
 "Hey?" cried Guy Little. "How's that? 
 How many minutes ? Fifty-three, you said, 
 didn't you ? Fifty-three minutes from Red Crick 
 to here? Hey?" 
 
 "Is the man crazy?" demanded Terry. 
 "Didn't I say I did? I could have done it in 
 less, too, only with a flat tire and " 
 
 "Hey?" repeated Guy Little, over and over. 
 "You done that ? Hey ? You say 
 
 "I say," cut in Terry starting toward the closed 
 door, "that there is a man sick and a doctor 
 wanted." 
 
 "Oh, can that part of it !" cried Little, coming 
 after her again in his excitement. "Chuck it! 
 Forget it ! The thing is that you made the run 
 from there to here an' in the night time an' 
 with tire trouble an' " 
 
 "Doctor Bridges " 
 
 "Is in there. Like I said. Playin' chess 
 with the ol' man. You don't know what that 
 means. I do. Mos' usually, askin' a lady's par- 
 don for the way of sayin' it, it means Hell. Capi- 
 tal H. An' to-night the ol' man has got the door 
 
 265 
 
Man to Man 
 
 locked an' he's two games behind an* he's sore as 
 a hoot-owl an' he says that anybody as breaks in 
 on his play is No, I can't say it; not in the 
 presence of a lady. There's times when the oF 
 man is so awful vi'lent he's purty near vile about 
 it. Get me?" 
 
 "Guy Little, you just stand aside!" Terry's 
 eyes blazed into his as she threw out a hand to 
 thrust his back. "I came for the doctor and I'm 
 going to get him." 
 
 Guy Little merely shook his head. 
 
 "You don't know the ol' man," he said quietly. 
 "An' I do. I'm the only man, woman or child 
 livin' as does know him. You stan' aside." 
 
 He stepped quickly by her and rapped at the 
 door. When only silence greeted him he rapped 
 again. Now suddenly, explosively, came Old 
 Man Packard's voice, fairly quivering with rage 
 as the old man shouted: 
 
 "If that's you, Guy Little, I'll beat your head 
 off'n your fool body ! Get out an' go away an' 
 go fast!" 
 
 "It's important, your majesty," returned Guy 
 Little's voice imperturbably. 
 
 He rubbed one slippered toe against his calf and 
 winked at Terry, looking vastly innocent and 
 boyish. 
 
 "I'm pullin' for you," he whispered. "There's 
 266 
 
Terry Confronts Hell-Fire Packard 
 
 jus' one way to do it." Aloud he repeated. 
 "It's important, your majesty. An' there's a 
 lady here." 
 
 "Lady?" shouted the old man, his voice fairly 
 breaking with the emotion that went into it. 
 "Lady? In my house? What do you mean?" 
 Then, without waiting for an answer, "I don't 
 care who she is or what she is or what the two of 
 you want. Get out ! This fool pill-roller in here 
 thinks he can beat me playin' chess; you're in 
 league with him to distract me, you traitor !" 
 
 Guy Little smiled broadly and winked again. 
 
 "Ain't he got the manner of a dook ?" he whis- 
 pered admiringly. And to his employer, "Say, 
 Packard, it's the little Temple girl. Terry Tem- 
 ple, you know. An' " 
 
 Even Terry started and drew back a quick step 
 from the closed door. She did not know that a 
 man's voice could pierce to one's soul like that. 
 
 "An'," went on Guy Little hurriedly, knowing 
 that he must rush his words now if he got them 
 out at all, "she's jus' drove all the way from Red 
 Crick in a Boyd-Merrill, Twin Eight car had 
 tire trouble on the road an' done the trip in 
 fifty-three minutes!" 
 
 He got it all out. A deep silence shut down 
 after his words. A silence during which a man's 
 eyes might have opened and stared, during which 
 
 267 
 
Man to Man 
 
 a man's mouth too might have opened and closed 
 wordlessly, during which a man's brain might 
 estimate what this meant, to drive forty miles in 
 fifty-three minutes over such roads as lay between 
 the Packard ranch and Red Creek. 
 
 "It's a lie!" shouted Packard. "She couldn't 
 do it." 
 
 "I want Doctor Bridges " 
 
 "Sh !" Guy Little cut her short. "I got the 
 ol' boy on the run. Leave it to me." And aloud 
 once more: "She done it. She can prove it. 
 An' " 
 
 There came a snort of fury from the locked room 
 followed by the noise of a chess-board and set 
 of men hurled across the room and by an old man's 
 voice shouting fiercely: 
 
 "It's a cursed frame-up. Bridges, you're a 
 scoundrel and I can beat you any three games out 
 of five and I'll bet you ten thousan' dollars on it, 
 any time ! An' as for that thief of a Temple's 
 squidge-faced girl 'Come in. Damn it all, come 
 in and be done with it !" 
 
 And as he unlocked the door with a hand that 
 shook and flung it wide open he and Terry Tem- 
 ple confronted each other for the first time. 
 
 268 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 A GATE AND A RECORD SMASHED 
 
 THE man never yet lived and knew old man 
 Packard who would have suggested that he 
 was not a good and thorough-going hater. His 
 enemy and all of his enemy's household, wife and 
 child, maid-servant and man-servant were all as 
 the spawn of Satan. 
 
 Now he stood back, his face flushed, his two 
 hands on his hips, his beard thrust forward bel- 
 ligerently and fairly seeming to bristle. Terry 
 Temple, her heart beating like mad all of a sudden 
 and for no reason which she would admit to her- 
 self, lifted her head and stepped across the thresh- 
 old defiantly. For a very tense moment the 
 two of them, old man and young girl, stared at 
 each other. 
 
 Doctor Bridges still sat at the chess-table, his 
 mouth dropping open, his expression one of pure 
 consternation; Guy Little stood in the doorway 
 just behind Terry, rubbing a slippered toe against 
 his leg and watching interestedly. 
 
 "So you're Temple's girl, are you?" snorted 
 the old man. "Well, I might have guessed it !" 
 
 269 
 
Man to Man 
 
 And the manner of the statement, rather than 
 the words themselves, was very uncomplimentary 
 to Miss Teresa Arriega Temple. 
 
 And, as a mere matter of fact and old man 
 Packard knew it well enough down in his soul 
 he would have guessed nothing of the sort. So 
 long had he held her in withering contempt, just 
 because of her relationship to her father, so long 
 had he invested her with all thinkably distasteful 
 attributes, so long had he in his out-of-hand way 
 named her squidge-nosed, putty-faced, pig-eyed, 
 and so on, that in due course he had really formed 
 his own image of her. 
 
 And now, suddenly confronted by the most 
 amazingly pretty girl he had ever seen, he man- 
 aged to snort that she was just what he knew she 
 was and in the snorting no one knew better 
 than old man Packard that, as he could have put 
 it himself, "He lied like a horse-thief!" 
 
 Terry had seen him once when she was a very 
 little girl. He had been pointed out to her by 
 one of her father's cowboys who, for reasons of his 
 own, heartily hated and a little feared the old 
 man. Since then the girl's lively imagination 
 had created a most unseemly brute out of the 
 enemy of her house, a beetle-browed, ugly- 
 mouthed, facially-hideous being little short of a 
 monstrosity. 
 
 270 
 
A Gate and a Record Smashed 
 
 And now Terry's fine feminine perception be- 
 grudgingly was forced to set about constructing 
 a new picture. The old man, black-hearted vil- 
 lain that he was, was the most upstanding, heroic 
 figure of a man that she had ever seen. 
 
 Beside him Doctor Bridges was a spectacle of 
 physical degeneracy while Guy Little became a 
 grotesque dwarf. The grandfather was much 
 like the grandson, and though she vowed to like 
 him the less for it was in his statuesque, leonine 
 way quite the handsomest man she had ever 
 looked on. 
 
 Perhaps it was at just the same instant that 
 each realized that rather too great an interest 
 had been permitted to go into a long, searching 
 look. For Terry suddenly affected a look of 
 supreme contempt while the old man jerked his 
 eyes away, transferring his regard to the serene 
 Guy Little. 
 
 "You said, Guy Little " 
 
 "Yes, sir, I said it !" Guy Little nodded vigor- 
 ously. "Them forty miles in fifty-three minutes. 
 In the dark. An* with tire trouble. It's a record. 
 The best you ever done it in was fifty-seven min- 
 utes. She beat you four minutes. Her!" 
 
 He indicated Terry. 
 
 " Doctor Bridges " began Terry. 
 
 "It's a lie!" cried the old man, smashing the 
 
Man to Man 
 
 table top with a clenched fist. "I don't care who 
 says it; she couldn't do it! No girl could; no 
 Temple could. It ain't so!" 
 
 "Call me a liar?" cried Terry, a sudden flam- 
 ing, surging, hot current in her cheeks, her eyes 
 blazing. "You are a horrid old man. I always 
 knew you were a horrid old man and you are a 
 lot horrider than I thought you were. And 
 you just call me a liar again, Hell-Fire Packard, 
 and I'll slap your face for you !" 
 
 For a moment, gripped by his ever-ready rage, 
 the old man stood towering over her, looking down 
 with blazing eyes into eyes which blazed back, a 
 little tremor visibly shaking him as though he 
 were tempted almost beyond resistance to lay his 
 hands on her and punish her impudence. A 
 bright, almost eager, fearlessness shone in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "I dare you," said Terry. "Old man that you 
 are, I'll slap you so that you'd know who it is 
 you're insulting. Pirate!" she flung at him. 
 "And land-hog- Oh ! 
 
 "Doctor Bridges, you are to come with me 
 right now." She had flung about giving her 
 shoulder to Packard's inspection. "We must 
 hurry back to Red Creek." 
 
 "Say, Packard," chimed in Guy Little. "Her 
 272 
 
A Gate and a Record Smashed 
 
 car's all shot to pieces. An' her gas is all gone. 
 An' her ol' man is awful sick in Red Creek an' 
 needin' a doc in a hurry or not any. You un- 
 derstan' " 
 
 "What's it got to do with me ?" boomed Hell- 
 Fire Packard. "What do I care whether her old 
 thief of a father dies to-night or next week ? 
 What do I " 
 
 "Aw, rats," grunted Guy Little. "What's 
 eatin' you, Packard? Listen to me: She says 
 how she done it in fifty-three minutes an' you 
 can't do it any better'n fifty-seven; how you ain't 
 no dead-game sport noways; how she's short of 
 change but would bet a man fifty dollars you 
 couldn't an' wouldn't." 
 
 "She said them things?" roared the old man. 
 
 "I" began Terry. 
 
 "She did!" answered Guy Little hastily and 
 loudly. "She did!" 
 
 "Bridges," snapped old Packard, "grab your 
 hat an' black poison bag an' be ready in two 
 minutes." Packard was on his way to the door. 
 "Guy Little, you get my car at the front door 
 quick ! An' as for you " He was at the door 
 and half turned to stare angrily into Terry's 
 eyes "You can do what you please. I'm goin' 
 to take the only pill-slinger in the country to 
 
 273 
 
Man to Man 
 
 the worst ol' thief I ever heard a man tell 
 about." 
 
 "I'm going back with you," said Terry briefly. 
 
 Old man Packard shrugged. Then he laughed. 
 
 "If you ain't scared," he grunted, "to ride 
 alongside a man as swears, so help him God, in 
 spite of smash-bang-an'-be-damn', is goin' to make 
 that little run back to Red Creek in less'n fifty 
 
 minutes !" 
 
 "Mind you," said old man Packard at the front 
 door, his eye stony as it marked how Terry's 
 car stood among his choice roses, "I ain't doin' 
 this because I got any use for a Temple, he or she. 
 Especially she. You jus' get that in your head, 
 young lady. An' before we start let me tell you 
 one more thing: You keep your two han's ofFn my 
 gran'son !" 
 
 "What! "gasped Terry. 
 
 "I said it," he fairly snorted. "Come on there, 
 Guy Little, with that car. Ready there, Bridges, 
 you ol' fool ? Pile in." 
 
 He took his seat at the wheel, his old black hat 
 pushed far back on his head, his eye already on 
 the clock in the dash. Terry slipped ahead of 
 Doctor Bridges and took her seat at the old man's 
 side. 
 
 "You said just what ?" she demanded icily. 
 274 
 
A Gate and a Record Smashed 
 
 "I said/' he cried savagely, "as I know how 
 you been chasm' my fool of a gran'son Stephen, 
 an' as how you got to stop it. I won't have you 
 makin' a bigger fool out'n him than he already is." 
 
 Terry sat rigid, speechless, grown suddenly 
 cold. For once in her life no ready answer sprang 
 to her lips. 
 
 Then Hell-Fire Packard had started his engine, 
 sounded his horn, and they were on their way. 
 And Terry, because no words would come, put her 
 head back and laughed in a way that, as she knew 
 perfectly well, would madden him. 
 
 The drive from Hell-Fire Packard's front door 
 to the store in Red Creek was made in some few 
 negligible seconds over forty-eight minutes. The 
 three occupants of the car reached town alive. 
 Never in her life after that night would Terry 
 Temple doubt that there was a Providence which 
 at critical times took into its hands the destinies 
 of men. 
 
 There had been never a word spoken until they 
 had come to the gate which had closed behind 
 Terry on the way out. Old man Packard had 
 looked at speedometer, clock and obstruction. 
 Terry had seen his hands tighten on his wheel. 
 
 "Set tight an' hang on," he had commanded 
 sharply. 
 
 275 
 
Man to Man 
 
 The big front tires and bumper struck the gate; 
 there was a wild flying of splinters and at sixty 
 miles an hour they went through and on to Red 
 Creek. 
 
 "The old devil !" whispered Terry within her- 
 self. "The old devil !" 
 
 276 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 PACKARD WRATH AND TEMPLE RAGE 
 
 NO far-sighted, inspired prophet's services 
 were needed to predict a rather stormy scene 
 upon the arrival of old Hell-Fire Packard and Miss 
 Terry Temple at the place of the storekeeper of 
 Red Creek. It was to be expected that Steve 
 Packard would be on hand; that he would be im- 
 patiently awaiting the drum of a racing motor; 
 that he would be on the sidewalk to greet Temple's 
 daughter. 
 
 " Terry !" he called. "So soon ?" 
 
 He couldn't have made a worse beginning had 
 he pondered the matter long and diabolically. 
 Blenham had been right and Steve had had am- 
 ple time to admit the fact utterly and completely; 
 now there was a ringing note in his voice, the 
 effect of which, falling upon his grandfather's 
 ears, might be likened with no great stretch of 
 imagination to that of a spark in a keg of gun- 
 powder. 
 
 The old man's brakes, applied emphatically, 
 brought his car to a standstill. 
 
 "Look at that clock!" was his first remark, 
 277 
 
Man to Man 
 
 at once apprising Steve of his relative's presence 
 and hinting, by means of its no uncertain tone, 
 at an unpleasant situation on hand or about to 
 burst upon them. "Made it in fifty-three min- 
 utes, did you ? Well, I done it in less'n forty- 
 nine ! What have you got to say about that ?" 
 
 But Terry ignored him and jumped down, her 
 hand impulsively laid on Steve's arm. Thus she, 
 in her turn, may be said to have added another 
 spark to young Packard's in the powder keg. 
 
 "How's dad ?" she asked quickly. 
 
