Much of this Steve Packard knew, since it was so in his time, before he
had gone wandering; much he had learned from Barbee in a long talk with
him before riding the twenty-five miles into the village. Old Man
Packard had drawn to himself a host of retainers since his interests
were big, his hired-men many, his wages generous. And, throughout the
countryside across which he cast his shadow, he had cultivated and
grown a goodly crop of enemies, men with whom he had contended, men
whom he had branded sweepingly as liars and thieves and cutthroats, men
whose mortgages he had taken, men whom, in the big game which he
played, he had broken. The northern half of Red Creek was usually and
significantly known as Packard's Town; the southern half sold liquor
and merchandise, offered food and lodging, to men who harbored few
friendly feelings for Packard's "crowd."
Hence, in Red Creek were two saloons, confronting each other across the
red scar of the creek; two stores, two lunch-counters, two blacksmith
shops, each eying its rival jealously. At this time the post-office
had been secured by the Packard faction; the opposition snorted
contempt and called attention to the fact that the constable resided
with them. Thus honors were even.
Steve Packard rode into town in the late afternoon, his motive
clear-cut, his need urgent. If Blenham had stolen his ten thousand
dollars for which he had so imperative a call now, then Blenham had
been the one who had replaced the large bank-notes with the small;
there was the chance that Blenham, just a week ago to-night, had gotten
the dollar bills in Red Creek.
Pages:
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89