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.

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 Blenham 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 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 we