Man to Man Page 7

  CHAPTER VII

  THE OLD MOUNTAIN LION COMES DOWN FROM THE NORTH

  It was perhaps eight o'clock, the morning blue, cloudless, and still.Packard had conferred briefly with Barbee; the Ranch Number Ten men hadgone about their work. Steve and Bill Royce, riding side by side, hadmounted one of the flat, treeless hills in the upper valley and werenow sitting silent while Royce fumbled with his pipe and Steve sent along, eager look down across the open meadow-lands dotted with grazingcattle.

  Suddenly their two horses and the other horses browsing in a lowerfield, jerked up their heads, all ears pricked forward. And yet Stevehad heard no sound to mar the perfect serenity of the young day. Heturned his head a little, listening.

  Then, from some remote distance there floated to him a sound strangelyincongruous here in the early stillness, a subdued screech or scream, awild, clamorous, shrieking noise which for the life of him he could notcatalogue.

  It was faint because it came across so great a distance and yet it wasclear; it was not the throbbing cry of a mountain lion, not the screamof a horse stricken with its death, nothing that he had ever heard, andyet it suggested both of these sounds.

  "Bill!" he began.

  "I heard it," Royce muttered. "An' I've heard it before! In aminute----"

  Royce broke off. The sound, stilled a second, came again, seemingalready much closer and more hideous. Steve's horse snorted andplunged; some of the colts in the pasture flung up their heels and fledwith streaming manes and tails. Royce calmly filled and lighted hispipe.

  Stillness again for perhaps ten or twenty seconds. Steve, about todemand an explanation from his companion, stared as once more came theshrieking noise.

  "You can hear the blame thing ten miles," grunted Royce. "It's onlyabout half that far away now. Keep your eye glued on the road acrossthe valley where it comes out'n Blue Bird Canon."

  And then Steve understood. Into the clear air across the valley rose agrowing cloud of dust; through it, out of the canon's shadows and intothe sunlight, shot a glistening automobile, hardly more than a brightstreak as it sped along the curving down-grade.

  "Terry Temple?" gasped young Packard. Royce merely grunted again.

  "Jus' you watch," was all he said.

  And, needing no invitation, Packard watched. The motor-car's siren--hehad never heard another like it, knew that such a thing would not betolerated in any of the world's traffic centres--sounded again a long,wailing note which went across the valley in billowing echoes.

  Then it grew silent as, with the last of the dangerous curves behindit, the long-bodied roadster swung into the valley. Packard, anexperienced driver himself, with his own share of reckless blood,opened his mouth and stared.

  It was hard to believe that the big, spinning wheels were on the groundat all; the machine seemed more like an aeroplane content with skimmingthe earth but hungry for speed. Only the way in which it plunged andlurched and swerved and plunged again testified to highly inflatedtires battling with ruts and chuck-holes.

  "The fool!" he cried as the car negotiated a turn on two wheels withnever a sign of lessened speed. "He'll turn turtle. He's doing sixtymiles an hour right now. And on these roads----"

  "More likely doin' seventy-five," grunted Royce. "Can do ten better'nthat. Out on the highway he's done a clean hundred. That car, myboy----"

  "He's going into the ditch!" exclaimed Steve excitedly.

  The car, racing on, was already near enough for Steve to make out itstwo passengers, a man bent over the steering-wheel, another man, orboy, for the figure was small, clinging wildly to his place on therunning-board, seeming always in imminent danger of being thrown off.

  "He's drunk!" snapped Packard angrily. "Of all blind idiots!"

  Another strident blast from the horn, that sent staid old cowsscurrying this way and that to get out of the way, and the car swervedfrom the road and took to the open field, headed straight toward thehill where the two horsemen were. Jerking his horse about, Steve rodedown to meet the new arrivals. And then----

  "My God! It's my grandfather! He's gone mad, Bill Royce!"

  "No madder'n usual," said Royce.

  The car came to a sudden stop. The man on the running-board--he had aman's face, keen and sharp-eyed and eager, and the body of a slightboy--jumped down from his place and in a flash disappeared under theengine. The man at the wheel straightened up and got down, stretchinghis legs. Steve, swinging down from his saddle, and coming forward,measured him with wondering eyes.

