BLACK JACK

Max Brand

1922

CHAPTER 1

It was characteristic of the two that when the uproar broke out VanceCornish raised his eyes, but went on lighting his pipe. Then his sisterElizabeth ran to the window with a swish of skirts around her long legs. After the first shot there was a lull. The little cattle town was aspeaceful as ever with its storm-shaken houses staggering away down thestreet. 

A boy was stirring up the dust of the street, enjoying its heat with hisbare toes, and the same old man was bunched in his chair in front of thestore. During the two days Elizabeth had been in town on her cattle-buying trip, she had never see him alter his position. But she wasaccustomed to the West, and this advent of sleep in the town did notsatisfy her. A drowsy town, like a drowsy-looking cow-puncher, might becapable of unexpected things. 

"Vance, " she said, "there's trouble starting. "

"Somebody shooting at a target, " he answered. 

As if to mock him, he had no sooner spoken than a dozen voices yelleddown the street in a wailing chorus cut short by the rapid chattering ofrevolvers. Vance ran to the window. Just below the hotel the street madean elbow-turn for no particular reason except that the original cattle-trail had made exactly the same turn before Garrison City was built. Toward the corner ran the hubbub at the pace of a running horse. Shouts, shrill, trailing curses, and the muffled beat of hoofs in the dust. Arider plunged into view now, his horse leaning far in to take the sharpangle, and the dust skidding out and away from his sliding hoofs. Therider gave easily and gracefully to the wrench of his mount. 

And he seemed to have a perfect trust in his horse, for he rode with thereins hanging over the horns of his saddle. His hands were occupied by apair of revolvers, and he was turned in the saddle. 

The head of the pursuing crowd lurched around the elbow-turn; fire spattwice from the mouth of each gun. Two men dropped, one rolling over andover in the dust, and the other sitting down and clasping his leg in aludicrous fashion. But the crowd was checked and fell back. 

By this time the racing horse of the fugitive had carried him close tothe hotel, and now he faced the front, a handsome fellow with long blackhair blowing about his face. He wore a black silk shirt which accentuatedthe pallor of his face and the flaring crimson of his bandanna. And helaughed joyously, and the watchers from the hotel window heard him call:"Go it, Mary. Feed 'em dust, girl!"

The pursuers had apparently realized that it was useless to chase. Another gust of revolver shots barked from the turning of the street, andamong them a different and more sinister sound like the striking of twogreat hammers face on face, so that there was a cold ring of metal afterthe explosion--at least one man had brought a rifle to bear. Now, as thewild rider darted past the hotel, his hat was jerked from his head by aninvisible hand. He whirled again in the saddle and his guns raised. As heturned, Elizabeth Cornish saw something glint across the street. It wasthe gleam of light on the barrel of a rifle that was thrust out throughthe window of the store. 

That long line of light wobbled, steadied, and fire jetted from the mouthof the gun. The black-haired rider spilled sidewise out of the saddle;his feet came clear of the stirrups, and his right leg caught on thecantle. He was flung rolling in the dust, his arms flying weirdly. Therifle disappeared from the window and a boy's set face looked out. Butbefore the limp body of the fugitive had stopped rolling, ElizabethCornish dropped into a chair, sick of face. Her brother turned his backon the mob that closed over the dead man and looked at Elizabeth inalarm. 

It was not the first time he had seen the result of a gunplay, and forthat matter it was not the first time for Elizabeth. Her emotion upsethim more than the roar of a hundred guns. He managed to bring her a glassof water, but she brushed it away so that half of the contents spilled onthe red carpet of the room. 

"He isn't dead, Vance. He isn't dead!" she kept saying. 

"Dead before he left the saddle, " replied Vance, with his usual calm. "And if the bullet hadn't finished him, the fall would have broken hisneck. But--what in the world! Did you know the fellow?"

He blinked at her, his amazement growing. The capable hands of Elizabethwere pressed to her breast, and out of the thirty-five years ofspinsterhood which had starved her face he became aware of eyes young anddark, and full of spirit; by no means the keen, quiet eyes of ElizabethCornish. 

"Do something, " she cried. "Go down, and--if they've murdered him--"

He literally fled from the room. 

All the time she was seeing nothing, but she would never forget what shehad seen, no matter how long she lived. Subconsciously she was fightingto keep the street voices out of her mind. They were saying things shedid not wish to hear, things she would not hear. Finally, she recoveredenough to stand up and shut the window. That brought her a terribletemptation to look down into the mass of men in the street--and women, too!