 Steve patted the hand on his arm and either 
 Terry did not notice the act or did not mind. Old 
 man Packard both noted and minded. His grunt 
 was to be heard above Doctor Bridges's devout 
 "Thank God, we're here!" as the physician 
 stepped stiffly to the sidewalk. 
 
 "Better," said Steve. "I think he's going to 
 be all right after all. I hope so. He " 
 
 "Blenham ?" she asked insistently. "He didn't 
 put one over on you ? The mortgage " 
 
 Steve tapped his breast pocket. 
 
 "The papers have been signed; we got a no- 
 tary; everything is shipshape. Go in; I'll tell 
 you all about it later." 
 
 He turned toward the car and the stiffened 
 figure of the man gripping the wheel with tense, 
 hard hands. 
 
 278 
 
Packard Wrath and Temple Rage 
 
 "Grandy " 
 
 "Grandy, your foot!" boomed old Packard 
 suddenly, one hand jerked away to be clenched 
 into a lifted fist. "An' Terry! My God!" 
 
 "What do you mean ?" asked Steve. "I don't 
 understand." 
 
 "I mean," shouted Packard senior, his voice 
 shaking with emotion, "that no mouth in the 
 world is big enough to hold them two words the 
 same night ! If you want to chum with any Tem- 
 ple livin', he-Temple or she-Temple, if, sir, you 
 intend to go 'round slobberin' over the low-down 
 enemies of your own father an* father's father, 
 why, sir, then I'm Mr. Packard to you and the 
 likes of you !" 
 
 Still was Steve mystified. 
 
 "I thought," he muttered, "that since you two 
 came together, since you yourself have driven her 
 in " 
 
 "If I, sir," thundered his grandfather, "have 
 chosen to bring that petticoated wildcat there an' 
 that oP pill-slinger from my place to Red Creek 
 in a shake less'n forty-nine minutes jus* to show 
 her that anything on God's earth done by a Tem- 
 ple can be better done by a Packard you got 
 to go to thinkin' things, have you? Why, sir, 
 so help me, sir, I've a notion to jump down right 
 now an' give you the horsewhippin' of your life ! " 
 
 279 
 
Man to Man 
 
 Steve, in spite of himself, chuckled. Terry, 
 reassured about her father, giggled. Both sounds 
 were audible; the two, mingled, were entirely too 
 much to be borne. 
 
 "You you disgrace to an honorable name," 
 the old man called bitterly and wrathfully. 
 "You " 
 
 He broke off, hesitated, glared from Steve 
 at the car's side to Terry already on the steps of 
 the store, and concluded something more quietly 
 though not a whit less furiousfy for all that: 
 "You speak of papers signed. You don't mean 
 you're actually havin' any kind of business 
 dealin's, frien'ly dealin's, with the Temples ?" 
 
 "Blenham brought word you were foreclosing 
 on Temple; he had some sort of a crooked scheme 
 to cheat Temple out of his land. I have just 
 framed a deal whereby I put up the money to 
 pay you your mortgage and " 
 
 "You? You, Stephen Packard?" 
 
 "Yes," said Steve, wondering whether the old 
 man were the more moved because of the shock of 
 finding his nephew able to pay off" so large a sum 
 or because of the "frien'ly dealin's with the 
 Temples." 
 
 There was a brief silence. Doctor Bridges 
 mounted the steps; he and Terry were going in. 
 Then again Hell-Fire Packard's voice burst out 
 
 280 
 
Packard Wrath and Temple Rage 
 
 violently and Terry stopped short, her hands 
 going suddenly to her breast. Her face, could 
 they have noted in the pale light, was flaming 
 scarlet. 
 
 "That hussy, that jade, that Jezebel!" came 
 the ringing denunciation. "The tricky, shame- 
 less, penurious, graspin' unprincipled little she- 
 devil ! She's after you, my boy, after you hard. 
 An', you poor miserable blind worm of a fool, you 
 ain't got the sense to see it ! Everybody knows 
 it; the whole country's talkin' about it; how 
 Temple's baitin' his trap with her an' she's baitin' 
 her trap with herself an' " 
 
 "Grandfather!" cried Steve, his own face flush- 
 ing under the scathing torrent. "You don't 
 know what you are saying!" 
 
 "I know what he's saying." 
 
 Terry, her hands still tight pressed to her 
 breast, came slowly down the steps. Though 
 but a moment had passed her face was now dead 
 white in the moonlight. 
 
 "You are saying," and her eyes shone straight 
 up into the old man's, "that I am setting a trap 
 for your grandson ? That I, Teresa Arriega Tem- 
 ple, would for an instant consider a Packard, the 
 son and the grandson of a Packard, as worthy of 
 shining my boots for me ? Why, I spit upon the 
 two of you ! " 
 
 281 
 
Man to Man 
 
 She whirled and was gone into the house. 
 Steve instead of watching her going kept his eyes 
 hard upon his grandfather's face. Now that the 
 door closed he said quietly: 
 
 "Grandfather, we have seen rather little of 
 each other. I think we had better see even less 
 from now on. You have insulted that girl in 
 a way that makes me want to climb into your 
 car and drag you down and beat you half to 
 death!" 
 
 His restraint was melting under the fire of his 
 passion; his voice grew less quiet and began to 
 tremble. 
 
 "I am going to make that girl the next Mrs. 
 Packard or know the reason why!" 
 
 "Defy me, do you? Defy me an' go an' run 
 with a pack of thieves an' " 
 
 "That's enough!" shouted Steve. "I am 
 going right straight and ask her " 
 
 "Ask her an' hell swallow you!" came the 
 vociferous permission from the infuriated old 
 man. "But remember one thing: Blenham has 
 slipped up to-night, maybe, an' let you an' her 
 an' her lyin', thievin', scoundrelly father steal 
 a march on me. But it's the last one; mark 
 that ! Blenham gets his orders straight from me 
 to-night; he goes after you to break you, smash 
 you, literally pull you to pieces root an' branch 
 
 282 
 
Packard Wrath and Temple Rage 
 
 an' with me an* Blenham workin' on the job night 
 an' day, stoppin' at nothin'. Hear me ? I mean 
 it !" His two fists were now lifted high above his 
 head. "Stoppin' at nothin' I'll step on you an' 
 your Temple frien's like you was a nest of cater- 
 pillars. You hear me, Stephen !" 
 
 But Stephen, his lips tight pressed as he fought 
 with himself to keep his hands off his own father's 
 father, turned and went the way Terry had gone. 
 
 "You hear me, Stephen. There's nothin' I'll 
 stop at to smash you!" 
 
 So his grandfather's voice followed him mightily. 
 But young Packard had already set his thought 
 upon another matter. Before him in the tiny 
 living-room of the ramshackle store building a 
 kerosene lamp was burning palely and lying upon 
 an old sofa, face down, shaken with sobs was 
 Terry. 
 
 "Terry!" he called softly. "Your father 
 isn't " 
 
 He thought that she had not heard. He came 
 closer and laid his hand gently there was a 
 deep tenderness even in the action upon her 
 shoulder. But Terry had heard and now flung 
 his hand violently aside and sprang to her feet, 
 her eyes blazing angrily into his. 
 
 "My father is asleep. Doctor Bridges rather 
 thinks there is nothing very much the matter 
 
 283 
 
Man to Man 
 
 with him," she remarked crisply. "I am sorry I 
 troubled you in any way, Mr. Packard. You say 
 you arranged matters with dad ? Well, I want you 
 to tear up the papers; I'll see that your money is 
 returned to you." 
 
 "Terry!" he muttered. 
 
 Then she flared out hotly, her two small hands 
 clenched at her sides, her chin lifted, her voice a 
 new voice in his ears, bitter and hostile. 
 
 "Don't you Terry me, Steve Packard! Now 
 or ever again. I am sorry that I ever saw you; 
 I am ashamed that I ever spoke to you. I had 
 rather be dead or yes, I'd rather be in Blenham's 
 arms than have you look at me !" 
 
 "Good Lord !" ejaculated Steve, utterly at sea. 
 "I don't understand." 
 
 "You don't have to," snapped Terry. "All 
 you've got to know is that I won't have anything 
 further in any way whatever to do with you. I 
 won't have you helping us with our mortgage; I 
 won't have you advancing money to us; I won't 
 stand one little minute for any of your your 
 wretched interference with our affairs ! If you 
 think you can can butt in on our side of any 
 fight in the world " 
 
 She ended abruptly, beginning to flounder, 
 panting so that the swift rise and fall of her 
 
 284 
 
Packard Wrath and Temple Rage 
 
 breast was an outward token of inward emotion. 
 Steve Packard stared and flushed hotly and began 
 to feel his own anger mount quickly. 
 
 "Butt in on your affairs!" he snorted after a 
 fashion more than vaguely reminiscent of his 
 grandfather. "I like that! As if I'd have come 
 a step without your invitation." 
 
 And so he blurted out the one thing he should 
 have left unsaid, the thing which already rankled 
 in Terry's proud heart. She had asked him to 
 come; she had in a way suggested a a sort of 
 partnership. 
 
 "Oh ! how I hate you !" cried Terry. "You 
 you Packard !" 
 
 "If there's some crime, some string of crimes 
 that I have committed " 
 
 "Will you tear up those papers? Til get you 
 back your money. Will you tear up those 
 papers ?" 
 
 "Will you explain what's gone wrong ?" 
 
 "I will not." 
 
 He shrugged exasperatingly. 
 
 "I'll keep the papers," he returned stonily. 
 "I put over rather a good deal to-night, come to 
 think of it." 
 
 He put on his hat, jamming it down tight, and 
 half turned to go. 
 
 285 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "When you want to talk ranch matters over 
 with me come to my ranch-house, little pard- 
 ner!" 
 
 "Oh!" cried Terry. "Oh!" 
 
 286 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE HAND OF BLENHAM 
 
 C TT V ACH man's life is what he shapes it for 
 
 LLJ himself/' 
 
 "A stupid, bare-faced, platitudinous lie!" 
 
 Steve Packard, grown irritable here of late, flung 
 the offending book through an open window and 
 got to his feet. 
 
 "A man's life is what the evil little gods of 
 chance make it, curse them. Or what a fool of 
 a girl tangles and twists it into." 
 
 He shook himself viciously and went to his 
 door, staring out across the hills vaguely moulded 
 under the stars. 
 
 Life was just a very unsatisfactory sort of a 
 proposition. It was a game that wasn't worth 
 the players' serious attention, a game all of chance 
 and not in the least of skill, and not even interest- 
 ing ! So, in the sombre depths of his soul Steve 
 Packard admitted freely. And, until a certain 
 night only some six months ago, he had never 
 divined this great truth. 
 
 That night Blenham had sneered, "Stuck on 
 her yourself, are you ?" and Steve had recognized 
 
 287 
 
Man to Man 
 
 a vital fact inelegantly expressed; that night Terry 
 Temple had appeared to him more than just a 
 "good little sport"; that night he had somewhat 
 brusquely considered the sweet femininity of her 
 under her assumed surface of diablerie and had 
 found her infinitely desirable; that same night 
 Terry, for no reason in the world that Steve Pack- 
 ard could discover, had suddenly congealed into 
 a thing of ice that had never since thawed save 
 only briefly before burning fits of wrath. 
 
 Two hours after he had admitted to himself 
 that he loved her she informed him with all of the 
 emphasis she could summon for the occasion that 
 she hated him. And life hadn't been what he 
 had made it at all. 
 
 The papers which Temple had signed were still 
 in existence, safely deposited in a bank in San 
 Juan. Steve had paid off the Temple mortgage 
 to his grandfather; he had paid Temple a thou- 
 sand dollars in cash; thereby he had acquired a 
 half interest in the Temple ranch. That had 
 all been quite in accordance with Terry's sugges- 
 tions and entirely satisfactory. 
 
 Not being a thief, Steve counted upon relin- 
 quishing his right to his half at any time that 
 Temple paid back just what had been advanced. 
 But it became evident very soon that Temple 
 would never pay back anything. Though Doctor 
 
 288 
 
The Hand of Blenham 
 
 Bridges found nothing very much the matter 
 with him, nevertheless Temple died less than two 
 weeks later. 
 
 During those two weeks Steve had not seen 
 Terry. With word of the girl's bereavement, 
 however, he had gone immediately to her. She 
 looked at him curiously, saying quietly that the 
 boys were doing all that was necessary and had 
 asked him to go. 
 
 Then, after another two weeks, he had ridden 
 again to the Temple ranch. He found it deserted, 
 doors and windows shut, dead leaves thick in the 
 path. His heart sank and thereafter knocked 
 hard at his ribs; Terry was gone and had said 
 nothing to him. He turned and went home, bitter 
 and angry and hurt. 
 
 Where had she gone ? He didn't know; he 
 told himself he didn't care; certainly he would 
 bite his tongue out before he would ask any of 
 her friends. But he knew within himself that he 
 did care as he had cared about nothing else in the 
 world; and he asked himself a thousand times: 
 "Where has Terry gone?" 
 
 For the world was not right without her; the 
 sunlight was thin; the season of bursting buds 
 was but a pale, lack-lustre imitation of spring. 
 And as the long, hot days dragged by and the ver- 
 dure died on hill and plain and dusty mountain- 
 
 289 
 
Man to Man 
 
 side, he asked himself "When will she come back 
 to us?" 
 
 Long after every one else had heard and for- 
 gotten the story, or at least had given over all 
 thinking upon it, Steve heard how Terry had 
 drawn against the last of the inconsiderable legacy 
 left her long ago by her Spanish mother, and had 
 gone to San Juan. 
 
 She had friends there; the banker's wife, Mrs. 
 Engle and her fluffy-haired daughter, Florrie, 
 had opened their arms to her and made her tarry 
 with them until the family made their annual 
 trip East. Then Terry had gone with them. 
 
 And never a word to Steve Packard. He 
 cursed himself, tried to curse her, and found 
 that he couldn't quite make a go of it, and settled 
 down to good, hard work and the job of forgetting 
 what a pair of gray eyes looked like and how two 
 certain red lips smiled and the tinkly notes of a 
 laughing voice. 
 
 In the good, hard work of stock ranching he 
 succeeded more than well; in the other task he 
 set himself he failed utterly. Never, when alone 
 out on the range a shadow fell across, did he fail 
 to look up quickly with his lips half forming to 
 the word, "Terry !" And, after all this time, still 
 no word from her, no word of her. 
 
 Eight thousand dollars he had paid to Temple. 
 290 
 
The Hand of Blenham 
 
 The remaining two thousand of his father's heri- 
 tage he had turned over promptly to his grand- 
 father to apply on his own indebtedness. He had 
 consulted with Bill Royce and Barbee and had 
 cut down his crew of men, thereby curtailing 
 expenses. 
 
 He had sold a few head of beef cattle and banked 
 the money for the men's wages and current ex- 
 penses. By the same means he had managed to 
 keep abreast of his interest payments to old man 
 Packard and had even paid off a little more of the 
 principal. Then, catching the market right "go- 
 ing and coming," he had bought a lot of young 
 cattle from an overstocked ranch adjoining, and 
 had made a second profitable sale a month 
 later. 
 
 Finally, to indicate that he was still in the game 
 and playing it to win, consequently overlooking 
 never a bet, he had cashed in pretty fortunately 
 on a section of his timber-land. 
 
 The Rollston mills were just opening upon the 
 other side of the mountains; he showed the firm's 
 buyer a stretch of his big timber and closed the 
 deal to their common satisfaction. And with 
 every deal of this sort old man Packard felt his 
 grip being pried loose from Ranch Number Ten. 
 
