en's wages and current expenses. By the same means he had managed to
keep abreast of his interest payments to old man Packard and had even
paid off a little more of the principal. Then, catching the market
right "going and coming," he had bought a lot of young cattle from an
overstocked ranch adjoining, and had made a second profitable sale a
month later.

Finally, to indicate that he was still in the game and playing it to
win, consequently overlooking never a bet, he had cashed in pretty
fortunately on a section of his timber-land.

The Rollston mills were just opening upon the other side of the
mountains; he showed the firm's buyer a stretch of his big timber and
closed the deal to their common satisfaction. And with every deal of
this sort old man Packard felt his grip being pried loose from Ranch
Number Ten.

From the beginning Steve had been puzzled to know what to do with the
Temple outfit. Terry had paid off the men and had let them go; the
stock on the place she had left, and without a word, to Steve's care.
Since the place was well stocked, chiefly with young cattle, there was
enough here to demand the attention which so busy a man as Steve
Packard could not give.

He talked matters over with Bill Royce and in the end sent both Bill
and Barbee to the Temple place, riding over once or twice a week
himself to see how matters went.

And so the months dragged by. Twice, swearing to himself that he was
doing so only because the management of the business made it absolutely
necessary, Steve wrote to Terry. He got no answer. He did not even
know if she had received his notes. The first he had signed, by the
way, "Yours very truly, Steve." The second ended "Respectfully, S.
Packard."

"Terry's havin' the time of her life," Bill Royce startled him by
announcing one day out of a clear sky.

"How do you know?" asked Steve sharply.

"Oh, she writes letters to her frien's," said Royce. "One of the boys
brought word from the Norton place. Terry wrote her an' wrote some
folks in Red Creek an' wrote the Lanes an'----"

"Appears to be quite a letter-writer," remarked Steve stiffly. "And
she's having the time of her life, is she?"

"Sure," said Royce innocently. "Why not? The boys are bettin' she's
dead gone on some young down-East jasper an' that maybe she'll be
married in no time. What do you think, huh, Steve?"

"Where is she?" demanded Steve, very brusque about it.

"Blessed if I know," admi