But she resisted and looked up. The forms of the street remainedobscurely in the bottom of her vision, and made her think of somethingshe had seen in the woods--a colony of ants around a dead beetle. Presently the door opened and Vance came back. He still seemed veryworried, but she forced herself to smile at him, and at once his concerndisappeared; it was plain that he had been troubled about her and not inthe slightest by the fate of the strange rider. She kept on smiling, butfor the first time in her life she really looked at Vance withoutsisterly prejudice in his favor. She saw a good-natured face, handsome, with the cheeks growing a bit blocky, though Vance was only twenty-five. He had a glorious forehead and fine eyes, but one would never look twiceat Vance in a crowd. She knew suddenly that her brother was simply awell-mannered mediocrity. 

"Thank the Lord you're yourself again, Elizabeth, " her brother said firstof all. "I thought for a moment--I don't know what!"

"Just the shock, Vance, " she said. Ordinarily she was well-nigh brutallyfrank. Now she found it easy to lie and keep on smiling. "It was such ahorrible thing to see!"

"I suppose so. Caught you off balance. But I never knew you to lose yourgrip so easily. Well, do you know what you've seen?"

"He's dead, then?"

He locked sharply at her. It seemed to him that a tremor of unevennesshad come into her voice. 

"Oh, dead as a doornail, Elizabeth. Very neat shot. Youngster thatdropped him; boy named Joe Minter. Six thousand dollars for Joe. Nicelittle nest egg to build a fortune on, eh?"

"Six thousand dollars! What do you mean, Vance?"

"The price on the head of Jack Hollis. That was Hollis, sis. Thecelebrated Black Jack. "

"But--this is only a boy, Vance. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five years old. "

"That's all. "

"But I've heard of him for ten years, very nearly. And always as a man-killer. It can't be Black Jack. "

"I said the same thing, but it's Black Jack, well enough. He started outwhen he was sixteen, they say, and he's been raising the devil eversince. You should have seen them pick him up--as if he were asleep, andnot dead. What a body! Lithe as a panther. No larger than I am, but theysay he was a giant with his hands. "

He was lighting his cigarette as he said this, and consequently he didnot see her eyes close tightly. A moment later she was able to make herexpression as calm as ever. 

"Came into town to see his baby, " went on Vance through the smoke. "Little year-old beggar!"

"Think of the mother, " murmured Elizabeth Cornish. "I want to dosomething for her. "

"You can't, " replied her brother, with unnecessary brutality. "Becauseshe's dead. A little after the youngster was born. I believe Black Jackbroke her heart, and a very pleasant sort of girl she was, they tell me. "

"What will become of the baby?"

"It will live and grow up, " he said carelessly. "They always do, somehow. Make another like his father, I suppose. A few years of fame in themountain saloons, and then a knife in the back. "

The meager body of Elizabeth stiffened. She was finding it less easy tomaintain her nonchalant smile. 

"Why?"

"Why? Blood will out, like murder, sis. "

"Nonsense! All a matter of environment. "

"Have you ever read the story of the Jukes family?"

"An accident. Take a son out of the best family in the world and raisehim like a thief--he'll be a thief. And the thief's son can be raised toan honest manhood. I know it!"

She was seeing Black Jack, as he had raced down the street with the blackhair blowing about his face. Of such stuff, she felt, the knights ofanother age had been made. Vance was raising a forefinger in anauthoritative way he had. 

"My dear, before that baby is twenty-five--that was his father'sage--he'll have shot a man. Bet you on it!"

"I'll take your bet!"

The retort came with such a ring of her voice that he was startled. Before he could recover, she went on: "Go out and get that baby for me, Vance. I want it. "

He tossed his cigarette out of the window. 

"Don't drop into one of your headstrong moods, sis. This is nonsense. "

"That's why I want to do it. I'm tired of playing the man. I've hadenough to fill my mind. I want something to fill my arms and my heart. "

She drew up her hands with a peculiar gesture toward her shallow, barrenbosom, and then her brother found himself silenced. At the same time hewas a little irritated, for there was an imputation in her speech thatshe had been carrying the burden which his own shoulders should havesupported. Which was so true that he could not answer, and therefore hecast about for some way of stinging her. 

"I thought you were going to escape the sentimental period, Elizabeth. But sooner or later I suppose a woman has to pass through it. "

A spot of color came in her sallow cheek. 

"That's sufficiently disagreeable, Vance. "

A sense of his cowardice made him rise to conceal his confusion. 

"I'm going to take you at your word, sis. I'm going out to get that baby. I suppose it can be bought--like a calf!"