 From the beginning Steve had been puzzled 
 to know what to do with the Temple outfit. Terry 
 
 291 
 
Man to Man 
 
 had paid off the men and had let them go; the 
 stock .on the place she had left, and without a 
 word, to Steve's care. Since the place was well 
 stocked, chiefly with young cattle, there was 
 enough here to demand the attention which so 
 busy a man as Steve Packard could not give. 
 
 He talked matters over with Bill Royce and in 
 the end sent both Bill and Barbee to the Temple 
 place, riding over once or twice a week himself 
 to see how matters went. 
 
 And so the months dragged by. Twice, swear- 
 ing to himself that he was doing so only because 
 the management of the business made it absolutely 
 necessary, Steve wrote to Terry. He got no 
 answer. He did not even know if she had re- 
 ceived his notes. The first he had signed, by the 
 way, "Yours very truly, Steve." The second 
 ended "Respectfully, S. Packard." 
 
 "Terry's havin' the time of her life," Bill 
 Royce startled him by announcing one day out of 
 a clear sky. 
 
 "How do you know?" asked Steve sharply. 
 
 "Oh, she writes letters to her frien's," said 
 Royce. "One of the boys brought word from the 
 Norton place. Terry wrote her an* wrote some 
 folks in Red Creek an' wrote the Lanes an' ' 
 
 "Appears to be quite a letter-writer," remarked 
 292 
 
The Hand of Blenham 
 
 Steve stiffly. "And she's having the time of her 
 life, is she ?" 
 
 "Sure," said Royce innocently. "Why not? 
 The boys are bettin' she's dead gone on some 
 young down-East jasper an* that maybe she'll be 
 married in no time. What do you think, huh, 
 Steve?" 
 
 "Where is she ?" demanded Steve, very brusque 
 about it. 
 
 "Blessed if I know," admitted Royce. "Chi- 
 cago, I think. Or New York. Or Pennsylvany. 
 One of them towns. Shucks. She'd ought to 
 come on home where she belongs." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said Steve. 
 
 But in Royce's ears the voice didn't ring quite 
 true. It was meant to be careless in the extreme 
 and no, it didn't ring quite true. 
 
 Hot, cloudless skies as the season dragged on, 
 dry, burning fields under a blazing sun, the cattle 
 seeking shade wherever it was to be had, crowding 
 at the water-holes, browsing early and late and 
 frequenting the cooler canons during the heat 
 of the days. And nights of stars and a vast 
 silence and emptiness. 
 
 A girl had come, had for a little posed laughing 
 outlined against the window of a man's soul, had 
 flashed her unforgettable gray eyes at him and 
 had gone. And so, and just because of her, the 
 
 293 
 
Man to Man 
 
 blistering hills seemed but ugly, lonely miles, the 
 nights under a full moon were just the more silent 
 and empty. 
 
 But Steve Packard held on, grown grim 
 and determined. He had entered the game, 
 lightly enough he had demanded his stack of 
 chips, now he would stay for the show-down. 
 Either he would clear his ranch of its mortgage 
 and thus make clear to his meddlesome old grand- 
 parent that he was a man grown and no mere 
 boy to be disciplined and badgered willy-nilly, or 
 else his meddlesome old grandparent would in 
 truth "smash" him. 
 
 In either case there would be the end soon. 
 For, win or lose, Steve, tired of the game, would 
 draw out and set his back to Ranch Number 
 Ten and the country about it and go back to the 
 old rudderless life of vagabondage. Just because 
 a girl had come, had tarried, and then had gone. 
 
 So, though the game had long ago lost its zest, 
 Steve Packard like any other thoroughbred played 
 on for a finish. Now and then, but seldom, he 
 saw Blenham. Often, in little, annoying, mean 
 ways Blenham made himself felt. Early in the 
 season Steve's riders had found three of his steers 
 dead on the outskirts of the range; a rifle bullet 
 had done for each one of them. 
 
 Since old man Packard had promised to stop 
 294 
 
The Hand of Blenham 
 
 at~nothing, since Blenham was full of venom, 
 Steve never for a moment doubted whose hand 
 had fired the three shots. But he merely called 
 his cowboys together, told them what had hap- 
 pened, ordered them to keep their eyes open and 
 their guns oiled, and hoped and longed for the 
 time when he himself could come upon Blen- 
 ham busied with some act like this. 
 
 There were other episodes which he attributed 
 to Blenham though he must admit in each case 
 that anything in the vaguest way approaching a 
 proof was lacking. Just before he closed the 
 deal with the lumber company that had taken 
 over his timber tract a forest fire had broken out. 
 Luck and a fortuitous shifting of the wind had 
 saved him from a heavy loss. 
 
 Incidents, these and others of their kind, to 
 fill Steve Packard with rage; but Blenham's 
 supreme blows Blenham's and old man Packard's 
 were reserved for late in the dry season when 
 they fell hardest. 
 
 A growing shortage of feed and the necessity 
 for cash for the forthcoming substantial sum to 
 be paid on the mortgage held by his grandfather, 
 combined with the fact that his lean acres were 
 overstocked, drove Steve in search of a market 
 late in the summer. Bill Royce shook his head 
 and raised his objections. 
 
 295 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Everybody else is doin' the same thing an* 
 at the same time," he said lugubriously. 
 "Which'll mean the market all glutted up so's 
 you won't get no kind of figger. If you could 
 only hold on till next spring." 
 
 But Steve merely said 
 
 "Oh, well, Bill, it's all in a lifetime," and 
 shaped his plans for a sale. 
 
 And within ten days there came an offer which 
 startled him. It was from the big buyers, Doan, 
 Rockwell, and Haight, who, their communication 
 said, knew his line of stock thoroughly and were 
 prepared to pay the top prices for all he had. He 
 estimated swiftly and sent a man hurrying into 
 town with a message to go by wire; he would 
 round up between a hundred and fifty and two 
 hundred head and would have them in San Juan 
 when desired. 
 
 "Old Doan's a sport and a wise boy, both," 
 announced Steve triumphantly when he made 
 the news known to Bill Royce. "He knows high- 
 grade stuff and he's willing to pay the price." 
 He narrowed his eyes speculatively. "We'll 
 scare up close to two hundred head, William. 
 And they'll bring us just about twenty thousand. 
 Maybe a thousand or so above that. And, Bill, 
 did you ever know the time when twenty thou- 
 sand dollars would look more like twenty thou- 
 
 296 
 
The Hand of Blenham 
 
 sand full moons just showing up over the sky- 
 line?" 
 
 Bill's grin reflected Steve's lively satisfaction. 
 Now there would be the money for old Hell- 
 Fire Packard's next payment, th^re would be a 
 long respite from him, there would be ample feed 
 for the rest of the cattle. Steve might even spend 
 a part of the money for a herd of calves to be had 
 dirt-cheap just now from the Biddle Morris dairy 
 outfit, down near San Juan. 
 
 The prospect was exceedingly bright; just as 
 though in truth a string of full moons were shin- 
 ing down upon them. And still there was the 
 shadow, even at this time, the shadow cast by 
 Terry's absence and silence. If she were only 
 here to rejoice with them. 
 
 Steve snorted his disgust with himself, got on 
 a horse and went streaking across the fields, rid- 
 ing hard as was a habit here of late, yelling an 
 order to Barbee as he went. Barbee's innocent 
 blue eyes followed him thoughtfully: then Bar- 
 bee shrugged and spat and thereafter called to his 
 men to "get busy." The round-up began im- 
 mediately. 
 
 Then came a handful of long, hot, feverishly 
 busy days. Strayed steers carrying the Number 
 Ten brand were hazed back to the big fenced-in 
 meadows from the mountain slopes, were counted 
 
 297 
 
Man to Man 
 
 and held, in an ever-swelling herd. There was 
 little rest for the men, who, shifted from one 
 sweating horse to another, rode late and early. 
 
 Word came from Doan setting the date for the 
 delivery in San Juan. Steve wired his satisfac- 
 tion with the arrangement, undertaking to have 
 the cattle in the stock pens just out of the town 
 two or three days before Doan's coming. And 
 no one knew better than did Steve Packard the 
 true size of the job he had on his hands at this 
 time of year and with a herd of close to two hun- 
 dred wild steers. 
 
 The drive began one morning in the dark long 
 before the dawn. Steve estimated that he could 
 make the Rio Frio the first night and had arranged 
 beforehand with the Talbot boys for the night's 
 pasturage. The second day would find them on 
 the edge of the bad lands; his wagons hauling 
 baled hay were to push on ahead and be waiting 
 at the only sufficient water-holes to be found 
 within a number of miles. San Juan in four days 
 was the schedule. 
 
 "We'll lose weight all along the road," he con- 
 ceded. "But it can't be helped. And a couple 
 of day's rest and lots of feed and water in San 
 Juan before Doan shows up will put back a part of 
 the lost weight." 
 
 He had made allowances for a hard drive. 
 298 
 
The Hand of Blenham 
 
 Nevertheless the actuality was a sterner matter 
 than he had foreseen. All along the way the feed 
 was scant. Water was low in the holes, Rio Frio 
 for the first time in years was a mere series of 
 shallow pools. The blazing heat was such that 
 men and horses and steers all suffered terribly. 
 
 At the end of the second day he ordered a full 
 dozen of the less hardy of his beasts cut out from 
 the herd and turned into a neighboring range; 
 it was questionable if they "would have been able 
 to drag on the two remaining days and even had 
 they done so they would have brought no top 
 price from the buyer. 
 
 The drive was made on schedule time. Cir- 
 cumstances not only permitted but insisted. 
 There were no places for loitering, there were 
 only the major water-holes upon which Steve 
 had counted, the distances between them regu- 
 lating eacb*aday's progress. And so the stock 
 was in San Juan a full two days before the time 
 for Doan's coming. 
 
 For Steve the two days dragged heavily. He 
 camped with his herd on the edge of the settle- 
 ment, allowing the boys to disport themselves as 
 they saw fit a large part of the time, himself hav- 
 ing little desire for the bad whiskey and crooked 
 gaming of La Casa Blanca. 
 
 Tuesday morning Doan was to arrive. Steve 
 299 
 
Man to Man 
 
 met the stage and one glance showed him that 
 Doan was not on it. He asked the driver if he 
 knew anything of Doan and the man shook his 
 head. Steve supposed that he was coming up 
 from the railroad by auto and so idled about the 
 town all forenoon, waiting. 
 
 By midday, when Doan still failed to put in 
 an appearance, Steve had grown impatient. By 
 the middle of the afternoon his impatience gave 
 place to anger. He had kept his appointment 
 bringing his herds over a hard trail, and Doan 
 with nothing to do but travel luxuriously, had 
 failed him. 
 
 But it was not until the stage came in Wednes- 
 day morning and again brought no Doan and no 
 word of Doan that Steve telephoned a message to 
 the nearest Western Union office at Bidwell de- 
 manding to know what the trouble was. Not only 
 was he on heavy expenses; his mood never had 
 been one to take kindly to the long waiting game. 
 And yet he was forced to wait all that day and all 
 the next day with no word from Doan. 
 
 He telegraphed again Wednesday night, a 
 third time Thursday morning. No answers came. 
 But a little before noon, Thursday, Doan came. 
 Came by automobile from the railroad, a man with 
 him. Steve saw them as they drove into town; 
 he noted Doan's thin face and his tall form in the 
 
 300 
 
The Hand of Blenham 
 
 gray linen duster; then he marked the man with 
 him. The man was Blenham. 
 
 Steve, raw-nerved through these long hours of 
 inaction and uncertainty, pushed straightway to 
 Doan bent upon demanding an explanation. He 
 got an inkling of one from an unexpected quarter, 
 Blenham's lips. 
 
 "We sure appreciate this, Mr. Doan," Blenham 
 said, getting down and offering his hand to the 
 cattle-buyer. "Count on me an* ol' rnan Packard 
 doin' you a favor any time. So long." 
 
 And casting to Steve a look of blended triumph 
 and venom he hurried down to the stable and his 
 horse. 
 
 "Mr. Doan," said Steve bluntly, "what in 
 hell's name do you mean by treating me this 
 way?" 
 
 Doan turned his thin impassive face with the 
 hawk-eyes toward young Packard. 
 
 "Who do you happen to be ?" he asked coolly. 
 
 "I'm Steve Packard from Ranch Number 
 Ten. And I've got a herd of steers out here 
 that's been waiting for you some time now." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Doan, still very cool. "Got 
 my wire, didn't you, saying that I was unavoid- 
 ably detained ?" 
 
 "I did not!" snapped Steve. "Detained by 
 what? Blenham?" 
 
 301 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Strange," murmured Doan. 
 
 He got down from his car and stretched his 
 long legs. 
 
 "I've had a new secretary, Mr. Packard. I 
 found out that he drank. He has been discharged. 
 Hem. Let me see: you've got about fifty steers, 
 haven't you ? " 
 
 "I've got a hundred and eighty-six," Steve said 
 sharply, staring at Doan's inscrutable face and 
 wondering just what was up. 
 
 "A hundred and eighty-six!" Doan shook his 
 head. "I couldn't take that many on just now; 
 I've made other plans. Unless, of course, you 
 are in a position to tempt me to buy by making me 
 a very attractive figure!" 
 
 Steve came a sudden step nearer, his eyes 
 blazing, his two fists clenched. 
 
 "What's this game of yours?" he demanded. 
 "Out with it. What are you up to ? You wired 
 me an offer of ten to twelve cents, twelve and a 
 half for the fancy." 
 
 "What!" cried Doan. "Why, my dear fel- 
 low, you must have lost your senses ! With the 
 market the way it is now I don't have to pay 
 more than seven and eight cents." 
 
 Steve waited for no more. His days of wait- 
 ing were past. He drew back, swung from the 
 shoulder and struck with all of his might. His 
 
 302 
 
The Hand of Blenham 
 
 fist against Doan's chin hurled the lean body of 
 the cattle-buyer half across the street. 
 
 "Barbee," said Steve quietly, "round up the 
 boys. We start our herd back in ten minutes." 
 
 And Barbee, taking stock of Steve's white face, 
 went hastily on his errand. 
 
 303 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 STEVE RIDES BY THE TEMPLE PLACE 
 
 *TP\EAR me, Mr. Man! How savage you do 
 
 LJ look!" 
 
 Steve started and whirled. No; this time he 
 was not dreaming. It was Terry. 
 
 Terry laughed lightly, deliciously. She had 
 grown prettier. She had learned a new way to 
 smile. No, it was just the old way, after all. 
 But she had discovered a new way to do her hair, 
 an amazingly charming way. Her lips were 
 redder than ever before; her eyes were gayer and 
 grayer and softer and sweeter. Her voice tinkled 
 with new, thrilling music. She was just exactly 
 perfect in Steve Packard's eyes. 
 
 "You're super," said Steve. "You're super- 
 lative. You haven't done a thing all these long, 
 weary months except grow more devilishly at- 
 
 tractive." 
 
 "Are you as savage as you looked ?" she asked 
 swiftly. 
 
 For a brief instant he turned his eyes away from 
 her and gazed after a herd that was moving slowly 
 toward the north,, Barbee and the other boys 
 heading again toward the home range. But, no 
 
 304 
 
Steve Rides by the Temple Place 
 
 matter what rage and sullen chagrin lay in his 
 heart, his eyes, returning to Terry, showed that 
 already her coming had worked its change. He 
 appeared almost content. 
 
