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Updated: June 16, 2025
Terry's voice Steve swung about, his anger suddenly quenched in alarm, his eyes seeking everywhere for her. It was Barbee who saw her first. Barbee called out, a strange note in his voice, and clapped his spurs to his horse's sides and went racing across the undulating lands toward her. Then Steve saw and old man Packard and the rest.
He had consulted with Bill Royce and Barbee and had cut down his crew of men, thereby curtailing expenses. He had sold a few head of beef cattle and banked the money for the men's wages and current expenses. By the same means he had managed to keep abreast of his interest payments to old man Packard and had even paid off a little more of the principal.
Which is saying rather a good deal when it be understood that that ten days' ride may be through the cattle country back of San Juan. "Goin' to eat me alive?" demanded Barbee lightly, "Or roast me first?" "For two cents," said Blenham slowly, "I'd forget you're just a kid an' slap your face!" Barbee swept one of the fifty-cent pieces from the table and tossed it to the foreman.
Barbee shrugged and spat and answered Blenham with a curse and a grunted: "Nobody's askin' your opinion, Blenham." But Steve saw and Blenham must have seen the gleam of triumph in Barbee's eye. "What are you goin' to do with me?" asked Blenham presently. "Nothin'," replied Barbee. "Jus' keep you where I got you until Steve Packard comes back. Which ought to be mos' any time now."
Packard and Barbee, frowning unavailingly toward each little noise, could only guess at what went forward so few inches from them. A scraping foot might be either Royce's or Blenham's; a long, deep sigh or quick breathing now here, now there, might emanate from either man.
From down in the valley they watched, close to a score of hard-eyed, wrath-filled men, as Blenham stepped out of the crevice and on to the ledge. They saw how he jeered as he stepped over the body of the man he had shot. "A fool was Barbee," he called. "A fool the Packards, ol' an' young!"
But Barbee was awake, his wits about him; his voice and Blenham's, both quiet, met Steve's ears as he slipped about the corner of the house, coming under the window where the light was. Blenham was talking now. He sat loosely in a chair, his hands one upon the other, idle in his lap. Barbee, his eyes narrowed and watchful, stood at the far side of the room.
As though he did not already have enough on his hands, Bill Royce greeted him at the home ranch-house with the significant word "Trouble!" "I know it," grunted Packard, swinging down stiffly from his saddle. "What kind this time, Bill?" "Blenham-brand, I'd reckon," said Bill angrily. Steve noted that both of the old hand's cheeks were flushed hotly. "Barbee telephoned in about four hours ago.
"And it is up those cliffs that we are going," Terry announced when, having drawn nearer, they stopped again to gaze upward. "There's a trail climbing straight up from the bed of the pass; a trail to go hand-and-foot style. Once on top we'll be among Barbee's herds, Barbee guessing nothing of our coming since he'll be busy watching the other ways in. And Look!"
'Barbee! he cried out angrily, coming on swiftly until he stood over the table. 'What in hell's name do you mean by steering Longstreet into a mess like this? 'What do you mean? retorted Barbee hotly. 'What business is it of yours? 'I mean Jim Courtot, cut in Howard shortly. 'You know better than to drag any friend of mine into a game with him. Courtot appeared calm and unconcerned.
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