y into his.

"My father is asleep. Doctor Bridges rather thinks there is nothing
very much the matter with him," she remarked crisply. "I am sorry I
troubled you in any way, Mr. Packard. You say you arranged matters
with dad? Well, I want you to tear up the papers; I'll see that your
money is returned to you."

"Terry!" he muttered.

Then she flared out hotly, her two small hands clenched at her sides,
her chin lifted, her voice a new voice in his ears, bitter and hostile.

"Don't you Terry me, Steve Packard! Now or ever again. I am sorry
that I ever saw you; I am ashamed that I ever spoke to you. I had
rather be dead or--yes, I'd rather be in Blenham's arms than have you
look at me!"

"Good Lord!" ejaculated Steve, utterly at sea. "I don't understand."

"You don't have to," snapped Terry. "All you've got to know is that I
won't have anything further in any way whatever to do with you. I
won't have you helping us with our mortgage; I won't have you advancing
money to us; I won't stand one little minute for any of your--your
wretched interference with our affairs! If you think you can--can butt
in on our side of any fight in the world----"

She ended abruptly, beginning to flounder, panting so that the swift
rise and fall of her breast was an outward token of inward emotion.
Steve Packard stared and flushed hotly and began to feel his own anger
mount quickly.

"Butt in on your affairs!" he snorted after a fashion more than vaguely
reminiscent of his grandfather. "I like that! As if I'd have come a
step without your invitation."

And so he blurted out the one thing he should have left unsaid, the
thing which already rankled in Terry's proud heart. She had asked him
to come; she had in a way suggested a--a sort of partnership.

"Oh! how I hate you!" cried Terry. "You--you Packard!"

"If there's some crime, some string of crimes that I have committed----"

"Will you tear up those papers? I'll get you back your money. Will
you tear up those papers?"

"Will you explain what's gone wrong?"

"I will not."

He shrugged exasperatingly.

"I'll keep the papers," he returned stonily. "I put over rather a good
deal to-night, come to think of it."

He put on his hat, jamming it down tight, and half turned to go.

"When you want to talk ranch matters over with me--come to my
ranch-house, little pardner!"

"Oh!" cried Terry. "Oh!"

CHAPTER XXII

THE HAND OF BLENHAM

"Each man's life