But Royce shook his head slowly, while his big, thick fingers filled
his pipe.

"We ain't got all night to jus' squat here an' gossip about our
neighbors," he said presently. "There's other things to be said before
things can be done. First rattle, an' to get goin', I'm much obliged
for that little bluff you threw Blenham's way about me being your
foreman. What you need an' what you got to have is a man with both
eyes wide open. Oh, I know, Steve," as Packard started to speak.
"You'd offer me the job if both my legs an' arms was gone, too. But it
don't go."

"I'm going to need a man right away," argued Steve. "I'll have to do a
lot of running around, I suppose, looking up the law, arranging for
belated payments, and so forth. I don't want to leave the ranch
without a head. You know the men, you know the outfit."

But Royce, though his lips twitched, was firm.

"I don't know the men any too well either," he said. "They're all your
grandfather's hirin'. But they're all live an' they all know the game.
I won't swear as to how far you can trust any one of 'em; but you'll
have to find that out for yourself as we go on."

"Name one of them for me," was Packard's quiet way of accepting his old
foreman's ultimatum. "I'll put him on at least temporarily."

"There's Yellow Barbee," suggested Royce. "Somethin' of a kid, maybe
kind of wild an' harum-scarum, maybe not worth much. But he ain't a
Blenham man an' he did me a good turn."

Already Packard was on his feet, going to the door.

"Barbee!" he shouted. "Oh, Barbee!"

The bunk-house door opened, emitting its stream of light.

"Call me?" came Barbee's cool young voice, impudent now as always.

"Yes, come here a minute, will you?"

Barbee came, his wide hat far back upon his tight little curls, his
swagger pronounced, his sweet blue eyes shining softly--his lips
battered and bruised and already swelling.

"Come in and shut the door," said Packard.

Barbee entered and stepped across the room to lounge with his elbow on
the chimney-piece, looking curiously from Packard to Royce.

"I'm here to run this outfit myself, Barbee," Packard told him while
returning the youth's regard steadily. "But I need a foreman to keep
things going when I'm obliged to be away. I gave the job to Royce. He
won't have it. He suggests you."

Barbee opened his eyes a trifle wider. Also the quick flush running up
into his brown cheeks made him look more boyish than e