 "Are you going to shake hands ?" he asked. 
 
 "Shall I?" she asked. "We are to be good 
 friends after all?" 
 
 "Or, are you going to kiss me ?" 
 
 Terry arched her brows at him. But there was 
 a live fire in her eyes and a crimsoning tide under 
 her lovely skin. 
 
 "Smarty!" cried the old Terry. "Just try 
 getting fresh with me and you'll get your face 
 slapped!" 
 
 Whereupon Steve's laughter boomed out joy- 
 ously. 
 
 "It's Terry come home again !" he announced to 
 the open meadow about them. "Terry herself." 
 
 Was it Terry herself? She seemed strangely 
 embarrassed all of a sudden. Just why ? Terry 
 didn't know. 
 
 "We are going out in my car," she said hur- 
 riedly. It seemed that she must hasten to make 
 some safe remark each time that his eyes, busied 
 with her, rested upon her eyes. "We'll be at the 
 ranch long before you get your cows home. You 
 may come to see me if you please to." 
 
 "Who is we?" he asked. 
 305 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Oh," said Terry, "that means Mrs. Randall 
 who is going to be cook and chaperon." 
 
 San Juan dozed in the late afternoon heat. 
 The corrals were between them and the quiet 
 street. He threw out his arms, caught Terry 
 in them and kissed her. And Terry, whipping 
 back, slapped his face. 
 
 "You you " she panted, her face scarlet. 
 
 He touched tenderly with his finger-tips the 
 place where her hand had struck him. 
 
 "I'll be over to call on you and Mrs. Randall," 
 he said. "Real soon." 
 
 Now as Steve Packard rode slowly after his 
 cowboys and a diminishing herd, the dust-filled air, 
 dry and hot as it was, seemed sweet and caress- 
 ing to his temples, his eyes mused happily. Blen- 
 ham had just worsted him, Blenham had tricked 
 him, had put him to the heavy expense of the 
 long drive, had knocked his steers up for him, had 
 laughed at him. 
 
 Very well; tally for Blenham. A matter to 
 be considered in due time. A body blow, per- 
 haps, but then what in God's good world is a 
 strong body for if not to buffet and be buffeted ? 
 He and Blenham would come to grips again, soon 
 or late, and in some way still hidden by the future 
 matters would finally adjust themselves. 
 
 306 
 
Steve Rides by the Temple Place 
 
 All considerations with which only some dim 
 future was concerned. Just now, in the living, 
 breathing, quivering present there was room for 
 but the one thought : Terry had come back to him. 
 
 Yes. Terry had come back to him. And he 
 had kissed her. And she had slapped him. He 
 smiled and again his finger-tips went their way 
 tenderly to his cheek. He had kissed her because 
 he loved her, meaning her no harm, offering her no 
 insult. She had slapped him because she was 
 Terry, and because she couldn't very well help it. 
 Not because she did not love him ! 
 
 Somewhere in the world, off in some misty dis- 
 tance, there was a man named Blenham, a trick- 
 ery, treacherous, cruel hound of a man. He 
 would require attention presently. Just now 
 
 "You've come back to me! >J whispered Steve 
 Packard. 
 
 And he sighed and shook himself and wished 
 longingly that the return drive were over and that 
 he had a bath and a shave and were just calling 
 at the Temple ranch. 
 
 Though presently he overhauled his men Steve 
 rode all that day pretty well apart, maintaining a 
 thoughtful silence which Barbee and the others 
 supposed had to do solely with the failure of his 
 plans for a good market. His men knew that he 
 had banked pretty heavily on this deal; and that 
 
 307 
 
Man to Man 
 
 now again he would be confronted by the old 
 problem of finding sufficient feed to pull his 
 herds through. 
 
 Hay was scarce and high and would need to 
 be hauled far, making its final cost virtually pro- 
 hibitive. The herders, grumbling among them- 
 selves, were for the most part of the opinion that 
 he should have accepted his defeat at Blenham's 
 hands and sold to Doan at a sacrifice figure. 
 
 That night they camped at the Bitter Springs, 
 making but a brief stop to water and feed and 
 rest the road-weary cattle. Then in the night 
 and moving slowly they pushed on planning to 
 get to the next water-holes before the heat of an- 
 other day. And now Steve, giving his orders to 
 Barbee, left them and struck out ahead. 
 
 There was small need of accommodating his 
 impatience to the sluggish progress of the leg- 
 dragging brutes and there were matters to be 
 arranged. Further, it was his intention to have 
 a talk with Terry Temple just as soon as might 
 be. 
 
 That day Terry's automobile with shrieking 
 horn swept on by him. He caught a glimpse of 
 two veils, a brown and a black; the car's top was 
 up. Terry appeared not to see him. 
 
 "She hasn't lost a speck of her impudence!" 
 
 He frowned after her departing car, praying 
 308 
 
Steve Rides by the Temple Place 
 
 in his heart for a puncture or a stalled engine. 
 She deserved as much for the way in which she 
 tooted her infernal horn. But his prayer went 
 unanswered and his displeasure vanished presently 
 as he pushed on steadily in her wake, eager to 
 come to the end of his ride. 
 
 But he must never entirely forget the panting 
 herd straggling on far behind him, choking and 
 coughing in its own dust. He must arrange some- 
 where, somehow for pasturage. So he made a 
 detour and looked in on Brocky Lane first, then 
 on Rod Norton. Both old friends were glad to see 
 him and gave him hard brown hands in grips 
 that were good to feel. 
 
 But they merely shook their heads when he 
 mentioned his errand. Lane had sold a few head 
 last week; Norton was afraid that he would have 
 to make a sacrifice sale himself. They would do 
 anything that they could but it was only too clear 
 that they could not give him that which they them- 
 selves did not have and could not get. 
 
 "Old man Packard," offered Norton bluntly, 
 "is the only man I can think of who has pasture 
 to rent. Drop Off Valley, just up in the moun- 
 tains back of your place." 
 
 Steve laughed shortly and swung up into his 
 saddle. 
 
 "So long, Nort," he said colorlessly. "The old 
 
 309 
 
Man to Man 
 
 man would burn his grass off before he'd let me 
 have it." 
 
 And he rode on, two problems in his mind, both 
 growing more difficult as he drew nearer the home 
 ranch. Problem One : Just what was Terry going 
 to say ? Problem Two: How was he going to pull 
 his stock through ? 
 
 As though he did not already have enough on 
 his hands, Bill Royce greeted him at the home 
 ranch-house with the significant word 
 
 "Trouble!" 
 
 "I know it," grunted Packard, swinging down 
 stiffly from his saddle. "What kind this time, 
 Bill?" 
 
 " Blenham-brand, I'd reckon," said Bill angrily. 
 Steve noted that both of the old hand's cheeks 
 were flushed hotly. "Barbee telephoned in about 
 four hours ago. Seven steers dead, some more 
 sick. An'," the explanation coming quickly, 
 "Barbee's got the hunch Blenham had rode on 
 ahead an' had poisoned the water-holes an' " 
 
 "Damn him !" cried Steve, a sudden fury seem- 
 ing to leap out upon him and take him by the 
 throat. "Am I to stand everything from that 
 man and from my old fiend of a grandfather? 
 It's this and that and any other thing they want 
 to turn loose and here I stick like a cursed toad- 
 stool, doing nothing for want of proof! Proof," 
 
 310 
 
Steve Rides by the Temple Place 
 
 he snorted disgustedly. "Bill Royce, let's quit 
 waiting for anything but just go get the trouble- 
 seeking outfit!" 
 
 "Which sounds good to me," retorted Royce 
 eagerly. 
 
 And yet when his rage cooled a bit Steve ground 
 his teeth in his impotence. He must wait until 
 Barbee came with what God chose to leave him 
 of his steers, he must hear the foreman's account 
 and decide whether Blenham were really at the 
 bottom of this or if it were just his way and his 
 men's to blame all things upon Blenham. 
 
 "The first thing, Bill," he said when he had 
 turned his tired horse loose in the pasture, "is 
 to decide what we are going to do with what cattle 
 Blenham hasn't poisoned for us. We are fed off 
 pretty short down at this end. I'll ride over to 
 the Temple place and see if we can't arrange with 
 Miss Terry to run a few head there." 
 
 "Yes," said Royce dryly. "I'd hurry if I was 
 you, Steve. But, say!" He slapped his leg 
 and jerked up his head. "How about the old 
 Indian Valley, Drop Off Valley, as they call it 
 now?" 
 
 "Gone crazy, Bill ? When did my grandfather 
 ever show any inclination to help out ? " 
 
 Then Royce, thoroughly excited, explained. 
 Andy Sprague from beyond the ridge had ridden 
 
Man to Man 
 
 by only yesterday afternoon. If Royce had only 
 known at that time that Steve was bringing back 
 the cattle from San Juan he would have arranged 
 with Andy. For the man had said that he had 
 just bought Drop OIF Valley from old Packard; 
 that he wouldn't want the range this year as he 
 had only recently sold close. He would rent and 
 reasonably. 
 
 "There's close on a couple of thousan' acres in 
 there; there's plenty water an' enough good grass 
 to run two or three hundred head easy until your 
 feed comes in again down this way. Nail him, 
 Steve; for the love of Mike, nail Andy Sprague 
 quick before the crooked little cuss finds out jus' 
 how bad you need the pasture an' sticks you ac- 
 cordin'. Go nail him, Steve." 
 
 And Steve, seeing hope like a brightening flush 
 of a new day, hurried to the corrals and a fresh 
 horse. He was going straight after Andy Sprague. 
 But 
 
 "Guess I'll ride by the Temple place," he s?id 
 carelessly. 
 
 312 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 DOWN FROM THE SKY ! 
 
 DROP OFF VALLEY, its name won to it by 
 its salient feature, was but a long, narrow, 
 and very high plateau in the mountains lying to 
 the east of Ranch Number Ten. It was well 
 watered from springs at the upper end which 
 wandered the entire length of the tract and spilled 
 down the cliffs which cut in abrupt fashion across 
 the lower end, making a natural and fearsome 
 boundary. 
 
 From this portion of the "valley" one might 
 kick a stone a sheer and dizzy distance down into 
 the head-waters of Indian Creek, which indicated 
 the beginning of the narrow pass which led through 
 the mountains and to the misty blue hills of Old 
 Mexico. 
 
 Here in the abundant, rich, dry feed wandered 
 upward of two hundred head of Ranch Number 
 Ten and Temple Ranch cattle, mingling freely, 
 the herds of one outfit carrying their brands in 
 and out of the herds of the other. A sign and a 
 token that at last a certain dead-line had ceased 
 to exist. 
 
 Steve had found Andy Sprague, as crooked a 
 313 
 
Man to Man 
 
 little man as he looked to be according to Bill 
 Royce and others who should know, and had ar- 
 ranged with him for the leasing of the mountain 
 pasturage. Less than a week later Sprague was 
 back saying that he had seen Hell-Fire Packard 
 and that that old mountain-lion had roared at 
 him terribly, had threatened him with utter ruin 
 if ever again he helped out Steve Packard and 
 had bade him carry a message. 
 
 "Tell that smart young fool of a gran'son of 
 mine," was the word Sprague gave Steve, "that 
 right now I'm gettin' ready to polish him off final. 
 Tell him what I done to him, blockin' his sale in 
 San Juan, wasn't a patch on what I can do; tell 
 him he'll lose more steers than he ever los' before. 
 Tell him if he don't want to get hisself all mussed 
 up in this deal he'd better come over to my place 
 an' throw up his han's. I'm gettin' mad!" 
 
 Before having these words from Andy Sprague's 
 twisted mouth Steve Packard had been puzzled to 
 explain two matters: According to count, on one 
 hand there were too few cattle by perhaps a score 
 while on another hand there were too many by at 
 least a half dozen. And, though Terry Temple 
 was directly concerned, he had said nothing to her. 
 
 The first mystifying suggestion that some 
 strange juggling of stock had been going on came 
 to him just before he had driven the hundred 
 
Down from the Sky! - 
 
 and eighty-six steers to San Juan. Rounding up 
 his own stock and cutting it out from Temple 
 stock, he had had the opportunity to check up 
 carefully in Terry's interests. 
 
 Calves, cows, steers, and horses, he knew to the 
 head just what Terry numbered them. And in 
 the round-up, going over his figures carefully, 
 he had found that wearing the Temple brand there 
 were six steers more than there should be. A 
 matter of some five or six hundred dollars. 
 
 Were it only the financial end of it Steve would 
 have thought little of the matter. But, going 
 over the herd animal by animal, he made a dis- 
 covery which shocked him. He found six big 
 steers in the lot which wore fairly recently burned 
 Temple brands crudely scrawled over the brands 
 of the Big Bend ranch, old man Packard's favorite 
 outfit in the north. 
 
 It was impossible to know just how long ago 
 a searing-hot iron had altered the range indica- 
 tion of ownership; Steve could merely stare and 
 wonder and finally hazard a guess. Temple had 
 been hard-driven; he had succumbed to tempta- 
 tion and opportunity as he had to whiskey and 
 many other things. Seeing life obliquely he had no 
 doubt told himself that he was squaring accounts. 
 So, in the end, Steve was inclined to believe. 
 
 Just what to do he did not know. It seemed 
 315 
 
Man to Man 
 
 best to him to bide his time, to keep his eyes 
 open, to hope for the way out of an embarrassing 
 situation. He would willingly have made restitu- 
 tion himself, to save Terry from knowing and to 
 save her name from the smudge which old man 
 Packard would eagerly put upon it were he of- 
 fered the opportunity. And right here was the 
 trouble; he did not care to let his grandfather 
 know what had happened. 
 
 While striving with this matter the other was 
 brought to his attention. Also at the time of 
 the round-up Barbee reported a black-and-white 
 steer missing, the prize of the beef herd, said Bar- 
 bee. Strayed into some far out-of-the-way canon, 
 perhaps. But as the days went by other cattle, 
 finally totalling a score, were reported missing. 
 And Steve remembered how one evening he and 
 Terry from a log had watched Blenham driving 
 off a string of steers. 
 
 "My beloved grandfather has no love for the 
 courts of law," mused Steve many a time. "And 
 he knows that in that I am like him. So to his 
 way of thinking it's just Packard eat Packard 
 and the rest of the world 'Hands Off. 9 And so he 
 is going the limit. Well, I guess that's as good a 
 way as any other." 
 
 The day came when Steve put his cattle into 
 Drop Off Valley. The herds, his and Terry's, were 
 
 316 
 
Down from the Sky! 
 
 counted twice, once as they filed through the gate 
 of the round-up corrals, again as they were turned 
 into the upland range. Two hundred and thirty- 
 four head. 
 
 "Two hundred and thirty-four head where 
 I defy Blenham or the devil himself to steal a 
 single one of them/' said Steve positively. 
 
 For though there were no fences here nature 
 had raised sufficient barriers in the way of the 
 sheer Drop Off Chasm cutting across the southern 
 end of the plateau and in rocky, uninviting and 
 all but impassable mountain peaks on north and 
 east and a section of the western boundary. 
 
 It seemed the simplest matter in the world 
 here with but ordinary diligence and vigilance 
 on the part of his cowboys to make good Steve's 
 vow. Therefore, with Barbee in charge of the 
 men here and under instructions to keep the eyes 
 of trusted night riders always open, Steve thought 
 to have heard the last of cattle losses. 
 
