To think that one of my blood,
my own gran'son, should go to law! Why, by high heaven, Blenham, the
thing's downright disgraceful!"
Swiftly, deftly, employing a remark like a surgeon's lancet, Blenham
offered:
"I have the hunch that Temple girl put it in his head."
"You're right!" This new suggestion required no weighing and fine
balancing. You could attribute no villainy whatever to one of the old
man's enemies that he would not admit the extreme likelihood of your
being right. "Stephen ain't that sort; she's got him by the nose, hell
take her! She's drivin' him to it, an' it's Temple drivin' her. An'
it's up to you an' me to drive him clean out'n this corner of the
universe. Which we can do without goin' to the law!" he interjected
scornfully. "I reckon you understan', don't you, Blenham?"
Blenham nodded and put on his hat.
"I'm to hound him from the start to finish; until we drive him an' her
out the country. An' I'm to pound at your gran'son too an' at the same
time until we bust him wide open. That right?"
"Right an' go to it!" cried Packard.
Blenham saluted as he might have done were he still a sergeant down on
the border, wheeled and went out. Five minutes later he was riding
again toward the south. And now the look on his face was one of near
triumph. For at last the time had come when the old man had given
outright the instructions which could make many things possible.
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