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Updated: May 4, 2025
Packard's attack had been swift and sure and not without a certain skill; against it Woods opposed all he had, ponderous strength, slow-moving, brutal force, broad-backed, deep-chested endurance. But from the first it was clear to all who watched and was suspected by Woods himself that he had chosen the wrong man.
"But Phil Packard is dead. And " "And old 'Hell-Fire' Packard, Phil Packard's father, never will die. He's just naturally too low-down mean; the devil himself wouldn't have him." "Terry!" came the voice of the untidy man, meant to be remonstrative but chiefly noteworthy for a newly acquired thickness of utterance. Terry's eyes sparkled and a hot flush came into her cheeks.
What do you propose to do about it? for I see that you have some project in mind." Then I told him as much of my story as seemed necessary to obtain his advice and to secure his cooperation. I confided to him my theory of the unexplainable sights and sounds which had so unfortunately aroused Mrs. Packard's imagination, and what I had done so far to substantiate it.
Before she leaped out Terry had glanced at her clock; she had made the trip of forty miles in exactly fifty-three minutes. Considering the state of the roads "Not bad," admitted Terry. Then with a final clarion call of her horn she had presented herself at Packard's door. She had got a few of the wildest blown wisps of brown hair back where they belonged before the door opened.
Confident that he was lying, I turned quietly away and proceeded down the hall toward Mayor Packard's study. "I wish to speak to the mayor," I explained. "He's not there." The man had eagerly followed me. "He's not come home yet, Miss." "But the gas is burning brightly inside and the door ajar. Some one is there." "It is Mr. Steele. He came in an hour ago. He often works here till after midnight."
As the days went by Packard's fame grew. There were tales that in a savage mêlée with Blenham he had eliminated that capable individual's right eye; and though there were those who had had it from some of the Ranch Number Ten boys that Blenham's loss was the result of an accident, still it remained unquestioned that Blenham had suffered injury at Packard's ranch and had been driven forth from it.
They had, none of them, so much as noted Steve Packard's entrance. Now, however, he forced them to take stock of him. "Bill Royce," he said sharply, "keep your shirt on. Barbee, you do the same. Blenham, you talk with me." "You?" jeered Blenham. "You? Who are you?" "I'm the man on the job right now," answered Packard crisply. "And from now on, I'm running the Ranch Number Ten, if you want to know.
The right of the whole deal is as plain as one and one: This is my outfit, if it is mortgaged; nobody excepting me has any business ordering my timber cut. And I say that it's not going to be cut. If there is any trouble it's up to you fellows." From Blenham in the cabin came no sound; Woods, having glanced swiftly at Packard's angry face, again stared up-stream.
Now suddenly, explosively, came Old Man Packard's voice, fairly quivering with rage as the old man shouted: "If that's you, Guy Little, I'll beat your head off'n your fool body! Get out an' go away an' go fast!" "It's important, your majesty," returned Guy Little's voice imperturbably. He rubbed one slippered toe against his calf and winked at Terry, looking vastly innocent and boyish.
The mayor, mollified possibly by his secretary's last words, sank back again in his chair with the remark: "You have heard Mrs. Packard's distinct denial. You are consequently armed for battle. See that you fight well. It is all a part of the scheme to break me up. One more paragraph of that kind and I shall be a wreck, even if my campaign is not." "There will not be any more."
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