  And he was a man for men to look at, was old man Packard. Full ofyears, he was no less full of vigor, hale and stalwart and breathingpower. A great white beard, cut square, fell across his full chest;his white mustache was curled upward now as fiercely as fifty years agowhen he had been a man for women to look at, too.

  He was dressed as Steve had always seen him, in black corduroybreeches, high black boots, broad black hat--a man standing upward ofsix feet, carrying himself as straight as a ramrod, his chest aspowerful as a blacksmith's bellows, the calf of his leg as thick asmany a man's thigh; big, hard hands, the fingers twisted by toil; theface weatherbeaten like an old sea captain's, with eyes like the frozenblue of a clear winter sky.

  His voice when he spoke boomed out suddenly, deep and rich and hearty.

  "Stephen?" he demanded.

  Steve said "Yes" and put out his hand, his eyes shining, the surprisingrealization upon him that he was tremendously glad to see his father'sfather once more. The old man took the proffered hand into ahard-locked grip and for a moment held it, while, the other hand on hisgrandson's shoulder, he looked steadily into Steve's eyes.

  "What sort of a man have they made of you, boy?" he asked bluntly."There's the makings of fool, crook an' white man in all of us. Whatfor a man are you?"

  Steve flushed a little under the direct, piercing look, but saidsteadily--

  "Not a crook, I hope."

  "That's something, if it ain't everything," snorted the old man as,withdrawing his hand, he found and lighted a long stogie. "Blenhamtells me you fired him las' night?"

  Young Packard nodded, watching his grandfather's face for the firstsign of opposition. But just now the old man's face told nothing.

  "Thinking of runnin' the outfit yourself, Stephen?" came the nextquestion quietly.

  "Yes. I had intended looking in on you in a day or so to talk mattersover. I understand that my father left everything to me and that it ispretty heavily mortgaged to you."

  "Uhuh. I let Phil have a right smart bit of money on Number Ten firs'an' las', my boy. Don't want to pay it off this mornin', do you?"

  Steve laughed.

  "I'm broke, Grandy," he said lightly, unconsciously adopting the oldtitle for the man who had made him love him and hate him a score oftimes. "My working capital, estimated last night, runs aboutseventy-five dollars. That wouldn't quite turn the trick, would it?"

  The old man's eyes narrowed.

  "You mean that seventy-five dollars is all you've got to show fortwelve years?" he asked sharply.

  Again, hardly understanding why, Steve flushed. Was a man to beashamed that he had not amassed wealth, especially when there had neverbeen in him the sustained desire for gold? He owed no man a cent, hemade his own way, he asked no favors--and yet there was a glint ofdefiance in his eye, a hint of defiance in his tone, when he repliedbriefly.

  "That's all. I haven't measured life in dollars and cents."

  "Then you've missed a damn' good measure for it, my son! I ain'tsayin' it's the only one, but it'll do firs' class. But you needn'tget scared I've gone into the preaching business. . . . An' with thatseventy-five dollars you're startin' out to run a big cow outfit likethis, are you?"

  There was a gleam of mockery in the clear blue eyes which Steve gave nosign of seeing.

  "I've got a big job on my hands and I know it," he said quietly. "ButI'm going to see it through."

  "There's no question about the size of the job! It
's life-size, man'ssize--Number Ten size, if you want to put it that way. It wants a realman to shove it across. Know just how much you're mortgaged for?"

  "No. I was going to ask you."

  "Close to fifty thousan' dollars, countin' back interest, unpaid.More'n you ever saw in a day, I reckon."

  Steve shrugged. This to hide his first inclination to whistle. Fiftythousand--why, he didn't know Number Ten ranch was worth that muchmoney. But it must be worth a good deal more if his grandfather hadadvanced so much on it.

  "It is a nice little pile," he admitted carelessly.

  The old man grunted, thrust his hands into his pockets, and drew deeplyat his stogie. Steve rolled a cigarette. In the silence falling uponthem they could hear the sound of the mechanician's wrench.

  "Anything wrong with the car?" asked Steve for the sake of breakingunpleasant silence.

