A GATE AND A RECORD SMASHED
The man never yet lived and knew old man Packard who would have
suggested that he was not a good and thorough-going hater. His enemy
and all of his enemy's household, wife and child, maid-servant and
man-servant were all as the spawn of Satan.
Now he stood back, his face flushed, his two hands on his hips, his
beard thrust forward belligerently and fairly seeming to bristle.
Terry Temple, her heart beating like mad all of a sudden and for no
reason which she would admit to herself, lifted her head and stepped
across the threshold defiantly. For a very tense moment the two of
them, old man and young girl, stared at each other.
Doctor Bridges still sat at the chess-table, his mouth dropping open,
his expression one of pure consternation; Guy Little stood in the
doorway just behind Terry, rubbing a slippered toe against his leg and
watching interestedly.
"So you're Temple's girl, are you?" snorted the old man. "Well, I
might have guessed it!"
And the manner of the statement, rather than the words themselves, was
very uncomplimentary to Miss Teresa Arriega Temple.
And, as a mere matter of fact--and old man Packard knew it well enough
down in his soul--he would have guessed nothing of the sort. So long
had he held her in withering contempt, just because of her relationship
to her father, so long had he invested her with all thinkably
distasteful attributes, so long had he in his out-of-hand way named her
squidge-nosed, putty-faced, pig-eyed, and so on, that in due course he
had really formed his own image of her.
And now, suddenly confronted by the most amazingly pretty girl he had
ever seen, he managed to snort that she was just what he knew she
was--and in the snorting no one knew better than old man Packard that,
as he could have put it himself, "He lied like a horse-thief!"
Terry had seen him once when she was a very little girl. He had been
pointed out to her by one of her father's cowboys who, for reasons of
his own, heartily hated and a little feared the old man. Since then
the girl's lively imagination had created a most unseemly brute out of
the enemy of her house, a beetle-browed, ugly-mouthed, facially-hideous
being little short of a monstrosity.
And now Terry's fine feminine perception begrudgingly was forced to set
about constructing a new picture. The old man, black-hearted villain
that he was, was the most upstanding, heroic figure of a man that she
had ever seen.
Beside him Doctor Bridges was a spectacle of physical degeneracy while
Guy Little became a grotesque dwarf. The grandfather was much like the
grandson, and--though she vowed to like him the less for it--was in his
statuesque, leonine way quite the handsomest man she had ever looked on.
Perhaps it was at just the same instant that each realized that rather
too great an interest had been permitted to go into a long, searching
look. For Terry suddenly affected a look of supreme contempt while the
old man jerked his eyes away, transferring his regard to the serene Guy
Little.
"You said, Guy Little----"
"Yes, sir, I said it!" Guy Little nodded vigorously. "Them forty
miles in fifty-three minutes. In the dark. An' with tire trouble.
It's a record. The best you ever done it in was fifty-seven minutes.
She beat you four minutes. Her!"
He indicated Terry.
"Doctor Bridges--" began Terry.
"It's a lie!" cried the old man, smashing the table top with a clenched
fist. "I don't care who says it; she couldn't do it! No girl could;
no Temple could. It ain't so!"
"Call me a liar?" cried Terry, a sudden flaming, surging, hot current
in her cheeks, her eyes blazing. "You are a horrid old man. I always
knew you were a horrid old man and you are a lot horrider than I
thought you were. And--you just call me a liar again, Hell-Fire
Packard, and I'll slap your face for you!"
For a moment, gripped by his ever-ready rage, the old man stood
towering over her, looking down with blazing eyes into eyes which
blazed back, a little tremor visibly shaking him as though he were
tempted almost beyond resistance to lay his hands on her and punish her
impudence. A bright, almost eager, fearlessness shone in her eyes.
"I dare you," said Terry. "Old man that you are, I'll slap you so that
you'd know who it is you're insulting. Pirate!" she flung at him.
"And land-hog-- Oh!
"Doctor Bridges, you are to come with me right now." She had flung
about giving her shoulder to Packard's inspection. "We must hurry back
to Red Creek."
"Say, Packard," chimed in Guy Little. "Her car's all shot to pieces.
An' her gas is all gone. An' her ol' man is awful sick in Red Creek
an' needin' a doc in a hurry--or not any. You understan'----"
"What's it got to do with me?" boomed Hell-Fire Packard. "What do I
care whether her old thief of a father dies to-night or next week?
What do I----"
"Aw, rats," grunted Guy Little. "What's eatin' you, Packard? Listen
to me: She says how she done it in fifty-three minutes an' you can't do
it any better'n fifty-seven; how you ain't no dead-game sport noways;
how she's short of change but would bet a man fifty dollars you
couldn't an' wouldn't."
"She said them things?" roared the old man.
"I--" began Terry.
"She did!" answered Guy Little hastily and loudly. "She did!"
"Bridges," snapped old Packard, "grab your hat an' black poison bag an'
be ready in two minutes." Packard was on his way to the door. "Guy
Little, you get my car at the front door--quick! An' as for you--" He
was at the door and half turned to stare angrily into Terry's
eyes--"You can do what you please. I'm goin' to take the only
pill-slinger in the country to the worst ol' thief I ever heard a man
tell about."
"I'm going back with you," said Terry briefly.
Old man Packard shrugged. Then he laughed.
"If you ain't scared," he grunted, "to ride alongside a man as swears,
so help him God, in spite of smash-bang-an'-be-damn', is goin' to make
that little run back to Red Creek--in less'n fifty minutes!"
"Mind you," said old man Packard at the front door, his eye stony as it
marked how Terry's car stood among his choice roses, "I ain't doin'
this because I got any use for a Temple, he or she. Especially she.
You jus' get that in your head, young lady. An' before we start let me
tell you one more thing: You keep your two han's off'n my gran'son!"
"What!" gasped Terry.
"I said it," he fairly snorted. "Come on there, Guy Little, with that
car. Ready there, Bridges, you ol' fool? Pile in."
He took his seat at the wheel, his old black hat pushed far back on his
head, his eye already on the clock in the dash. Terry slipped ahead of
Doctor Bridges and took her seat at the old man's side.
"You said--just what?" she demanded icily.
"I said," he cried savagely, "as I know how you been chasin' my fool of
a gran'son Stephen, an' as how you got to stop it. I won't have you
makin' a bigger fool out'n him than he already is."
Terry sat rigid, speechless, grown suddenly cold. For once in her life
no ready answer sprang to her lips.
Then Hell-Fire Packard had started his engine, sounded his horn, and
they were on their way. And Terry, because no words would come, put
her head back and laughed in a way that, as she knew perfectly well,
would madden him.
The drive from Hell-Fire Packard's front door to the store in Red Creek
was made in some few negligible seconds over forty-eight minutes. The
three occupants of the car reached town alive. Never in her life after
that night would Terry Temple doubt that there was a Providence which
at critical times took into its hands the destinies of men.
There had been never a word spoken until they had come to the gate
which had closed behind Terry on the way out. Old man Packard had
looked at speedometer, clock and obstruction. Terry had seen his hands
tighten on his wheel.
"Set tight an' hang on," he had commanded sharply.
The big front tires and bumper struck the gate; there was a wild flying
of splinters and at sixty miles an hour they went through and on to Red
Creek.
"The old devil!" whispered Terry within herself. "The old devil!"