Three times before they shot back into the mouth of Blue Bird Canon the
mechanician fancied that his employer had spoken; each time listening,
he failed to catch any other sound than that made by the engine and
speeding wheels. Once he said, "Sir?" and got only silence for an
answer.
He shook his head and wondered; it was not Packard's way to mumble to
himself. And again, ready to jump for his life as the big car took a
dangerous turn, his eyes glued to the sheer bank a few inches from the
singing tires, he caught a sound through the blast of the sparton which
surely 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 his
two plunging horses where the man had hurriedly got them out of the way
and up the flank of the mountain. They raced on. And again, surely
Packard had said something.
"Talkin' to me?" called Little.
Then, for just a wee fraction of a second, Packard drew his eyes from
the road and his look met the mechanician's. The old man's eyes were
shining strangely.
"Damn it, Guy Little," he boomed out boisterously, "can't a man laugh
when he feels that-away?"
And it suddenly dawned upon Guy Little that ever since they had left
Ranch Number Ten the old man had been chuckling delightedly.
CHAPTER VIII
IN RED CREEK TOWN
The little town of Red Creek had an individuality all its own.
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