Adventure Magazine Cover, December 18, 1919 — page 37: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

straightened up and got down, stretching his legs. Steve; swinging down from his saddle, and coming forward, measured him with wondering eyes. And he was a man for men to look at, was old man Packard. Full of years, he was no less full of vigor, hale and stalwart and breathing power. A great white beard, cut square, fell across his full chest; his white mustache was curled upward now as fiercely as fifty years ago, when he was a man for women to look at, too. He was dressed as Steve had always seen him, in black corduroy breeches, high black boots, broad black hat. A man standing upward of six feet, carrying himself as straight as a ramrod, his chest as powerful as a blacksmith’s bellows, the calf of his leg as thick as many a man’s thigh. Big, hard hands, the fingers twisted by toil; the face weatherbeaten like an old sea captain’s with eyes like the frozen blue of a clear Winter sky. His voice when he spoke boomed out sud- denly, deep and rich and hearty. “Stephen?” he demanded. ; Steve said “yes” and put out his hand, his eyes shining, the surprizing realization upon him that he was tremendously glad to see his father’s father once more. The old man took the proffered hand into a hard- locked grip and for a moment held it while, the other hand on his grandson’s: shoulder, he looked steadily into Steve’s eyes. “What sort of man have they made 'of you, boy?” he asked bluntly. “‘There’s the makings of fool, crook an’ white man in all of us. What fora man are your” Steve flushed a little under the direct piercing look, but said steadily— “Not a crook, I hope.” “That’s something, if it ain’t everything,” snorted the old man as, withdrawing his hand, he found and lighted a long stogie. “Blenham tells me you fired him las’ night?” Young Packard nodded, watching his. grandfather’s face for the first sign of oppo- sition. But just now the old man’s face told nothing. “Thinking of runnin’ the outfit yourself, Stephen?” came the next question quietly. “Yes. I had intended looking in on you in a day or so to talk matters over. I under- stand that my father left everything to me and that it is pretty heavily mortgaged to Man to Man 23 ro “Uhuh. of money on Number Ten firs’ ah’ las’, my boy. Don’t want to pay it off this mornin’, do you?” Steve laughed. “T’m broke, grandy,”’ he said lightly, un- consciously adopting the old title for the man who had made him love him and hate him a score of times. ‘‘My working capital, estimated last night, runs about seventy- five dollars. That wouldn’t quite turn the trick, would it?” The old man’s eyes narrowed preceptibly. “You mean that seventy-five dollars is all I let Phil have a right smart bit — you’ve got to show for twelve years?” he ~ asked sharply. Again, hardly understanding why, Steve flushed. Was a man to be ashamed that he had not amassed wealth, especially when there had never been in him the sustained desire for gold? He owed no man a cent, he made his own way, he asked no favors— and yet there was a glint of defiance in his eye, a hint of defiance in his tone when he replied briefly: “That’s all. I haven’t measured life in dollars and cents.” “Then you’ve missed a good mea- sure for it, my son! I ain’t sayin’ it’s the only one, but it’ll do firs’ class. But you needn’t get scared I’ve gone into the preaching business. An’ with that seventy- five dollars you’re startin’ out to run a big cow outfit like this, are you?” There was a gleam of mockery in the clear lue eyes which Steve gave no sign of seeing. “T’ve got a big job on my hands and I know it,” he said quietly. “But I’m going to see it through.” “‘There’s no question about the size of the job! It’s life-size, man’s size—Number Ten — size, if you want to put it that way. It wants a real man to shove it across. Know just how much you’re mortgaged for?” . “No; I was going to ask you.” “Close to fifty thousan’ dollars, countin’? back interest, unpaid. More’n you ever saw in a day, I reckon.” Steve shrugged. This to hide his first in- clination to whistle. Fifty thousand—why, he didn’t know Number Ten Ranch was worth that much money. But it must be worth a good deal more if his grandfather had put that much out on it. “Tt is a nice little pile,” he admitted care- lessly. The old man grunted, thrust his hands Eomichbooks > , See com tac Ase oy