said carelessly.

CHAPTER XXIV

DOWN FROM THE SKY!

Drop Off Valley, its name won to it by its salient feature, was but a
long, narrow, and very high plateau in the mountains lying to the east
of Ranch Number Ten. It was well watered from springs at the upper end
which wandered the entire length of the tract and spilled down the
cliffs which cut in abrupt fashion across the lower end, making a
natural and fearsome boundary.

From this portion of the "valley" one might kick a stone a sheer and
dizzy distance down into the head-waters of Indian Creek, which
indicated the beginning of the narrow pass which led through the
mountains and to the misty blue hills of Old Mexico.

Here in the abundant, rich, dry feed wandered upward of two hundred
head of Ranch Number Ten and Temple Ranch cattle, mingling freely, the
herds of one outfit carrying their brands in and out of the herds of
the other. A sign and a token that at last a certain dead-line had
ceased to exist.

Steve had found Andy Sprague, as crooked a little man as he looked to
be according to Bill Royce and others who should know, and had arranged
with him for the leasing of the mountain pasturage. Less than a week
later Sprague was back saying that he had seen Hell-Fire Packard and
that that old mountain-lion had roared at him terribly, had threatened
him with utter ruin if ever again he helped out Steve Packard and had
bade him carry a message.

"Tell that smart young fool of a gran'son of mine," was the word
Sprague gave Steve, "that right now I'm gettin' ready to polish him off
final. Tell him what I done to him, blockin' his sale in San Juan,
wasn't a patch on what I can do; tell him he'll lose more steers than
he ever los' before. Tell him if he don't want to get hisself all
mussed up in this deal he'd better come over to my place an' throw up
his han's. I'm gettin' mad!"

Before having these words from Andy Sprague's twisted mouth Steve
Packard had been puzzled to explain two matters: According to count, on
one hand there were too few cattle by perhaps a score while on another
hand there were too many by at least a half dozen. And, though Terry
Temple was directly concerned, he had said nothing to her.

The first mystifying suggestion that some strange juggling of stock had
been going on came to him just before he had driven the hundred and
eighty-six steers to San Juan. Rounding up his own stock and cutting
it out from Temple stock, h