Man to Man

by Jackson Gregory

  CHAPTER X

  A RIDE WITH TERRY

  Returning at once to the Old Trusty, on the way passing Terry's carwhich still stood in front of the store, Steve Packard asked for theuse of a telephone. Whitey nodded toward the office, a little roomthinly partitioned off from the larger. A moment later Barbee's voicewas answering from Ranch Number Ten.

  "He's on the way, Barbee," said Steve quickly. "Left Red Creek just afew minutes ago. I'll trail him. Give him the chance to prowl arounda little; try and find what he's after. But don't let him get awaywith it! Understand? Shoot the legs out from under him if you haveto. I'll give you a month's pay for the night's work if you nail himwith the goods on."

  Clicking up the receiver he went out on the street again, giving noheed to the many glances which followed him. They knew who he was;they were speculating on him. "Ol' man Packard's gran'son," he heardone man say.

  In the thick darkness lying under the poplar tree it was severalminutes before he was certain that his horse was gone. He had tetheredthe animal himself; there was no dangling bit of rope to indicate abroken tie-rope. Blenham, the practical, had simply taken thought ofdetail.

  "Not missing a single bet, is Blenham," he thought savagely.

  He swung about and reentered the saloon. A buzz of talk up and downthe long room promptly died away as again the eyes of many mentravelled his way. It struck him that they had all been talking ofhim; he knew that they must have marked those signs which Joe Woods'sfists had left on his face; he stood a moment looking in on them,conscious for the first time of his rapidly swelling right eye, seekingto estimate what these men made of him.

  It seemed to him that the one emotion he glimpsed on all hands and invarying degrees, was distrust. Little cause for surprise there: he wasa Packard and this was not the Packard side of Red Creek.

  "Somebody's put me on foot," he announced crisply. "I left my horseoutside, tied. It's gone now. Know anything about it, any of youboys?"

  They looked their interest. Hereabouts one man did not trifle withanother man's horse. But there was no answer to his direct question.

  "I've got to be riding," he went on quietly. "Who can lend me asaddle-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 thestreet, ain't you, stranger?"

  "Meaning I am a Packard?"

  "You got me the firs' time. That's Packard's Town over yonder. Yourcrowd----"

  "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 Blenhamon me. Want to know what I want a horse for? Blenham's got a headstart and I want to overhaul him! To tell him he's a crook and athief. Now is this side of Red Creek open to me or is it shut? What'sthe answer, Whitey Wimble?"

  Wimble appeared both impressed and yet hesitant. Here was a Packard todeal with and Whitey Wimble when taking over the destiny of the OldTrusty had been set clear in the matter that he had a ripe, old feud tomaintain; and still, looking at it the other way, here was a man whocarried the sign of Joe Woods's fist upon his bruised face, whoannounced that he was out to get Blenham, that there was open troublebetween him and old man Packard.

  Whitey Wimble, beginning by looking puzzled, wound up by turning adistressed face toward Steve.

  "It's kind of a fine point," he suggested finally. "Now, come rightdown to it, it sort of looks to me----"

  "Fine point!" cried Steve hotly, a sudden anger growing within him ashe thought how Blenham had played the game all along the line, howBlenham might well prove too shrewd for a boy like Barbee, how a set ofprejudiced fools here in the Old Trusty by denying him the loan of ahorse might seriously be aiding Blenham whom none of them had any lovefor. "Why, damn it, man, haven't I told you that Blenham has just puta raw deal across on me, that he's coming close to getting away withit, that all I ask is a horse to run him down? Who's going to let mehave one? I'm in a hurry!"

  Never until now did he realize how strong a factor in the life of thecommunity was the prejudice against his blood. On every hand he sawdoubt, clouded eyes, distrust. Plainly many a man there held him for aliar; would even go so far, it was possible, as to suggest later thatSteve Packard had meant to steal the horse he asked for. Steve staredabout him a moment, his back stiffening. Then, with a little grunt ofdisgust, he strode across the room.

  "At least," he flung over his shoulder at Whitey Wimble, "I am going touse your telephone again!"

  Without waiting for an answer and caring not the snap of his fingerswhat that answer might be, he went to the telephone, jerking down thereceiver, 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 besome one at the Number Ten bunk-house at this hour, the girl said:

  "Wait a minute."

  And after that:

  "There seems to be something the matter with the line. I can't raiseany of the ranch-houses out that way. We'll send a man out in themorning."

  So he couldn't even warn Barbee that Blenham had made good hishead-start; that Blenham was plainly of one mind to-night; that it wasup to young Barbee to keep his eyes open and his gun cocked. He beganto understand why his grandfather had made Blenham one of hisright-hand men; he had the cool mind and the way of acting quicklywhich makes for success.

  "I got a horse for you, pardner," said a slow voice as Packard came outof the office. "A cayuse as can't be beat for legs an' lungs. Comeahead."

  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 outtogether. "Know him, don't you?"

  "I did a dozen years ago," answered Steve absently. "Where's yourhorse?"

  "You're Steve Packard, ain't you? You done Brocky a favor when you wasa kid, didn't you? Brocky told me. Brocky's done me a favor. I'mdoin' you a favor. That squares us up all 'round. Like a circle, allin a ring, sort of; get me?"