 The steers were to be counted every day if 
 Barbee thought necessary; so much Steve had 
 said coolly, merely for the emphasis of the words. 
 Barbee had looked at him curiously, making no 
 rejoinder and going about his business with a 
 puzzled look on his face. 
 
 A week later Barbee reported to Steve down at 
 Ranch Number Ten. 
 
 317 
 
Man to Man 
 
 \ "Five steers gone," he said succinctly, his eyes 
 
 hard and expectant, challenging his employer's. 
 
 "Gone?" repeated Steve. "Where? And 
 when?" 
 
 "I don't know," replied Barbee. "I missed 
 'em four days ago. I wouldn't believe they'd 
 gone for good. I didn't see how they could of 
 gone. I've looked for 'em ever since; I've rode 
 into an' out of every canon an' pass; I've been 
 everywhere they could go. But they're gone. 
 Five big steers." 
 
 For a moment their eyes, Steve's as hard as 
 Barbee's, held steady and unwinking in a deeply 
 probing gaze. 
 
 "Barbee," said Steve after a little, "remember 
 the night Blenham tried to bribe you with a 
 thousand-dollar bill ?" 
 
 Barbee flushed and nodded. 
 
 "I get you," he said quietly. "Think he's 
 bought me up, maybe ?" 
 
 "I don't know what to think. But this much 
 is clear: If you are on the level it's up to you to 
 see that I don't lose any more stock. And it's 
 also up to you to find where those five steers 
 went. And get them back. Every single hoof 
 of them." 
 
 That night Steve himself spent in Drop OfF 
 Valley, a rifle over his arm. He had ordered his 
 men to carry guns, and if Blenham or another 
 
 318 
 
Down from the Sky! 
 
 man were detected driving off his cattle, to shoot 
 and to shoot to kill. 
 
 But the next day he returned to the home 
 ranch. He trusted his cowboys all but Barbee, 
 and in Barbee's case he was not sure what to 
 think and it was only too clear to him that there 
 were enough men there to cope with the situation 
 without his interference. Two days later Bar- 
 bee reported to him again. 
 
 The boy's face was haggard and drawn, his 
 eyes burned sullenly. 
 
 "Six head more gone !" he announced defiantly. 
 His look said plainly: "What are you going to 
 say about it ? They're gone." 
 
 "So you've turned cattle-thief, have you, 
 Barbee ?" was what Steve said. 
 
 A sickly flush stained Barbee's hollow cheeks. 
 
 "No !" he snapped hotly. "I ain't. But " 
 
 He swung on his heel and started to the door. 
 Steve called him back. 
 
 "What are you going to do, Barbee ?" 
 
 "I'm goin' an' get Blenham," said Barbee be- 
 tween his teeth. "I been wantin' him a long 
 time. Now this is his work an' he makes it look 
 like it's mine. I'm goin' an' get him." 
 
 "If it is Blenham," Steve offered coldly, "and 
 if you are playing square with me, how does it 
 happen that he can get away with a thing like 
 this ? Right under your nose and you not 
 
 319 
 
Man to Man 
 
 know? It sounds You know how it sounds, 
 Barbee." 
 
 "I don't know how he does it," growled Bar- 
 bee. "I don't know how a man could run off 
 a string of cows like that in them mountains an' 
 not leave no tracks. Why, there ain't half-a- 
 dozen places where they could be drove out'n 
 the valley an' through the cliffs, an' I been watchin' 
 every one of them places myself all night an' 
 keepin' the other boys ridin' until they're saddle- 
 weary. An' an' six head more gone 
 
 "You're either a clever little actor, Mr. Bar- 
 bee," muttered Steve sharply, "or you are straight, 
 and I'm hanged if I know which. Just leave 
 Blenham alone for a while; go back to your job." 
 
 Barbee, his spurs dragging disconsolately, went 
 out. Steve saw how the boy's shoulders slumped 
 and again asked himself if Barbee were acting or 
 if Blenham were simply too sharp for him ? In 
 the end he decided that he had better move his 
 headquarters to Drop Off Valley. 
 
 That same day there came a cowboy riding from 
 the Big Bend ranch bringing a brief note from 
 Steve's grandfather. It ran: 
 
 DEAR STEPHEN: Better not go too far, my boy. 
 Eye for an eye is first-class gospel. And there ain't 
 no game yet I ever been bluffed out on. Guess you 
 understand. PACKARD. 
 
 320 
 
Down from the Sky! 
 
 Steve didn't altogether understand but the 
 messenger could add nothing save that the old 
 man was chuckling with Blenham when he gave 
 the message. Steve, in no mood to hear of his 
 grandfather's high good humor, tore the letter 
 to bits, distributed them upon the afternoon wind 
 and told the lean cowboy that he could tell 
 Grandfather Packard and Blenham to go straight 
 to everlasting blazes. The cowboy laughed and 
 rode away. 
 
 Steve, riding slowly through the lengthening 
 shadows falling through the pines of the moun- 
 tain slopes before one comes to Drop Off Valley, 
 was overtaken by Terry Temple riding furiously. 
 Terry's horse was dripping with sweat; Terry's 
 face was troubled; there was a look almost of 
 terror in her eyes. 
 
 "Steve Packard," she cried out as she came 
 abreast of him and they stared into each other's 
 eyes in the dusk under the big trees. "Tell me 
 everything you know about those stolen steers ! 
 Everything." 
 
 So she knew, too ? Yet he had cautioned Bar- 
 bee not to talk and to instruct the other boys to 
 keep their mouths shut until such time as they 
 could understand this hand being played in the 
 dark. 
 
 321 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Who told you ?" he asked quickly. 
 
 "I saw them!" she told him, her spirit shining 
 like fire in her eyes. "The whole six of them. 
 I knew they were not our cattle. I saw how the 
 brands had been worked, clumsily worked. Oh, 
 my God, Steve Packard, what does it mean ?" 
 
 Now it flashed upon him. Terry was not speak- 
 ing of the cattle lost from the upland valley; 
 she referred to those half-dozen big steers roaming 
 on the Temple ranch whose brands had been 
 crudely altered from the sign of the Big Bend 
 outfit to the sign of her father's. Slowly the red 
 blood of shame, shame for her, crept up into his 
 cheeks, dusky under his tan. 
 
 "Terry," he began lamely. 
 
 But she halted him with the word, her ear 
 catching the subtle note of sympathy, her hand 
 upflung, her temper flaring out that he, of all 
 men, should think shame of her blood. 
 
 "My father was never a thief!" she cried hotly, 
 her voice ringing clear and certain. "Not that, 
 Steve Packard. Don't you dare say that ! And 
 yet You saw them, you knew, and you didn't 
 say a word to me, to anybody ?" 
 
 "I didn't know what to say or what to do," 
 he explained gently. "I thought it best just to 
 wait, to hope for the sense of all this infernal 
 
 jumble. I hoped " 
 
 322 
 
Down from the Sky! 
 
 "You big fool!" she called him with all due 
 emphasis. "Just like all of the rest of your blun- 
 dering sex. If the good Lord had stopped with 
 the job of making Adam, his whole creation 
 wouldn't have been worth the snap of my thumb 
 and finger." 
 
 "It isn't, anyway," said Steve. "I wouldn't 
 swap your little finger for a king's gold crown " 
 
 "Moonshine," cut in Terry. "Listen to me, 
 Steve Packard: You saw those swapped brands 
 and you kept your mouth shut." 
 
 "It is generally considered " 
 
 "I said to listen to me ! You didn't say a word 
 to me because you believed my dad was a cattle- 
 thief!" 
 
 Steve, despite himself, shifted uneasily in his 
 saddle and finally dropped his eyes. Terry sat 
 there staring at him fixedly, her own eyes wide 
 open and again harboring that look that was 
 almost fear. 
 
 "You you Oh, Steve Packard ! This is 
 contemptible of you!" 
 
 Then he lifted his eyes and looked at her solely 
 enough. 
 
 "Terry Temple," he said very gently, "I pray 
 God that you are right and that I am wrong. I 
 did not know, I only saw what I saw, and won- 
 dered and kept my mouth shut. But listen to 
 
 323 
 
Man to Man 
 
 me now, Terry Temple. You are not the one to 
 dodge an issue, no matter how hard it is to face 
 it. Tell me: If your father did not shift those 
 brands, then who did ? And why ? Don't you 
 see that is what it amounts to, that is what we've 
 got to answer?" 
 
 "Blenham!" she told him swiftly, hardly 
 waiting for him to finish. "Blenham, under 
 orders. Orders from your precious old thief of a 
 grandfather!" 
 
 He smiled back at her, hoping to coax an an- 
 swering smile to her lips and into her troubled 
 eyes. But she only shook her head and went on 
 steadily. 
 
 " Recrimination of a sort 
 
 "Recrimination is quite some word, no matter 
 what it means," sniffed Terry. "But we can 
 leave it out. In words of one syllable, your old 
 thief of a grandfather ordered his pet dog and sub- 
 thief to go tie something on poor old dad. And 
 you fell for it ! You ought to go to a school for 
 the simple-minded." 
 
 "Just what," demanded Steve equably, "do you 
 suppose a play like that would win for anybody ? 
 Any time my old thief of a grandfather, as you 
 call him, hands an enemy of his several hundred 
 dollars in beef cattle, why, just please wake me up." 
 
 "A play like that is just what old Hell-Fire 
 
 324 
 
Down from the Sky! 
 
 would be up to right about now," she told him 
 positively. "You have been proving something 
 too much for him to swallow whole and boots on; 
 your chipping in with us that time you took the 
 mortgage over made him hungrier than ever to 
 gobble up the crowd of us. So he plays the dirty 
 trick of making it appear my father is a cattle- 
 thief." 
 
 "Blenham might do a trick like that. My 
 grandfather wouldn't. That is, I don't think he 
 would." 
 
 "Better hedge! Wouldn't he, though ! He's 
 always been as mean as gar-broth; the older he 
 gets the meaner and nastier he is. He'd do any- 
 thing to double-cross a Temple and you know it. 
 It's one crooked play; there'll be more like it. 
 Just you see, Steve Packard. And the next one 
 at least if it concerns me you see that you let 
 me know about it instead of going around like a 
 dumb man." 
 
 Then he blurted out word of the recent losses 
 from Drop Off Valley. For her herds mingled 
 there with his and a part of the losses were to be 
 borne by her. 
 
 "I'm on my way there how," he concluded. 
 " I've an idea- 
 
 " You haven't ! " she interrupted. " Steve Pack- 
 ard, I don't believe you ever had an idea in your 
 
 325 
 
Man to Man 
 
 life. Don't you know don't you know what's 
 going with those steers up there ?" 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "You just bet your life I do! It's that crook 
 of a Yellow Barbee, in cahoots with that crook of 
 a Blenham who's taking orders from that crook of 
 an old Hell-Fire Packard! Can't you see their 
 play?" 
 
 "I rather think I can. But I don't happen to 
 be as positive about the unknown as you do." 
 
 "You're just a man," said Terry. "That's 
 why. And now you are on your way to the feed- 
 ing-grounds up there, to come in and say, 'Here 
 I am, Barbee, come to watch you and see that 
 you don't steal any more stock for me to-night.' 
 That the idea?" 
 
 Steve laughed. 
 
 "Not exactly. I had intended leaving my 
 horse before I got to the rim of the valley and 
 going on on foot, not telling everybody what I 
 was about." 
 
 "And you'd come to the rim of the valley either 
 by Hell Gate pass or through the old Indian Trail, 
 wouldn't you ? And Barbee or Blenham would 
 see that both ways were watched." 
 
 "You seem to know the trails rather well," 
 he began, but she merely broke in : 
 
 "That's not all I know about this neck of the 
 
 326 
 
Down from the Sky! 
 
 woods, either, Steve Packard. Maybe it's lucky 
 for you and for me too that you told me all this. 
 I'll take you into Drop Off Valley to-night, and 
 Blenham and Yellow Barbee can watch all they 
 please and never guess we're there. For there's 
 a way up that not even Blenham knows and where 
 they will never look for us. Come on, Steve Pack- 
 ard; use a spur." 
 
 She shot by him, leading the way. 
 
 So Steve and Terry rode through the forests, 
 passing from the dull fringe of the day into the 
 calm glory of the night, feeling the air grow cooler 
 and sweeter against their faces, sensing the shut- 
 ting-in about them of the gentle serenity of the 
 wilderness. They followed little-travelled trails 
 where she rode ahead and he, following close at 
 her horse's heels, was glad each time that an open 
 space beyond or a ridge crested showed him her 
 form pricked clearly against the sky. 
 
 They spoke less and less as they went on. 
 Deeper grew the silences into which they made 
 their way, with only the gush of a mountain 
 brook or the fluttering of a startled bird or the 
 rustle of dead leaves under some alert little wild 
 thing, just these sounds occasionally and ever the 
 soft thud of shod hoofs on leaf mould and loose 
 soil. 
 
 The stars multiplied swiftly, grew in brilliancy, 
 
 327 
 
Man to Man 
 
 But down here close to the face of the earth where 
 the shadows were, the dark was impenetrable. 
 
 For many a mile Terry led the way through the 
 forests. Steve was on the verge of suggesting 
 that she had lost her way, when she turned off to 
 the right and down a long slope in so decided a 
 fashion that he closed his lips to his suspicion. 
 
 She knew where she was going; as he once again 
 saw her body against a patch of sky she had gone 
 down the slope and climbed a ridge ahead and 
 as he noted her carriage and the poise of a chin 
 for the instant clearly outlined, he knew that she 
 was sure of herself. Well, she was that sort of a 
 girl; she might have confidence in herself and a 
 man might place his confidence with hers. 
 
 So at last Terry brought him down into a creek- 
 bed and the bottom on a steep-sided canon. He 
 merely said, "I'll take your word for it!" when 
 she told him that this was the deep-cleft ravine 
 which lay like a gash at the base of the sheer 
 Drop Off Cliffs. 
 
 Yonder, perhaps a mile ahead and yet promi- 
 nently asserting itself to their view because of a 
 certain widening and straightening of the canon 
 here, a bold head of cliffs stood out like a monster 
 carving in ebony. Up there, at the top of these 
 cliffs, was the southern end of Drop Off Valley. 
 
 "And it is up those cliffs that we are going," 
 
 328 
 
Down from the Sky! 
 
 Terry announced when, having drawn nearer, 
 they stopped again to gaze upward. "There's 
 a trail climbing straight up from the bed of the 
 pass; a trail to go hand-and-foot style. Once on 
 top we'll be among Barbee's herds, Barbee guess- 
 ing nothing of our coming since he'll be busy 
 watching the other ways in. And Look !" 
 
 They were close together and she gripped his 
 arm in her sudden amazement while she threw out 
 one hand pointing. He heard her little gasp; 
 he looked upward; an astonished ejaculation 
 broke from his own lips. A breathless moment 
 and already the thing, appearing from the black 
 nothingness, silhouetted but a moment against 
 the sky, was gone and he vaguely saw Terry's 
 face turned toward him while they sought to 
 find each other's eyes and know if each had seen 
 what the other had glimpsed. 
 
 "It^s impossible!" he muttered. "We are 
 imagining things." 
 