  "Not that I know of. He's jus' takin' a peek to make sure, I guess.That's what he's for. He knows I got to get back to my place in acouple of shakes."

  Steve smiled; by wagon road his grandfather's ranch home was fiftymiles to the northward.

  "You won't think of going back before noon."

  "Won't I? But I will, though, son; Blenham's sticking aroun', waitin'for my say-so what he'll do nex'." He snapped open a big watch andstared at it a moment with pursed lips. "I'll be back home in jus' onehour an' a half. All I got is fifteen minutes to talk with you thismornin'."

  "You mean that you can drive those fifty miles in an hour and aquarter!"

  "Have done it in less; if I was in a hurry I'd do it in an hour flat.But allowin' for time out I want fifteen minutes more'n that. And now,if we're goin' to get anywhere----"

  He stopped suddenly and stood toying with his big watch passing it backand forth through the loop he made of its heavy chain, his gaze steadyand earnest and searching upon his grandson.

  "Stephen," he said abruptly, "I ain't playin' any favorites in my ol'age. An' I ain't givin' away big chunks of money hit or miss. Youwasn't countin' on anything like that, was you?"

  "No, I wasn't," announced Steve quickly. "I remember your old theory;that a man should make his own way unaided, that----"

  "That whatever he got he's got to get with his one head an' one set ofhan's. Now, the things I got to say I'll spit out one at the time:Firs', I'd like to have you come visit me for a spell at my place.Will you do it? To-day, to-morrow, any time you feel like it."

  "Yes; I'll be glad to."

  "That's good. Nex', not even if you was the right man for the job youcan't save this ranch now; it's too late, there's to much to dig up intoo short a time. I've got my hooks in deep an' whenever that happensI don't let go. I want you to quit before you get started."

  Steve looked his surprise.

  "Surely," he said wonderingly, "you don't want me to give you the ranchjust because you happen to hold the mortgages on it?"

  "Business is business, Stephen," said the old man sternly. "Sometimes,between Packards, business is hell. It'd be that for you. I'vestarted out to get this outfit an' I'd get it. An' doin' it I'd bewastin' my time besides breakin' you all to smithereens. Better dropit."

  Steve had hardly expected this. But he answered calmly, even lightly.

  "I think I'd like a try at holding it."

  "That's two things," old man Packard said crisply. "Number three isthis here: Blenham tells, me you've put Royce in as foreman under you?"

  "I offered him the place. He could have it yet if he wanted it. Buthe refused. I've passed the job on to a man named Barbee."

  "Barbee!" cried the old man. "Barbee! That yellow canary-bird?Meaning him?"

  "Yes," retorted Steve a trifle stiffly. "Anything wrong with him?"

  "I didn't roll them fifty miles to talk about jay-birds an'canary-birds an' such," growled his grandfather. "But here's one thingI've got to say: This ranch is goin' to be mine real soon; that's inthe cards, face up. It's as good as mine now. I've been runnin' itmyself for six months. I want it right, hear me? What do you knowabout running a big outfit? What does a kid without whiskers likeBarbee know about it? Think I want it all run down in the heel when itcomes to me? No, sir! I don't. Blenham knows the lay of the land,Blenham knows my ways, Blenham knows how to run things. I want you toput Blenham back on the job!"

  Steve bit his lip, holding back a hot reply.

  "Grandfather," he said slowly, "suppose we take a little more time ingetting squared around? I want to do what's right; I know that youwant to do what's fair and square. I am willing to consult you aboutranch matters; I'll come to you for advice, if you'll let me; I'll tryto keep the ranch up to time and"--with a smile--"in my hands and outof yours. That's a good sporting proposition. But as for Blenham----"

  "Put him back as foreman and I'll talk fair with you. I want Blenhamback here, Stephen. Understand that?"

  "And," cried Steve a trifle heatedly at last, "I tell you that I amgoing to run the ranch myself. And that I don't like Blenham."

