he realize how strong a factor in the life of the
community was the prejudice against his blood. On every hand he saw
doubt, clouded eyes, distrust. Plainly many a 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:

"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 grandfather 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 cayuse 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 'round. Like a circle, all
in a ring, sort of; get me?"

"Yes," agreed Steve, feeling vaguely that the cowman had