Joe Woods, his name. Packard had already heard of him, a rowdy
and a rough-neck but a capable timberjack to the calloused fingers of
him. He followed the men into the saloon.
At his place behind the long bar was Hodges, busy filling imperative
orders, taking in the money which he counted as good as his once it
left the paymaster's pocket. But it struck Packard that the bartender
did not appear happy; his face was flushed and hot, his eyes looked
troubled. Now and then he flashed a quick look at Blenham who stood
leaning against the bar at the far end, twisting an empty whiskey-glass
slowly in his big hand, staring frowningly at nothing.
"Hodges is a fool and he has just been told so!" was Steve's answer to
the situation.
"Hi, Blenham!" called big Joe Woods. "Have a drink."
"No," growled Blenham, deep down in his throat. "I don't want it.
I----"
His eyes, lifted to the lumber-camp boss, passed on and rested on Steve
Packard. He broke off abruptly, his look changing, probing, seeming
full of question.
"Get the money I gave Hodges for you?" asked Packard, coming into the
room. "The ten one-dollar bills that you left behind you?"
"They wasn't mine," said Blenham quickly, his hand hard about the
whiskey glass, his manner vaguely nervous. "I tol' Dan to give 'em
back to you."
Steve smiled.
"Funny," he said carelessly. "Hodges said----"
"I made a mistake," called Hodges sharply.
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