the beginning that 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?"

"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,
nothing 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 outfit. 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; 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