All of the
craft there was in the ranch foreman rose to the surface.
"Yes," he agreed quietly, "he's got the makin's in him. He ain't
scared of the devil himself, which is one right good earmark. He's
independent, which is another good sign. Why, when I runs across him
an' that Temple girl out in the woods----"
"What's that!" snapped the old man, though he had heard well enough.
"Do you mean to tell me----"
"They was sittin' on top a big log," said Blenham tonelessly.
"Confidential lookin', you know. I won't say he was holdin' her hands,
an' at the same time I won't say he wasn't. An' I won't say he'd jus'
kissed her, two seconds before I rode aroun' a bend in the trail." One
of his ponderous shrugs and a grimace concluded his meaning. Then he
laughed. "Nor I wouldn't say he hadn't. But, like I was tellin'
you----"
"You were tellin' me," growled the old man, "that that scoundrel of a
Temple's fool of a girl is tryin' her hand at spellbindin' my gran'son
Stephen! The dirty little saphead-- Look here, Blenham; you've got
more gumption than most: tell me how far things have gone an' what
Temple's game is. Guy Little has been tellin' me the same sort of
thing."
"There ain't much to tell," answered Blenham. "That is, that a man
couldn't guess without bein' told. He's your gran'son; even with a
scrap on between you an' him, still blood is thicker'n water an' some
day, maybe, you'll pass on to him all you got.
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