his," he told her quietly.
"I thought that Philip Packard had sold the outfit to his father before
his death."

"He didn't sell it to anybody. He mortgaged it right up to the hilt to
the old man. Then he up and died. Of course everything he left,
amounting mostly to a pile of debts, went to his good-for-nothing son."

A light which she could not understand, eager and bright, shone in
young Packard's eyes. If what she told him were true, then the old
home ranch, while commonly looked upon as belonging already to his
grandfather, was the property legally of Steve Packard. And
Blenham--yes, and old Bill Royce--were taking his pay. Suddenly
infinite possibilities stretched out before him.

"Come alive!" laughed Terry. "We were talking about your finding a
job. There's one open here for you; first to teach me all you know
about the insides of my car; second-- What's the matter? Gone to
sleep?"

He started. He had been thinking about Blenham and Bill Royce. As
Terry continued to stare wonderingly at him he smiled.

"If you don't mind," he said non-committally, "we'll forget about the
job for a spell. I left some stuff back at the Packard ranch that
belongs to me. I'm going back for it in the morning. Maybe I'll go to
work there after all."

She shrugged distastefully.

"It's a free country," she said curtly. "Only I can't see your play.
That is, if you're a square guy and not a crook, Number Ten size.
You've got a chance to go to work here with a white crowd; if you want
to tie up with that ornery bunch it's up to you."

"I'll look them over," he said thoughtfully.

"All right; go to it!" she cried with sudden heat. "I said it was a
free country, didn't I? Only you can burn this in your next
wheat-straw: once you go to riding herd with that gang you needn't come
around here again. And you can take Blenham a message for me: Phil
Packard knifed dad and double-crossed him and made him pretty nearly
what he is now; old Hell-Fire Packard finished the job. But just the
same, the Temple Ranch is still on the map and Terry Temple had rather
scrap a scoundrel to the finish than shake hands with one. And one of
these days dad's going to come alive yet; you'll see."

"I believe," he said as much to himself as to her, "that I'll have to
have a word with old man Packard."

She stared at him incredulously. Then she put her head back and
laughed in high amusement.

"Nobody'd miss guessing that you had y