 "Wait!" said Terry. "Maybe after all " 
 
 They waited impatiently, their bleod atingle. 
 And in a very few moments there was, seeming 
 absurd and impossible, a repetition of the vision 
 which had so startled them: a black form at the 
 head of the cliffs, the field of star-strewn sky back 
 of it limning it into vivid distinctness the ebon 
 bulk of a steer moving straight out from the 
 
 329 
 
Man to Man 
 
 of the precipice, straight out a half-dozen feet 
 into nothingness of empty space, then slowly 
 descending through the air, gone silently in the 
 deeper shadows of the canon below ! 
 
 " Block and tackle ! " muttered Steve abruptly. 
 "A small steel cable. Two or three men up there; 
 a man on horseback down below. And while 
 Barbee and the boys guard the other end " 
 
 "Blenham puts one across on us down here!" 
 Terry finished it for him. 
 
 "Only here's where we put one over on Blen- 
 ham," rejoined Steve hotly. He threw a car- 
 tridge into his rifle-barrel and spurred ahead of 
 her. "You stay here, Terry. I " 
 
 "Will I?" Terry retorted with animation. 
 "Not on your life, Steve Packard ! If this is 
 the beginning of Blenham's finish Well, I'm 
 in on it." 
 
 330 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE STAMPEDE 
 
 TERRY had sensed something of the truth. 
 In its way here was the beginning of the end 
 of many things. Before she and Steve Packard, 
 making what haste was possible in the thick dark 
 and with what silence was allowed them, had gone 
 a score of paces deeper into the canon, the crack of 
 a rifle shouted its reverberating message of menace 
 back and forth in the rocky ravine, a spurt of 
 flame showed where the rifleman stood upon a 
 pinnacle of rock almost directly above their heads 
 and there came the further sounds of men's startled 
 voices and the scampering of horses' hoofs, fleeing 
 southward through the pass. 
 
 "They hadj lookouts all along!" cried Steve 
 over his shoulder, discarding caution and secrecy 
 and throwing his rifle to his shoulder. "Better 
 holdback, Terry!" 
 
 He fired, accepted the precarious chances of- 
 fered him by an uneven and unknown trail in the 
 dark and raced on deeper and deeper into the long 
 chasm. It seemed to him that he had glimpsed 
 something moving at the top of the cliffs just about 
 
 331 
 
Man to Man 
 
 the place whence Blenham's men had lowered the 
 steers. He asked no question but threw up his 
 gun-barrel and fired again. 
 
 From straight in front of him there came back 
 to his ears the clang and thud of iron horseshoes 
 upon granite, the rattle of rocks along the trail; 
 now and again he saw a spark struck out under- 
 foot. Then, far ahead as the canon widened sud- 
 denly and a little thinning of the darkness resulted, 
 he made out dim, running forms, and again he fired 
 from his own leaping horse. 
 
 A flying bullet might find a target and it might 
 not; at any rate the sound of the shots volleyed 
 and boomed echoingly between the stone walls 
 imprisoning them, and Barbee or one of Barbee's 
 men should hear. Steve was estimating hope- 
 fully as he dashed on after the fugitives and as 
 Terry dashed on after him, that the men at the 
 top of the cliffs would not try to come down now, 
 not knowing who or how many the attackers 
 were, but would seek escape above. 
 
 Then, if his cowboys heard and rode toward 
 the cliffs, it was all in the cards that they might 
 intercept at least a couple of Blenham's tools. 
 
 A running form almost at his side drew his at- 
 tention briefly, and all but drew hot, questing 
 lead after it. Then he made out that it was but 
 one of the stolen steers, abandoned now; he 
 
 332 
 
The Stampede 
 
 pressed by, firing time after time into the canon 
 ahead of him. And behind him he heard Terry's 
 voice, eager and fearless, crying out : 
 
 "Good boy, Steve Packard! We'll get 'em' 
 yet!" 
 
 A spurt of flame from far ahead and close to the 
 wall of the canon, the crack of another rifle, long 
 drawn out/and the whine of a bullet singing its 
 vicious way overhead, and again Steve fired, an- 
 swering shot with shot. He heard a man shout 
 and fired in the direction of the voice. And then 
 the only sounds rising from the narrow gorge 
 were those of running horses and the accompany- 
 ing noises of rattling stones. 
 
 Now the way was again tortuous, pitch-black, 
 boulder-strewn. Steve slowed down rather than 
 break his horse's legs or his own neck, not knowing 
 whether to turn to right or left. In a moment of 
 uncertainty he felt and heard Terry push ahead 
 of him. He heard her hurrying on and followed, 
 shouting to her to come back. Ten minutes later, 
 out of the pass now and upon a low-lying ridge 
 whence he could look across the hills billowing 
 away darkly toward the southland, he came up 
 with her again. 
 
 "They got off that way." She pointed south. 
 "Saw one figure and maybe two going down the 
 slope. There's no use following. The way is 
 
 333 
 
Man to Man 
 
 too open and it's too dark. They've got away 
 after all." 
 
 "For to-night," said Steve. "But maybe the 
 fellows at the top of the cliffs ' 
 
 "I'll show you the way up," said Terry. 
 
 So without delaying they turned back and 
 came presently under Drop Off Cliffs again. Here 
 they left their horses and, Terry showing the way, 
 found the old path up the precipice. Along many 
 a narrow shelf of rock they went, over many a 
 gigantic granite splinter where foothold was pre- 
 carious enough, up many a steep climb. But in 
 their present mood they would have achieved 
 even a more difficult and more hazardous task 
 with eagerness and assurance. Twenty minutes 
 brought them to the top. 
 
 "Who's that ?" shouted a sudden voice as 
 Steve's hat came up out of the void. "Hands 
 up!" 
 
 "That you, Barbee ?" grunted Steve. "Hands 
 up ? I'd drop a clean hundred feet if I did a 
 fool trick like that. Did they get away? The 
 men up here ?" 
 
 He wriggled up to the top, lay on his stomach 
 and gave a hand to Terry, drew her to lie a mo- 
 ment breathless at his side and then again turned 
 to Barbee. There was another man with him and 
 both were looking wonderingly at Steve and Terry. 
 
 334 
 
The Stampede 
 
 "I never heard a man say," muttered the 
 astounded Barbee, "that there was stair-steps 
 up here ! For a man an' girl to come up " 
 
 "And for our cows to go down!" cried Steve, 
 on his feet now and coming to Barbee's side. 
 "You heard everything, Barbee? You know 
 what has happened ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Barbee. "A hundred yards over 
 that way " he pointed along the cliff's edge 
 "where a twisted cedar-tree stands in a little 
 washout, not hardly to be noticed unless you're 
 on the lookout for it, they had their pulleys 
 hitched an' a long steel cable. It was easy shoot- 
 in', come to think of it. Jus' rope a cow, cinch 
 her up tight with two big straps they had all 
 ready, slip a hook through the belly-band, an' 
 lower away ! Pretty smooth, huh ?" 
 
 "And they all got away ?" 
 
 "No, they didn't," said Barbee queerly. "I 
 got one of 'em ! " 
 
 "You did?" Steve swung back toward him 
 eagerly. "Who is he, Barbee? And where is 
 he ? I want a talk with him." 
 
 Barbee shook his head and reached for his 
 tobacco and papers. He was young after all, 
 was Barbee, and this was his first man. 
 
 "Andy Sprague, it was," said Barbee. "He's 
 dead now." 
 
 335 
 
Man to Man 
 
 There fell a heavy, breathless silence upon the 
 three standing there under the stars. Terry 
 shivered as though with cold and drew a step 
 closer to Steve; he felt her hand on his arm. Bar- 
 bee lighted his cigarette, his hands steady, but his 
 face looking terribly serious in the brief-lived 
 light shed upon it. 
 
 "I heard you shootin'," said Barbee. "I rode 
 this way, on the jump. I was only about a mile 
 up the valley; maybe a shade less. He had his 
 horse close an' was on him an' poundin' leather 
 lively to get out. We come pretty close to run- 
 nin' into each other. I hollered at him to hold 
 on an' he jus' rode on his spurs an' I shot. Emp- 
 tied my gun. Got him twice, bein' that lucky, 
 an' him that unlucky. He slid off his cayuse an' 
 clawed aroun' an' an' he's dead now," ended 
 Barbee briefly. 
 
 "Did he tell you anything? Did he say any- 
 thing that would implicate anybody?" 
 
 "Meanin'," said Barbee steadily, "did he squeal 
 on his pals ? " 
 
 "Just that. Did he mention any names ?" 
 
 "No," replied Barbee thoughtfully. "He jus' 
 cusses me an' dies game. But this here was in 
 his pocket." 
 
 He passed it to his employer. It was a bit of 
 note-paper. Steve and Terry read it together 
 
 336 
 
The Stampede 
 
 as Steve struck one match after another. Then 
 they looked into each other's faces, grown very 
 tense, while Barbee smoked in silence. The few 
 words were : 
 
 BLENHAM: This here Mex don't seem to know what 
 I mean. Next time send a man as can talk English. 
 Anyway I am coming to-night. I don't want no kill- 
 ing if it ain't necessary, but there ain't going to be a 
 hide or hoof left in Drop Off by morning. 
 
 And the signature, cramped and stiff, was that of 
 Steve's grandfather. 
 
 "So," muttered Steve heavily. "The old man 
 has gone the limit, has he ? He meant it when 
 he said he'd stop at nothing to smash me. And 
 yet I can't believe ' 
 
 "Let me see it again," Terry commanded. 
 
 She took the paper from his fingers and with it 
 his block of sulphur matches. For even Terry, 
 to whom old man Packard was as relentless and 
 unscrupulous as Satan himself, hesitated to be- 
 lieve that he was hand in glove with Blenham in 
 this. 
 
 There might be a way to read between the 
 lines, to come to some other understanding of the 
 baffling situation. Evidently the old man had 
 given the note to the "Mex" who did not know 
 enough of the English language to carry word 
 of mouth; the Mex had passed it to Sprague. 
 
 337 
 
Man to Man 
 
 Steve and Barbee and the man with Barbee 
 an old Ranch Number Ten hand named Bandy 
 Oliver had stepped aside quietly. Terry stood 
 with the note in her hand, forgetting it for the 
 moment. So, at the last, matters had come to 
 this: There lay a man over yonder, dead, with 
 Barbee's lead in him. 
 
 And old man Packard was coming to-night, 
 now of all times when Steve's heart was hard, 
 when his brain was hot with his fury, when he had 
 just come upon men stealing his stock and had 
 learned that his own grandfather, the old moun- 
 tain-lion from the north, was one of them. 
 
 "If they meet to-night," said Terry, "those 
 two Packards, there are going to be other men 
 killed. Good men and bad men. And, as likely 
 as not, Blenham won't be one of them." 
 
 "There was another jasper with Sprague. He 
 got away. That way, I think. Couldn't say, 
 but there might have been more; what with the 
 dark an' the cattle scared an' churnin' aroun'." 
 
 Steve with Barbee and Bandy Oliver had moved 
 slowly away and toward the upper end of the 
 plateau. Detached words, fragments of their 
 speech, floated back to her more and more indis- 
 tinctly on the night wind that never sleeps upon 
 these uplands. 
 
 Terry turned from them and stood for a little 
 
 338 
 
The Stampede 
 
 looking down into the black void of the canon 
 into which the stolen cattle had been lowered, 
 from which she and Steve had just climbed. She 
 fancied that the darkness down there was thin- 
 ning. The dawn was coming up almost imper- 
 ceptibly over the mountain-tops, filtering wanly 
 into the depths of the canons. The night had 
 rushed by; it would soon be day. 
 
 And old man Packard had not come. Thank 
 God for that. Down in her heart Terry was con- 
 scious of a leaping gladness. She knew, admitted 
 now, that she had been afraid. A man lay dead 
 over yonder; if Packard met Packard to-night 
 there would be other men dead. Terry shivered 
 and drew back from the edge of the precipice. 
 
 "It's always colder just before day," she told 
 herself. 
 
 "Sunrise already?" 
 
 Steve's voice, borne to her ears with startling 
 distinctness. He had not come nearer; maybe 
 the dawn wind was stiffening, thus bearing his 
 words to her more clearly. Or it might be that 
 Steve had lifted his voice suddenly. 
 
 Why should a man be startled by a new sun- 
 rise ? True, the night had gone quickly, but 
 
 "The sun never rose there !" Steve's voice again, 
 thrilling through her with its portent. "It's fire 
 range fire in a dozen places !" 
 
 339 
 
Man to Man 
 
 A bright glow lay across the far, upper end of 
 Drop Off Valley. At first one might have done 
 as Steve Packard did and wondered what had 
 happened to the sun. The sky had merely bright- 
 ened warmly, slowly, gradually, showing a hint 
 of pink. And then, as the bone-dry grass here 
 and there had caught, vivid streaks of flame and a 
 veritable devil's dance of a myriad sparks shot 
 high skyward. And, as Steve had cried out, not 
 in one place only, but in a dozen spots had the 
 fires been lighted. 
 
 "To herald the wrathful coming of Hell-Fire 
 Packard!" 
 
 Such was the thought springing full-fledged into 
 Terry's brain, into Steve's, into Yellow Barbee's. 
 A chain of fires had been started across the whole 
 width of the feeding grounds. Now the rising 
 wind made of it a sudden burning barrier that 
 extended from side to side of Drop Off Valley, 
 came rushing toward the lower end, threatening 
 to leave but a black charred devastation of the 
 precious pasturage. 
 
 Barbee had run and thrown himself upon his 
 horse. Steve had grasped the dragging reins of 
 Andy Sprague's mount. Terry saw him and 
 his two cowboys swing about toward the upper 
 end. 
 
 "Terry!" he shouted over his shoulder. 
 340 
 
The Stampede 
 
 "Down the cliffs again; quick ! The fire is com- 
 ing this way; the herds will stampede !" 
 
 There was only the sound of thudding hoofs 
 as the three men rode furiously to meet the menace 
 the dawn had brought and seek to grapple with 
 it. Then that sound had gone and its place, for 
 a little taken by heavy silence, gradually gave 
 way to new sounds. The crack of rifles, faintly 
 heard thin voices of men shouting a long way 
 off a sound like that of a distant sea, moving 
 restlessly grown to suggest the coming of a 
 storm that ever swelled in violence and then a 
 deep and deepening rumble, like thunder. 
 
 The herd had stampeded. 
 
 To Terry there came then, for the first time in 
 her life, the sense of utter helplessness and hope- 
 lessness. At least the others were doing some- 
 thing, no matter how fruitless it might prove, 
 while she was doing nothing. Steve was riding 
 full-tilt to meet the herd. She saw him and his 
 men, strange figures in the uncertain light, loom- 
 ing big against the dawn sky and the fires' glow. 
 They were shouting, waving their arms. Then, 
 going down over a swell of earth they were lost 
 to her. 
 
 Again and again there came to her the sound of 
 shots and men's voices shouting, cursing, yelling 
 wild commands, a rising clamor meant to divert 
 
 341 
 
Man to Man 
 
 the blind rush of frightened beasts, to turn them 
 to right and left so that they might scramble out 
 of the valley before they came to the lower end 
 where Terry stood where was the yawning chasm 
 down into which many a great, terror-filled body 
 was doomed to plunge to annihilation unless the 
 way were found to swing the flood of fear aside 
 in time. 
 
 Barbee and Bandy Oliver and the other boys 
 were obeying Steve's commands, doing all that 
 they could, seeking frantically to split the herd 
 and divert it and so save it. But all of the time 
 the wind strengthened, the fires rose higher and 
 higher against the sky, the sparks soared to rarer 
 altitudes, were flung further out, new fires were 
 catching everywhere. 
 
