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?"

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' Blenham'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."

"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
committed 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 Packard, 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.

CHAPTER IX

"IT'S MY FIGHT AND HIS. LET HIM GO!"

Steve Packard, walking swiftly, reached the west bridge just before the
fr