  "Yes," agreed Steve, feeling vaguely that the cowman had unknowinglytouched upon a problem in higher mathematics. He slipped a hand intohis pocket.

  But the friend whom an old, long-forgotten kindness raised now for himat his need, shook his head, would have none of Packard's money, andled the way to a shed behind the saloon. Out of the darkness hebrought a tall, wall-eyed roan, quickly saddled and bridled and handedover to Steve.

  "Heeled?" came solicitously from the little man as Steve swung up intothe saddle.

  "No."

  "Well, Blenham is. He goes that way all the time. An' he's a rightgood shot, the boys say. If there's some real sour blood stirred upbetween him an' you there's no use bein' a plumb fool, is there? Thestore's apt to be open yet; there's a firs'-class double-barrelshot-gun, secon'-hand but as good as new, in the window. Only sevendollars an' a half."

  "I'll send the horse over to Brocky's to-morrow," called Steve. "Andas for being square--call on me at any time for the next favor. Solong."

  "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 tobeat for legs an' lungs
." And Blenham's head-start was but a matter ofminutes, half an hour at most.

  But before he had ridden fifty yards Steve whirled his horse and rodeback, going straight to the store. After all, since Blenham wasplaying a game in which the stakes were no less than ten thousanddollars, since Blenham was without doubt the man who had sought to killBill 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'scowboy put it, "there was no use bein' a plumb fool." And to ride ahundred yards or so and buy a Colt .45 and a box of cartridges requiredbut a moment.

  In the store the long shelves upon one side held dry-goods, while uponthe opposite shelves a miscellany of groceries was displayed; towardthe rear was the storekeeper's assortment of hardware near a counterpiled high with sweaters, boots, chaparejos, all jumbled hopelessly.At the flank of this confusion was a show-case containing a rather fairline of side-arms. Steve, his eye finding what it sought, wentstraight to the back of the house. And then, looking through an opendoor which gave entrance to the living-room of the storekeeper'sfamily, his glance met Terry's. She was rising to her feet, drawing onher gauntlets.

  "That's your train now," a woman's voice was saying.

  Packard heard the whistling of a distant engine. He lifted his hat,she promptly whirled about, giving him her back to look at.

  "Here's what I want," said Steve as the storekeeper came to his side."That .45, and a box of cartridges."

  Terry turned again quickly and he surprised a little look of interestin her slightly widened eyes. A man doesn't buy a gun and a box ofcartridges at this time of night unless he has a use for them. Packardtook up his new purchases, went out, swung again into the saddle, andclattered down the street.

  The night was bright with stars, clear and sweet. Presently, with onlya handful of miles behind him, the moon rose above the distant ridge,at the full, glorious and generous of light. He loosened his reins alittle, gave the big roan his head, and swept on through theghostly-lighted country.

  Now and then, remarking some old remembered landmark, he glanced fromit to his watch; more than once, having slipped his watch again intohis pocket, he leaned forward and patted the horse's neck.

  Then--he had done a little more than half the distance and was ridingthrough the thick shadows of Laurel Canon, which marks the beginning ofthe long grade--the unforeseen occurred; the unlooked-for which, heknew now, he would have fully expected, had he not counted always uponBlenham playing a lone hand.

  In the middle of the inky blotch made by the laurels standing upagainst the moon there was a spot through which the moon-rays foundtheir way, making a pool of light. As Packard rode into this brightarea he heard a rifle-shot, startlingly loud; saw the spit of flamefrom just yonder, perhaps ten feet, certainly not more than twenty feetaway; 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 atthe side of the road, and as he did so emptied his revolver into theshadows whence had come the rifle-shot. But he knew that he was a foolto hope to hit; the man had had time to select his spot, to screen hisown body with a boulder or fallen log, to leave open behind him a wayto safety and darkness.

  "Not Blenham himself but one of his crowd did that," muttered Packardas 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 hecould hire one of his hangers-on to kill a horse."

  Well, it was just another trick for Blenham. On foot now he must makewhat time he could to the Pinchot farm, some three or four milesfurther on, demand a horse there, and pray that Barbee was equal to histask. But first he must not leave the big roan to suffer needlesslyand hopelessly.

  He struck a match and made a flaring torch of a little wisp of drygrass. Loving a good horse as he did, he felt a sudden and utterly newsort of hatred of Blenham go rushing along his blood.

  It was with a deep sigh of relief that he straightened up when he sawthat either chance or a remarkable skill with a rifle had saved BrockyLane's roan from any protracted pain.

  Packard pushed on, seeking to make what time he could, breaking into ajog-trot time and again upon a down-slope, conserving wind and strengthfor the up-hill climbs, keeping in the shadows for the most part buttaking his chance over and over in the moonlit open.

  Yet it was being borne in upon him that it was useless to hurry now;that Blenham had made of his advantage a safe lead; that he might aswell slow down, make a cigarette, take his time. And still, being thesort of man he was, he kept doggedly on, telling himself that a race isanybody's race until the tape is broken; that Blenham might be havinghis own troubles somewhere ahead; that quitting did no good and that itis not good to be a "quitter." But he had little enough hope of comingup again with Blenham that night.

