ve. The night your dad died, the night I hid the money, was
the night I went blind."

"You haven't told me about that yet, Bill," said Packard gently.

"No; but I'm goin' to now. It's part of the yarn I got to spin
to-night. Like I said I took the wad--your father had slipped it back
in a flat sort of pocketbook--an' went outside. It was night already
an' dark. Ten thousan' bucks for me to keep safe for you!"

Again he ran his hand across his forehead.

"I knew where there was a rock in the corner foundation of the house
that I could work loose; where if I put the greenbacks they wouldn't
spoil if it rained or even if the house burned down. I stuck 'em in
there, got the rock back like it was before, made sure nobody saw me,
an' went off by myself for a smoke.

"'Cause why did I take that chance? I didn't take no chances at all, I
tell you, Steve! How did I know, your father gettin' delirious at the
finish which came downright quick, but he'd give the game away? An' on
the ranch then there was men that would do mos' anything for ten
thousan', give 'em the show.

"Your gran'father had come over an' he had brought Blenham with him an'
his mechanic, Guy Little; an' there was a couple of new men in the
outfit I'd picked up myself that I knew was tough gents.

"No! I didn't take no chances, seein' the money was yours an' not mine
to fool with. I stuck it in the wall an' I sneaked off an' for three
hours I squatted there in the dark with my gun in my hand, waitin' an'
watchin'. Which was playing as safe as a man could, wasn't it, Steve?"

Packard got up and came to Royce's side, putting his hand gently on the
foreman's shoulder.

"It strikes me you've done rather a good deal for me, Bill," he said
quite simply.

"Maybe," said Royce thoughtfully. "But no more'n one pardner ought to
do for another; no more'n you'd do for me, Stevie. Don't I know you?
Give you the chance you'd do as much for me; eh, boy? Well, here's the
rest of the story: Your dad was dead: ol' Hell-Fire was blowin' his
nose so you'd hear it a mile an' I was feelin' weak an' sick-like,
knowin' all of a sudden that Phil Packard had been damn' good to me an'
wantin' to tell him so now it was too late. Late an' dark as it was I
went down to the bunk-house, tol' the boys to stick aroun' for orders
in the mornin', saddled my horse and beat it for a quiet place where I
could think. I never wanted to think so much in my life, Steve.
Remembe