 The tall, dry grass was burning in a hundred 
 places. The herd, sweeping on, was snorting its 
 terror, yielding absolutely to the blind instinct 
 of flight. And steadily the thunderous murmur- 
 ing sound from the hoof-smitten earth rose and 
 swelled. Closer and 'closer they came. Terry 
 could distinguish Steve's voice. 
 
 In her hand were the matches he had given her 
 in order that she might read again his grandfather's 
 letter. A little gasp broke from her lips. The 
 letter fluttered from her hand, no longer of the 
 slightest importance and on the wings of the wind 
 
 342 
 
The Stampede 
 
 went outward and then down into the chasm. 
 She ran forward swiftly, a hundred yards from the 
 precipice's edge. She struck a match, stopped 
 briefly, set it to the grass. 
 
 The flame caught, leaping up avidly, licking 
 hungrily for more fuel, a demon for desire, newly 
 born, yearning to rage a giant of destruction. 
 The girl snatched a handful of the burning grass 
 and ran with it; a little further forward, then to 
 the side, scattering burning wisps as she went. 
 
 Everywhere that a spark fell it made of itself 
 a blaze. Already, in twenty seconds, she had 
 created a broad belt of flame that rose swiftly 
 and spread to right and left. 
 
 About her everywhere the air grew stifling, 
 hot, filled with smoke and ash and cinder so that 
 as she ran her lungs began to hurt her. But she 
 kept on. Nearer were the herds coming; Steve 
 and his men had not been able to stem the mad 
 torrent; not yet had they succeeded in turning it. 
 
 And in another handful of minutes the black, 
 tight-jammed mass of big panting bodies would 
 be hurtling out into space. Unless she made her 
 fire extend from side to side in a wall of leaping, 
 roaring, swirling menace that would do what no 
 men and horses could accomplish. 
 
 Terry was racing as never had Terry run before, 
 her breath coming in choking sobs, her eyes shin- 
 
 343 
 
Man to Man 
 
 ing wildly, her body shaken with the effort she 
 put upon it. She had her burning barrier across 
 the more dangerous end of the valley, where the 
 cliffs dropped sheerest, she had but another few 
 yards to go and there would be hope that she 
 would succeed. But she must not stop yet, not 
 yet. 
 
 She ran on toward the nearer rim of the valley, 
 scattering burning wisps of grass as she went, her 
 heart beating wildly, seeming ready to burst 
 through her side. She fell, rose, ran on. She 
 stood still a moment, turning her back to the fires 
 of her own building, looking toward the upper end 
 whence came the steady roar. 
 
 For an instant she stood fascinated. It looked 
 as though the ground itself, in many a low-lying 
 swell, were racing on to meet her. Then she saw 
 the hundreds of horns glistening dully in the new 
 light. That black mass, surging forward, was 
 the herd and she was still in its path. 
 
 She cried out and threw down her last torch 
 and ran just as the frightened steers were running, 
 fear in her heart, racing away from death, just 
 running for her life. She saw a form ahead of 
 the others, breaking away from them, sweeping 
 down upon her. She cried out in terror; then 
 she knew and cried out again and threw up her 
 arms and turned toward the rider who had remem- 
 
 344 
 
The Stampede 
 
 bered her and feared for her and come for her. 
 And Steve, bending from his saddle, equal to the 
 need of the moment, swept her up and caught her 
 tight in his arm and rode out of the way of herd 
 and fire. 
 
 From a little crag-crested knoll, standing hand 
 in hand, their forms blended in silhouette against 
 the dawn, they watched breathlessly the end of 
 the stampede. The maddened brutes rushed 
 on, straight toward Terry's barrier of flame. 
 Then those in the van sought suddenly to alter 
 their headlong courses. 
 
 Steve's face was white with anger as he saw 
 the result. A full half-dozen, perhaps ten, big 
 bodies at the fore passed through the far end of 
 the flaming line, swept on, sought to swerve only 
 at the last frantic moment with their fellows 
 crowding them to the brink, and, struggling 
 wildly, went over and down and out of sight. 
 Terry shuddered. 
 
 The herd, however, broke, divided, swung to 
 right and left and passed about the burning dan- 
 ger-signal and to the outer rims of the valley, 
 achieving safety somewhere in the night, scatter- 
 ing, tossing their gleaming fronts, snorting, and 
 beginning to bellow their rage. 
 
 "If it hadn't been for you, Terry Temple " 
 Steve began, his voice a little hoarse. 
 
 345 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "If it hadn't been for you, Steve Packard," 
 laughed Terry a trifle unsteadily but quite hap- 
 pily, "where would I have been ?" 
 
 And then, quite as though their destiny wished 
 it made plain that not yet had the time come for 
 them to devote exclusively to themselves, Bar- 
 bee rode down toward them, spurring through the 
 last of the fleeing herd, shouting: 
 
 "There's a dozen men ridin' this way an' 
 
 ridin' like ! An' the firelight's shinin' on 
 
 their guns; every man's totin' one. An' it's ol' 
 Hell-Fire Packard ridin' at their head." 
 
 "I'm glad he has come," muttered Steve 
 heavily. 
 
 And then, as though he were uncertain of his 
 return to her, he kissed Terry's lips that were 
 lifted toward his. In a dull stupor, so much had 
 she experienced these last few minutes, she 
 watched him swing again to the back of a horse 
 and ride to meet those who came. The very way 
 he carried his rifle in front of him bespoke with 
 rare eloquence his readiness for anything. 
 
 346 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 YELLOW BARBEE KEEPS A PROMISE 
 
 TERRY started, shook off her apathy with a 
 sudden effort and called out: 
 "Steve! Steve! Comeback!" 
 He had gone but a half-dozen paces. He swung 
 about and returned to her. It was not light 
 enough yet for her to see his eyes; they seemed 
 just unfathomable, sombre pools in the shadow 
 of his hat-brim. As he turned his head a little, 
 harking to the distant sounds of men's voices 
 coming on, the rigid profile was harsh and implaca- 
 ble. 
 
 "Terry," he said sternly, "you mustn't ask me 
 to come back again. I am just standing on my 
 own rights this time, as a man must now and then. 
 Old man Packard is over there. He is coming on. 
 He wants trouble. He doesn't want the law 
 courts. He always preferred to play the game 
 man to man. He has cost me a number of cattle; 
 when I can figure just how many I am going over 
 and collect from him if we are both left alive, 
 which is to be doubted. And now, if he wants 
 fight- 
 Again he glanced over his shoulder. Still she 
 347 
 
Man to Man 
 
 could not read what lay in his eyes. But a new, 
 almost eager note, boyishly eager Terry thought 
 in dismay, had burst into his voice: 
 
 "If he wants fight by God, Terry Temple, 
 I'm as much Packard as he is !" 
 
 She watched him wheel again and go. This 
 time she did not call to him. Her little figure 
 stiffened, her hands were down at her sides and 
 clenched, her chin was lifted a little. The whole 
 attitude was soldierlike. 
 
 "They are two of a kind," said Terry within 
 herself. "They are men. They are Packards. 
 I am proud and and afraid and Oh, dear 
 God ! Dear God ! Bring him back to me !" 
 
 She could hear Steve giving Jiis brief orders 
 crisply. Other figures loomed about him, com- 
 ing out of the night and the shadows. There 
 was young Yellow Barbee and Bandy Oliver; 
 there was the Number Ten cowboy whom she 
 knew only as "Spotty"; in a moment these and 
 two or three other men were with Steve. Six 
 or seven; possibly eight of them all told. And 
 Barbee had said that there were about a dozen 
 men with old man Packard. 
 
 "This is my fight, boys," Steve was saying. 
 "Mine and my grandfather's. I want you fellows 
 to keep out of it unless the boys with old man 
 Packard mix in. If they do " 
 
 348 
 
Yellow Barbee Keeps a Promise 
 
 " We're with you," said Yellow Barbee. " Huh, 
 boys?" 
 
 And a little nervously and hurriedly they an- 
 swered 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then," concluded Steve, "keep your eyes 
 open. Hang back, now." 
 
 She saw him lean forward in the saddle, noted 
 how the horse leaped under him, took anxious 
 stock of the manner in which he carried his rifle. 
 Then suddenly there came back into Terry's 
 cheeks the good hot blood, into her eyes the sparkle 
 and shine, into her heart something akin to the 
 sheer joy of battle. Had she a horse she would 
 not have hung back for want of a rifle, but would 
 have ridden after him, with him. As it was she 
 cried out ringingly: 
 
 "God go with you, Steve Packard ! Fm proud 
 of you!" 
 
 She might not ride with him; at least she would 
 not crouch and cringe and hide her eyes. She 
 would watch him as he rode, watch him as he 
 fought, watch him to the end even though he 
 slipped from the saddle. 
 
 So she made her way hastily to a point of van- 
 tage, running the brief distance lying between the 
 slight knoll on which she stood and the eastern 
 edge of the valley where the rugged peaks rose 
 
 349 
 
Man to Man 
 
 abruptly. She scrambled up the first bit of slope, 
 her heart beating wildly, expecting each second 
 to hear the snap and crackle of rifle-fire. She 
 turned and looked back; the floor of the valley 
 was too uneven for her to have a sweeping view. 
 
 She began climbing again. Great boulders 
 rose in her path; somehow she got on them and 
 over them. Broken slabs of granite strewed the 
 way; she made of them steps on which to mount 
 higher and higher. Still no sound of a shot and 
 at last, upon a narrow shelf of rock offering suffi- 
 cient foothold, she stopped. 
 
 Here, with her back tight pressed to a rock, her 
 hands gripping at irregularities on each side of 
 her to steady her, she sent her questing gaze 
 down into Drop Off Valley. 
 
 Now she understood why there had as yet been 
 no rifle-fire. The day, coming on slowly, still 
 offered more gloom than radiance, but she could 
 pick out two figures clearly. One was that of 
 Steve. He had ridden on ahead of his men, per- 
 haps a hundred feet ahead, and was upon a bit of 
 higher ground. 
 
 The other form, bulking big in the thin light, 
 was indisputably that of old man Packard. Like 
 Steve, he had ridden on in advance of his men. 
 She could just make out a dull mass yonder be- 
 hind him which might have been but a group of 
 
 350 
 
Yellow Barbee Keeps a Promise 
 
 boulders had not the impatient stirring showed 
 where his horsemen were waiting. 
 
 It was very still there on the uplands in the 
 dim dawning. In breathless watchfulness a few 
 men behind Steve watched; a few men behind old 
 man Packard watched; a girl upon a granite 
 peak watched. Down toward the lower end of 
 the valley where the floor of the plateau dropped 
 precipitously into the steep-walled canon the fire 
 Terry had set was still burning fiercely. But the 
 wind carried its fury away from them, so that it 
 was only an evil whisper. 
 
 Here and there, elsewhere in the valley, the 
 fires still burned on. There were wide stretches 
 across which the flames had already swept so 
 that now they were ink-black, burnt-out, smoking 
 a little. Upon such an open space, still hot under 
 their horses' hoofs, the two Packards, grandfather 
 and grandson, came face to face.. And they were 
 stern, ominously set faces confronting each other. 
 
 At last they had pulled rein, both of them, 
 looking grotesquely like clockwork mechanisms, 
 being actuated by the same impulse at the same 
 time. Some ten feet only were between their 
 horses' tossing heads. They were almost opposite 
 Terry's lookout and at no great distance. In the 
 quiet pervading the valley their voices came to 
 her. Not each word, but a word now and then, 
 
 351 
 
Man to Man 
 
 lifted above its fellows, and always the purport. 
 For there was no mistaking the quality of the two 
 voices. 
 
 Rage in old Packard was welcomed by wrath 
 in young Packard. Heat and anger and explosive 
 denunciation, these were to be looked for now. 
 Never had it been the Packard way to temporize; 
 always had it been the Packard way to leap in 
 and strike. Few-worded always was the old 
 man; as few-worded was the young man now. 
 
 "You are a damn' scoundrel, sir!" 
 
 "You will draw your men off. You will pay 
 for the damage Blenham has done." 
 
 "By God, sir!" 
 
 There was little more said. That thunderous 
 "By God, sir!" from the old man's lips carried 
 to Terry where she stood tight pressed against 
 her rock. And then all unexpectedly and from 
 an unexpected quarter, came the first rifle-shot. 
 
 The first shot and the second, close together. 
 The bullets passed between grandfather and grand- 
 son, kicking up little puffs of dust beyond them. 
 Neither looked to see whence the shots came. 
 The thought was in each mind : 
 
 " Is this a Packard I am dealing with ? Setting 
 one of his hired assassins to shooting from a 
 blind?" 
 
 The old man's rifle was thrown up before him; 
 352 
 
Yellow Barbee Keeps a Promise 
 
 Steve's rose with it. Over yonder old Packard's 
 men squared themselves in their saddles and 
 made ready for grim work. Yellow Barbee gave 
 a signal all unneeded to his men; his own rifle in 
 his eager hands, was ready, the trigger yielding 
 to his calloused forefinger. 
 
 And then from the flinty spire of a peak rising 
 between them and a sun that was slowly wheeling 
 into the clear sky, came scream after scream that 
 echoed and billowed across the open lands as 
 Terry Temple, seeing something of the truth, cried 
 out in terrified desperation and warning. 
 
 A girl's voice screaming Old man Packard 
 turned sharply and stared in wonderment. 
 Terry's voice Steve swung about, his anger 
 suddenly quenched in alarm, his eyes seeking 
 everywhere for her. 
 
 It was Barbee who saw her first. Barbee 
 called out, a strange note in his voice, and clapped 
 his spurs to his horse's sides and went racing across 
 the undulating lands toward her. Then Steve 
 saw and old man Packard and the rest. Saw 
 but at first could not understand: the sun was 
 just behind her, winking into their eyes. There 
 was some one with her, struggling with her. 
 
 "Blenham!" shouted Steve. 
 
 And he was racing wildly along after Barbee, 
 yearning to shoot to kill and yet not daring to 
 
 353 
 
Man to Man 
 
 shoot at all. Blenham and Terry struggling 
 upon the iron side of the mountain, Terry strik- 
 ing and striking at him frantically, Blenham with 
 his arms about her, dragging her back toward 
 a wide fissure in the rocks, the sun bright above 
 them. 
 
 To Terry it seemed that the universe had come 
 crashing down about her ears. A moment ago, 
 tense and rigid and breathless, she had stood 
 watching two men face each other threateningly. 
 Then there had been the crack of the unexpected, 
 unseen rifle; the dust struck up between them; 
 the second shot. And the smoking rifle-barrel 
 was not three feet from where Terry stood, 
 Blenham's convulsed face laid against the stock, 
 Blenham's one evil eye lining the sights. 
 
 Almost on the instant she guessed something of 
 the truth. Blenham in this light was not sure 
 of hitting; he would be a fool to shoot and miss. 
 Unless and it was then that she screamed out 
 her warning, then before he had so much as put 
 out his hand toward her. 
 
 Unless Blenham, with all of the guile of him 
 uppermost, knew that that shot fired between the 
 two would send them flying at each other's throats, 
 ending all parley and bringing about unthinkable 
 tragedy. Blenham had his own reasons for what 
 he did; certainly it would fit in with Blenham's 
 
 354 
 
Yellow Barbee Keeps a Promise 
 
 plans to see the hand of a Packard set against a 
 Packard. 
 