  And then, when he had been on foot not more than twenty minutes, afaint, even, drumming sound swelling steadily through the nightsomewhere 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 twoheadlights of an automobile flashed into his eyes. Terry Temple, hererrand 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 hesprang out so that she could not fail to see him, tossing up both armsin signal to her to stop. Her headlights blinded him one moment; heheard the warning blast of her horn; he entertained briefly thesuspicion that she was going to refuse to stop.

  Incredible--and yet he had not thought of her own likely emotions. Tohave a man leap out into the road in front of her, all unexpectedly,waving his arms and calling on her to stop-- Why, she'd think herselffallen into the hands of a highwayman!

  She was coming on, straight on, her horn emitting one long, sustainedshriek of menace. Packard ground his teeth; either she did notrecognize him and was bound upon getting by him, or she did recognizehim and was accepting her opportunity to emphasize her attitude towardhim.

  In any case she was going by, she in whom lay his sole hope to come togrips with Blenham. If he let her evade he might as well quit, quit inutter disgust with the world.

  With the world? Disgust with himself, that he had let Blenham beathim, that he wasn't much of a man, that his old grandfather was rightabout 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 hischance rush by him. His chance that loomed up bigger than the oncomingmachine and more real; his chance not for to-night alone but for everafter.

  For if Blenham beat him to-night and his grandfather beat him againlater on, he knew that he would pass away from the country about RanchNumber Ten, that he would give over all sustained effort to makesomething of his life, that he would go back to drifting, rounding outhis days after the fashion of the last twelve years. It was whileTerry's car was speeding toward him that all of this ran through hismind.

  There was the possibility that, knowing who he was, Terry would try tobluff him out of the road, counting confidently upon his leaping tosafety at the last moment; there was the other possibility that shemistook his motives and would run him down in a sort of panic ofself-defense.

  Packard, with his rather clear-cut conception of the girl's characterto 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 infront of her. As he ran the hard lines about his mouth softened into arare grin: he'd have her guessing for a minute, anyway. And by thetime 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 runstraight on in front of her, slowed down, hesitation in her mind. Whatwas he up to? Then there came sudden shadows in a narrow part of theroad, a sharp turn, the absolute necessity of slowing down
just atrifle more, and then----

  "It's all right; go ahead!" called Packard lightly. He was standing onher running-board.

  She had thrown off her hat to the cool of the evening. As they passedout from the shadows he could see her eyes. He pushed back his own hatand Terry saw his eyes. For a moment, while the car sped on, neitherspoke.

  Looking at her he had glimpsed wonder, an annoyance that was swiftlygrowing into anger, and a certain assurance that Miss Terry Templefully intended to remember this day and to square accounts with StephenPackard.

  Returning his look, Terry had seen but one emotion in his eyes: puretriumph. She could not know how the man of him, having but just nowsucceeded in this first task he had set himself, felt a suddenconfidence of the future.

  "If I had let you go by," said Packard quietly, "I should have feltthat 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 laughedjoyously. Then, his face suddenly serious again, he considered herspeculatively. Now for the first time he became aware that Terry wasalready carrying a passenger. A small man, Japanese, immaculate, andfrightened so that his teeth were chattering.

  He was Iki, who had come into Red Creek this evening by train and dueto 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 plumphand, half offered already. Steve beamed upon him, then turned hiseyes, still speculative, upon Terry.

  "Do you care to tell me," said Terry tartly, "why you're always gettingin my way? Think you're smart, climbing aboard like a monkey? You'vedone the trick twice; do I have to look out for you every time I takethe 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'scase the emotion aroused by Packard's words was short-lived. Whyshould a man shoot the horse under Steve Packard? Disbelief reshapedher 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 wantto know what I think, Steve Packard--you're a liar!"

  He laughed, well content with the moment and the situation, wellcontent with his unwilling companion just as she was.

  "And do you know that what I told you this afternoon was true?" hecountered cheerfully. "You're just like my blazing old Grandy!Instead of being my grandfather he ought to be yours. By golly, MissTerry Pert," teasing the blood higher into her cheeks with hislaughter, "that might be arranged, too! Mightn't it? You and I----"

  "Oh!" cried Terry, and he had no doubts about her meaning what shesaid. "Oh, I hate you! Yes, worse than I hate old Hell-Fire: he keepsout 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 hersteering-wheel and grasped her right hand. The car swerved dangerouslya moment, then came back to its steady course as Steve's other handclosed over Terry's left. Slowly, putting his greater strength gentlyagainst hers, he took her automatic from her.

  "Thirty-eight calibre?" he said coolly. "There's nothing littleabout your way of doing things, is there? And you meant to drill ahole through me, I'm bound!"

  Terry's face gleamed white in the pale light; and he knew from the lookin her eyes as they seemed fairly to clash with his, that it was thewhite of sheer rage.

  "I'd just as lief blow your head off as shoot a rattlesnake," sheannounced 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 wheeland driving on recklessly.

  "I would like to mention," came an uncertain voice from a very paleJapanese, "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.