Besides, he's sure of
losing to old Hell-Fire sooner or later."
"And you want me----"
"If you've got any money or can raise any," said Terry crisply, "I'm
offering you a good proposition. The same Blenham is after. The ranch
is worth a whole lot better than twenty thousand dollars. My
proposition is-- But can you raise eight thousand?"
Steve regarded her a moment speculatively. Then, quite after the way
of Steve Packard, he slipped his hand into his shirt and brought out a
sheaf of banknotes and tossed them to her across the table.
"I'm not a bloodsucker," he said quietly. "Take what you like; I'll
stake you to the wad."
Terry looked, counted--and gasped.
"Ten thousand!" she cried. "Good Lord, Steve Packard! Ten
thousand--and you'd lend me----"
"To pay off a mortgage to my grandfather, yes," he answered soberly,
quite conscious of what he was doing and of its recklessness and,
perhaps, idiocy. "And to beat Blenham."
She jumped up and ran around the table to put her two hands on his
shoulders and shake him.
"You're a God-blessed brick, Steve Packard!" she cried ringingly. "But
I'm not a bloodsucker, either. If you're a dead game sport-- Well,
that's what I'd rather be than anything else you can put a name to.
Lace your boots, get into a hat, shove that in your pocket." And she
slipped the roll of bills into his hand.
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