 But she had not thought to have him seize her. 
 Now his great, calloused, soiled, hairy hands shut 
 down upon her, gripping her shoulders, jerking 
 her from her place into the crevice from which his 
 face had emerged. She fought, seeking to get 
 the revolver in her blouse. 
 
 Blenham must have known that she kept it 
 there. He snatched it and threw it behind him 
 and cursed her as he dragged her with him. As 
 Barbee came on and Steve came just behind 
 him, the figures of Blenham and Terry were both 
 gone as though the mountain-side had split for 
 them and closed after them. 
 
 "They've got in a hole," called out Barbee. 
 "Them mountains is full of caves. They can't 
 get away far." 
 
 As they went up the steep slope Barbee was 
 still in the lead. He mounted to the shelf of 
 rock on which Terry had been standing. He 
 stepped into the crevice through which Blenham 
 had dragged Terry. 
 
 "There's a split in the rocks here," called Bar- 
 bee. "He went this way." 
 
 "Watch out for him!" warned Steve, now on 
 the ledge close to the boy. "Let me go ahead !" 
 
 Barbee laughed. 
 
 355 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Long ago I told him I'd get him !" 
 
 But Blenham was waiting in a little rock- 
 rimmed hollow. He shot from the hip, using a 
 heavy revolver. Barbee stood a moment look- 
 ing foolishly at the sky as he slowly leaned back 
 against the rock. Then he lurched and fell, twist- 
 ing, spinning so that he lay half in the fissure, his 
 rifle clattering to the ledge outside, his body fall- 
 ing so that his head and shoulders were across the 
 rifle. 
 
 Steve stepped over Barbee's twitching body, 
 alert, every nerve taut, his finger crooked to the 
 trigger of his rifle. But again Blenham had with- 
 drawn. In the little rudely circular hollow from 
 which Blenham had fired point-blank at Yellow 
 Barbee was Terry's hat, trodden underfoot. 
 Again it was as though the mountain had swal- 
 lowed the man and the girl he had taken with him. 
 
 But a moment later Steve saw and understood. 
 Not ten steps'from where he stood was the mouth 
 of a cave. Into it Blenham had retreated. In 
 there was Blenham now; Blenham and Terry with 
 him. And the way, for the moment at least, was 
 securely blocked. Evidently here was a hangout 
 known before, previously employed. It had a 
 door made of heavy cedar slabs. The door was 
 shut, and, of course, barred from within. 
 
 "Terry .'"called Steve. 
 
 356 
 
Yellow Barbee Keeps a Promise 
 
 Terry sought to answer; he heard her voice in 
 inarticulate terror, little more than a gasp, 
 choked back in her throat. Steve went dead 
 white. He visualized Blenham's hands upon her. 
 
 He came on to the door, his rifle clubbed. 
 There was but the one thing to do; smash down 
 the door and so come at Blenham the shortest, 
 quickest, only way. 
 
 Then Blenham called to him for the first time. 
 
 " Fool, are you, Steve Packard ? Look at that 
 door. Don't you know before you can batter it 
 down I can pick you off! An' I can do more'n 
 that! ): 
 
 As though he had cruelly drawn it from her, 
 there came again Terry's scream. Steve sprang 
 forward and struck at the heavy cedar planks. 
 And Blenham called out again: 
 
 "Maybe you can break your way in; there's 
 enough of you. But you'll find her dead when 
 the door falls!" 
 
 Steve had again lifted his rifle. Now he let it 
 sink slowly so that the butt came to rest gently 
 upon the rock at his feet. Blenham held the high 
 hand; Blenham was unthinkably vile; Blenham 
 was desperate. And Terry, his little Terry on 
 whom Blenham had always looked with the eye 
 of a brute and a beast, was in there, just beyond 
 three inches of solid seasoned cedar planking. 
 
 357 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "If you harm her in the least " It was 
 Steve's voice though certainly at first neither 
 Blenham nor even Terry could have recognized 
 it. "If you harm her in the least, Blenham, I'll 
 kill you. Not all at once just by inches !" 
 
 Blenham answered him coolly. 
 
 "I know when I've lost a trick, Steve Packard. 
 This ain't the firs' one an' it ain't goin' to be the 
 last. I've played 'em high an' I always knowed 
 I took chances. But I'm playin' safe ! Get me ? 
 Safe!" 
 
 "Go ahead; what do you mean ?" 
 
 "Ol' man Packard is down there. This girl's 
 yellin' spoiled my play. By now he has learned 
 a thing or two. All right; that's jus' the run of 
 luck, rotten luck ! " 
 
 Under the words the restraint was gone and his 
 rage flared out briefly. But it was patent that 
 Blenham's shrewdness was still with him. He 
 continued almost calmly: 
 
 "You an' him can have two words together. 
 Then come back here an' give me your promises, 
 both of you, to let me go. Then I'll let her go. 
 Otherwise, I'm as good as dead an' so's she. 
 I'll jam a gun to her head the las' thing an' blow 
 her brains out. An', what's more, I'll get one 
 or two of you besides before you drop me." 
 
 Into their parley, interrupting it, his eyes flam- 
 
 358 
 
Yellow Barbee Keeps a Promise 
 
 ing, his face hot with anger, mounted old man 
 Packard. 
 
 "Stephen," he said sternly, his eyes hard on his 
 grandson's face, "tell me an' tell me the down- 
 right truth, so help you God: Did you rent this 
 pasture from Andy Sprague, thinkin' he owned 
 it?" 
 
 Though he wondered, Steve answered briefly, 
 to have this done with so that he could again turn 
 to Blenham 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "An' the boys says you have been losin' stock 
 an' blamin' it to me ? An' that you've had stock 
 poisoned an' shot ? An' blamed it to me ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Steve. 
 
 "So've I," said the old man heavily. "An* 
 I've always blamed it to you. An' I never sold 
 to Andy Sprague. Him an' Blenham Blen- 
 ham has played us both ways for suckers, has stole 
 enough cows from one an' another " 
 
 His voice was swept up into the roar of rage 
 which had given him his name of the old moun- 
 tain-lion of the north. He came stepping over 
 poor Barbee's body, thrusting by Steve, towering 
 over the door of the cave. 
 
 "Hold back," commanded Steve queerly. 
 "He's in there. But he's got it on us. We've 
 got to promise to let him go !" 
 
 359 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "Let him go!" shouted the old man, his big 
 bulk seeming actually to quiver with rage. "After 
 all he's done, let him go ? By the Lord, Stephen 
 Packard, if you're that sort of a man 
 
 "She is in there with him," said Steve heavily. 
 "Terry is in there. Don't you see ?" 
 
 "Terry ? That Temple girl ? What have we 
 
 j > 
 
 to do 
 
 "In the first place," cried Steve sharply, 
 "she's a girl and he's a brute. In the second 
 place, she is the next Mrs. Packard and I won't 
 have Blenham pawing over her !" 
 
 His grandfather stared at him, long and keenly. 
 Then he turned away and called out command- 
 ingly 
 
 'Blenham, come out of that !" 
 
 Blenham jeered at him. 
 
 "And be shot down like a dog ? There's a girl 
 in here, Packard. Young Packard is gone on 
 her; he wants to marry her. An' unless you an' 
 him give your word to let me go, I'm goin' to 
 jam a gun at her head an' blow her brains out. 
 An' I'll get him as I come out; an' I'll get 
 you." 
 
 "Let him go!" called Terry faintly. "Let 
 him go, Steve ! Oh, dear God if you love 
 
 Come out, Blenham!" shouted Steve. "I 
 360 
 
Yellow Barbee Keeps a Promise 
 
 give you my word, so help me God, to let you go 
 scot-free. Come out!" 
 
 "Not so fast," mocked Blenham, lingering over 
 his high card. "You've got to promise for your 
 men; youVe got to send 'em across the valley. 
 You've got to have a horse handy for me to ride. 
 You've got to back down the valley yourse'f. 
 An' oF man Packard has got to do the same." 
 
 Old man Packard roared out his curses, but in 
 the end, seeing nothing else to do, he went grum- 
 bling down the rocky slope, back to his horse and 
 to his men. But first he had known perhaps 
 the supreme humiliation of his life. He had 
 said: 
 
 "Blenham, on my word of honor as a Packard 
 an' a gentleman, I'll let you go. An' I'll make 
 my men let you go." 
 
 And there were actually tears hanging to his 
 lashes as he swung again into his saddle. 
 
 "He has not hurt you, Terry?" asked Steve 
 before he too would go down the slope. 
 
 "No," cried Terry. "No, no ! But, oh, hurry, 
 hurry, Steve. I feel that I'll smother, I'll die!" 
 
 From down in the valley they watched, close 
 to a score of hard-eyed, wrath-filled men, as Blen- 
 ham stepped out of the crevice and on to the 
 ledge. They saw how he jeered as he stepped 
 over the body of the man he had shot. 
 
 361 
 
Man to Man 
 
 "A fool was Barbee," he called. "A fool the 
 Packards, ol' an' young!" 
 
 They saw him come down the slope, carrying 
 himself with a swaggering air of braggadocio, but 
 plainly watchful and suspicious. Terry had come 
 out upon the ledge and she too watched him. 
 He came down swiftly and swung up into the sad- 
 dle of the horse they had left for him. 
 
 And now at last his suspicion was past. His 
 triumph broke out like a streak of evil light. 
 
 "I was ready to go," he called, "any time !" 
 
 He swung his arm out toward the blue hills of 
 old Mexico. 
 
 "Down there 
 
 Barbee whom they had thought dead stirred a 
 little where he lay. The rifle under him he 
 thrust forward six inches. 
 
 "Blenham!" he called weakly. 
 
 Blenham swung about and fired, again from 
 the hip. But he had fired hastily. Barbee's 
 rifle, resting upon the rock, was steady. Between 
 its muzzle and Blenham's broad chest there was 
 but the brief distance of some fifty feet. The 
 report of Barbee's rifle, the thin upcurling smoke 
 under the new sun these were the chief matters 
 in all the world for their little fragment of time. 
 
 Then Blenham threw out his arms and pitched 
 forward. His foot caught in the stirrup. The 
 
 362 
 
Yellow Barbee Keeps a Promise 
 
 frightened horse was plunging, running, dragging 
 a man whose body was whipped this way and 
 that. 
 
 "I promised a long time ago," whispered Bar- 
 bee, "that Fd get you, Blenham." 
 
 363 
 
G 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 IN HONOR OF THE FAIRY QUEEN! 
 
 UY LITTLE!" 
 
 The old man's voice boomed out mightily 
 as the old man himself strode back and forth im- 
 patiently in the big barn-like library of his ranch 
 home. Guy Little appeared with a promptness 
 savoring either of magic or prepared expectancy. 
 
 "You rang, your majesty ?" 
 
 "Rang, your foot!" shouted old Packard. "I 
 hollered my ol' head off. What's the day of the 
 week, Guy Little?" 
 
 "It's Wednesday, your 
 
 "An' what's the day of the month ?" 
 
 "It's the nineteenth, your 
 
 "Then tell me, sir," and the old man's tone was 
 angry and challenging to a remarkable degree, 
 "why in the name of the devil my gran'son, 
 Stephen, ain't showed up yet !" 
 
 Guy Little might have remarked that it was 
 rather early to expect any one to show up. It 
 was not yet six o'clock of a morning which prom- 
 ised to be one of the very finest mornings ever 
 known. The old man had, as Guy Little expressed 
 
 3^4 
 
In Honor of the Fairy Queen! 
 
 it, " been prancin' an' pawin' aroun'," for an hour. 
 
 Guy Little grinned like any cherub. 
 
 "He has showed up," he chuckled, though he 
 had meant to hold back the tidings teasingly. 
 "He come in late las' night. You was asleep an' 
 sleepin' soun', so 
 
 "He did, did he?" bellowed the old man. 
 ""Crept in like a damn* thief in the night, did he ? 
 Well, where is he now? Sleepin' yet, I'll be 
 bound. When he ought to be up an' Why, 
 when I was a young devil his age 
 
 "He's outside somewhere," said Guy Little. 
 "He has been down to the crick for a mornin' 
 dip, I'd guess, your majesty." 
 
 "Why would you guess that ?" 
 
 "Because pretty near all he had on was a towel 
 
 an' a - - a sort of a immodes' britch-cloth," 
 
 explained Guy Little confidentially. 
 
 "An'," continued old man Packard, "where's 
 she?" 
 
 "Meanin' the Fairy Queen, your majesty?" 
 Guy Little's voice was now a whisper. 
 
 "Meanin' her the Fairy Queen," said the old 
 man gently. "Sleepin', Guy Little? I won't 
 have her woke!" 
 
 "Woke, your eyebrow!" chuckled Guy Little. 
 "I'd say she's gone for a a dip, too, your maj- 
 esty. An' an', between just the two of us ol' 
 
 365 
 
Man to Man 
 
 fellers, hers is purty near as immodes' as his ! 
 Fact, an* I don't care whose granddaughter she is. 
 Blue, you know; an* not very much of it. An' a 
 red cap. An* I couldn't see very well through 
 the curtains an' I dasn't let 'em know I was 
 lookin'. Only don't you let her know we know; 
 why, bless her little simple heart, she ain't got 
 
 the least idea how pretty an' an' immod- 
 
 <** " 
 
 Old man Packard fixed him with a knowing eye. 
 
 "Ain't she?" he demanded. "Ain't she, Guy 
 Little ? Why, if there's one thing in this world 
 worth knowin* that my granddaughter don't 
 know Go order breakfas' ready in two shakes, 
 Guy Little." 
 
 "I did," said Guy Little. "It's ready already. 
 There they come. Happy-Iookin', ain't they ? 
 Like a couple kids." 
 
 "An* see that them two new saddle-horses is 
 ready right after breakfas' for 'em, Guy Little." 
 
 "They're ready now," chuckled Guy Little. 
 "I remembered." 
 
 "An' an' she likes- 
 
 " Flowers on the table? An' her grapefruit 
 stacked high with sugar? An' the coffee with 
 hot milk ? Don't I know nothin' a-tall, Pack- 
 ard?" 
 
 Steve and Terry, dripping and laughing, break- 
 366 
 
In Honor of the Fairy Queen! 
 
 ing into a run as they came on across the meadow, 
 spied the big man and the little at the window 
 and shouted a joyous good morning and Terry 
 threw them a kiss apiece. And old man Packard, 
 his hands on his hips, a look of absolute, ineffable 
 content in his eyes, said softly: 
 
 "I've made a mistake or two in my life, Guy 
 Little. But ain't I lived long enough to squeeze 
 in a blunder or so here an* there ? An' I've made 
 a mistake a time or two on a man." 
 
 "Blenham did fool you pretty slick," suggested 
 Guy Little. 
 
 "But," went on the old man hurriedly, "I 
 know a real, upstandin', thoroughbred 
 
 "Fairy Queen of a woman." 
 
 "Fairy Queen of a woman when I see her. 
 An' that little thing out there, her eyes shinm' 
 like I ain't seen a pair of eyes shine for more'n 
 fifty year, Guy Little why, sir, she's what I call 
 a Why, she's a Packard, man !" 
 
 367 
 
M2? 
 

 T- 
 
 THE 
 WHITE HOUSE 
 SfH FI&NCISCD 
 
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