  "Damn it," cried the old man violently, "hear the boy! Don't likeBlenham, huh? Goin' to run the ranch yourself, huh? Why, I tell youit's as good as mine right now! How are you goin' to pay your men, howare you goin' to buy grub for 'em, where are you goin' to findrunnin'-expense money? Go an' tell folks you're mortgaged to me forfifty thousan' dollars an' see how much they'll stake you for on top ofthat. Or come over my way an' try to borrow some more, if you thinkI'm an easy guy. Why, Steve Packard, you--you're a tomfool!"

  "Thanks," said Steve dryly. "I've heard that before."

  "An' you'll hear it again, by the Lord! In ten languages if you'llfind men talkin' that many lingos. Here I come chasin' all this way tobe decent to you, to see if there ain't some way to help you out----"

  "Help me out of my property," amended Steve. "I can't rememberanything else you offered to do for me!"

  "I said it once," shouted his grandfather, his two big fists suddenlyclinched and lifted threateningly; "you're a howlin' young ass! That'swhat for a man you've turned out to be, Stephen Packard. Come hereempty-handed an' try to buck me, would you? Me who has busted bettermen than you all my life, me who has got my hooks in you deep already,me who ain't no pulin' ol' dodderin' softy to turn over to a lazy,shiftless vagabond all I've piled up year after year. Buck me, wouldyou? Tuck in an' fire my men, butt on my affairs-- Why, you impudentyoung puppy-dog, you: I'll make you stick your tail between your legsan' howl like a kiote before I'm done with you!"

  Steve looked at him hopelessly; he might have expected this all alongthough he had hoped for amity at least. If there were to be a conflictof purpose he could have wished that it be conducted in friendlyfashion. But when did Hell-Fire Packard ever clasp hands with the manhe opposed in anything, when did he ever see a business rival withoutcloven hoof, horns, and spiked tail?

  "I am sorry you look at it that way, Grandy. It is only natural that Ishould seek to hold what is mine."

  "Then hold your tongue, you young fool!" blazed out the old man. "Butdon't ask me to hold my hand! I'm goin' after you tooth and bigtoe-nail! If Ranch Number Ten ain't mine in all partic'lars beforeyou're a year older I want to know why!"

  "I think," said the grandson, fighting with himself for calmness andquiet speech, "that any further business I can take up with yourlawyer. Past due interest----"

  "Lawyer?" thundered Packard senior. "Since when did I ever have callfor law an' lawyers in my play? Think I'm a crook, sir? Mean toinsinuate I'm a crook?"

  "I mean nothing of the kind. A mortgage is a legal matter, the paymentof interest and principal----"

  "Guy Little!" called the old man. "Guy Little! Goin' to stay underthat car all day?"

  The mechanician promptly appeared, hands and face greasy and black andtook his place on the running-board.

  "All ready, sir," he announced imperturbably.

  With half-a-dozen strides his master reached the car; in as manyseconds the powerful engine was throbbing.
The screaming horn gavewarning, the quiet herds in the valley heeded, lifted their heads andstood at attention, ready to scamper this way or that as need arose.The wheels turned, the car jolted over the inequalities presented bythe field, swerved sharply, turned, gathered speed and whizzed awaytoward the valley road.

  Three times before they shot back into the mouth of Blue Bird Canon themechanician fancied that his employer had spoken; each time listening,he failed to catch any other sound than that made by the engine andspeeding wheels. Once he said, "Sir?" and got only silence for ananswer.

  He shook his head and wondered; it was not Packard's way to mumble tohimself. And again, ready to jump for his life as the big car took adangerous turn, his eyes glued to the sheer bank a few inches from thesinging tires, he caught a sound through the blast of the sparton whichsurely must have come from the driver's lips.

  "What say?" yelled Guy Little.

  No answer. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a farmer at the head of histwo plunging horses where the man had hurriedly got them out of the wayand up the flank of the mountain. They raced on. And again, surelyPackard had said something.

  "Talkin' to me?" called Little.

  Then, for just a wee fraction of a second, Packard drew his eyes fromthe road and his look met the mechanician's. The old man's eyes wereshining strangely.

  "Damn it, Guy Little," he boomed out boisterously, "can't a man laughwhen he feels that-away?"

  And it suddenly dawned upon Guy Little that ever since they had leftRanch Number Ten the old man had been chuckling delightedly.