his teeth. His drawn face was stamped in the
image of fury.

"You're a sweet picture of a dead game sport," he growled, shifting
nervously in his chair. "I ain't got a gun; you an' Barbee have; go
ahead an' call me all the names you like!"

Steve counted the bank-notes in the wallet. Blenham had spoken truly;
there were nine one-thousand-dollar bills. He put out his hand to
Barbee for the tenth. Barbee, staring strangely like one rudely
awakened from sleep and not yet certain of his surroundings, let the
bank-note go. His eyes, leaving it at last to rest steadily on
Blenham, looked red and ugly. Packard slipped the wallet into his
shirt.

"Barbee," he said quietly, while he busied his eyes with Blenham's
slightest movement, "this money was left to me by my father. He gave
it to Bill Royce to keep for me. You know all that Bill has stood from
Blenham; now you know why. There's quite a load of scoundrelism dumped
off at Blenham's door. And, thanks to you, we've got the dead wood on
him at last!"

"What are you goin' to do with him?" Barbee, speaking for the first
time since Steve's entrance, was husky-voiced. Blenham shifted again
in his chair; now there was only cold hatred in the boy's look. "We'd
ought to be able to put him in the pen for a good long time."

Blenham laughed jeeringly.

"Try it!" he blustered. "See what you can prove, actually prove to a
jury an' a judge! Try it! You go to the law an' see----"

"To hell with the law!" cut in Steve, and though his voice was not
lifted for the imprecation Blenham shot a quick, startled look at him.

And both Blenham and Barbee, listening wonderingly, understood that
here was a Packard talking; that in the shoes of the grandson, even
now, there might be standing the big bulk of the uncompromising
grandfather.

"What do I want with the law now? Blenham would wriggle out, I
suppose; or he would get a light sentence and trim that down to nothing
with good behavior. No, Blenham, if you ever go to jail it will be
somebody's else doing; not mine. Is it just jail for the man who shot
down my old pardner in cold blood, just for the sake of a handful of
money? Is it to be just jail for the man who has made Bill Royce's
life a hell for six months? Just jail for the brute who had a horse
shot under me to-night? Why, damn you--" and at last his voice broke
through the ice of restraint and rang out angrily, full of menace--"do
you think I'm going to l