Whenever he needed any cash all he had to do was soak another plaster
on the ranch, borrow again from his father. An' ol' Number Ten is
plastered thick now, Steve; right square up to the hilt.
"Well, when Phil Packard died he did it like he'd done everything else,
like he had lived, makin' a man think he was in a hurry to get a job
over an' done with. Ridin' horseback one week an' the nex' week
sendin' for me in there." He jerked his head toward a remote room of
the big house. "An' he talked to me then about you."
Packard waited for him to go on, offering no comment. Royce, hunched
over in his chair, straightened up a little, shook himself, and
continued:
"He had drawed some money out'n the bank, all he had left. I dunno
what for, but anyways he had it under his pillow alongside his ol'
Colt. An' he give it to me, sayin' he was caught sudden an' unexpected
by his death, an' for me to take care of it an' see that you got it
when you come back. It was in greenbacks, a little roll no bigger'n
your thumb, an' when I counted 'em I near dropped dead. Ten little
slips of paper, Steve, an' each good for one thousan' bucks! Ten
thousan' dollars did Phil Packard slip me that night not a half-hour
before he went over. For you. An' I got 'em for you, Steve; I got 'em
safe for you."
His big shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh; he ran a toil-hardened
hand across his forehead.
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