"He
sha'n't. I won't let him!"
Steve Packard, riding into Red Creek, met Terry coming out. She was
just starting, her car gathering speed; seeing him she drew down
abruptly.
"I left him at the store," she added breathlessly. "He is sick. They
are friends there; they'll take care of him. He knows you are coming;
he has promised to do business with you and shut Blenham out of the
running. You are to hurry before Blenham gets there--he's across the
street at the saloon already. After his money, I guess; next thing,
unless you block his play, he'll be standing over poor old dad's bed,
bullyragging him. Come alive, Steve Packard, and beat him to it."
And with the last words she had started her car, after Terry's way of
starting anything, with a leap. Steve reined in after her, urging his
horse to a gallop for the first time, calling out sharply:
"But you--where are you going? Why----"
"After Doctor Bridges," Terry called back. "The fool is over at your
old thief of a grandfather's, playing chess! The telephone won't----"
He could merely speculate as to just what the telephone would not do.
Terry was gone, was already at the fork of the roads, turning
northward, hasting alone on a forty-mile drive over lonely roads and
into the very lair of the old mountain-lion himself. Steve whistled
softly.
"I wish she had invited me to go along," he grunted.
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