He went deliberately to the door and laid his hand on the knob. He had arather vicious pleasure in calling her bluff, but to his amazement shedid not call him back. He opened the door slowly. Still she did notspeak. He slammed it behind him and stepped into the hall. 

CHAPTER 2

Twenty-four years made the face of Vance Cornish a little better-fed, alittle more blocky of cheek, but he remained astonishingly young. Atforty-nine the lumpish promise of his youth was quite gone. He was in atrim and solid middle age. His hair was thinned above the forehead, butit gave him more dignity. On the whole, he left an impression of a manwho has done things and who will do more before he is through. 

He shifted his feet from the top of the porch railing and shruggedhimself deeper into his chair. It was marvelous how comfortable Vancecould make himself. He had one great power--the ability to sit stillthrough any given interval. Now he let his eye drift quietly over theCornish ranch. It lay entirely within one grasp of the vision, spillingacross the valley from Sleep Mountain, on the lower bosom of which thehouse stood, to Mount Discovery on the north. Not that the glance ofVance Cornish lurched across this bold distance. His gaze wandered asslowly as a free buzzes across a clover field, not knowing on whichblossom to settle. 

Below him, generously looped, Bear Creek tumbled out of the southeast, and roved between noble borders of silver spruce into the shadows of theBlue Mountains of the north, half a dozen miles across and ten long ofgrazing and farm land, rich, loamy bottom land scattered with aspens. 

Beyond, covering the gentle roll of the foothills, was grazing land. Scattering lodgepole pine began in the hills, and thickened into denseyellow-green thickets on the upper mountain slopes. And so north andnorth the eye of Vance Cornish wandered and climbed until it rested onthe bald summit of Mount Discovery. It had its name out of its character, standing boldly to the south out of the jumble of the Blue Mountains. 

It was a solid unit, this Cornish ranch, fenced away with mountains, watered by a river, pleasantly forested, and obviously predestined forthe ownership of one man. Vance Cornish, on the porch of the house, feltlike an enthroned king overlooking his dominions. As a matter of fact, his holdings were hardly more than nominal. 

In the beginning his father had left the ranch equally to Vance andElizabeth, thickly plastered with debts. The son would have sold theplace for what they could clear. He went East to hunt for education andpleasure; his sister remained and fought the great battle by herself. Sheconsecrated herself to the work, which implied that the work was sacred. And to her, indeed, it was. 

She was twenty-two and her brother twelve when their father died. Had shebeen a tithe younger and her brother a mature man, it would have beendifferent. As it was, she felt herself placed in a maternal position withVance. She sent him away to school, rolled up her sleeves and started toorder chaos. In place of husband, children--love and the fruits of love--she accepted the ranch. The dam between the rapids and the waterfall wasthe child of her brain; the plowed fields of the central part of thevalley were her reward. 

In ten years of constant struggle she cleared away the debts. And then, since Vance gave her nothing but bills to pay, she began to buy out hisinterest. He chose to learn his business lessons on Wall Street. Elizabeth paid the bills, but she checked the sums against his interestin the ranch. And so it went on. Vance would come out to the ranch atintervals and show a brief, feverish interest, plan a new set ofirrigation canals, or a sawmill, or a better road out over the BlueMountains. But he dropped such work half-done and went away. 

Elizabeth said nothing. She kept on paying his bills, and she kept oncutting down his interest in the old Cornish ranch, until at the presenttime he had only a finger-tip hold. Root and branch, the valley and allthat was in it belonged to Elizabeth Cornish. She was proud of herpossession, though she seldom talked of her pride. Nevertheless, Vanceknew, and smiled. It was amusing, because, after all, what she had done, and all her work, would revert to him at her death. Until that time, whyshould he care in whose name the ranch remained so long as his bills werepaid? He had not worked, but in recompense he had remained young. Elizabeth had labored all her youth away. At forty-nine he was ready tobegin the most important part of his career. At sixty his sister was awithered old ghost of a woman. 

He fell into a pleasant reverie. When Elizabeth died, he would set insome tennis courts beside the house, buy some blooded horses, cut theroad wide and deep to let the world come up Bear Creek Valley, and retireto the life of a country gentleman. 

His sister's voice cut into his musing. She had two tones. One might becalled her social register. It was smooth, gentle--the low-pitched andcontrolled voice of a gentlewoman. The other voice was hard and sharp. Itcould drive hard and cold across a desk, and bring businessmen to anunderstanding that here was a mind, not a woman. 

At present she used her latter tone. Vance Cornish came into a shiveringconsciousness that she was sitting beside him. He turned his head slowly. It was always a shock to come out of one of his pleasant dreams and seethat worn, hollow-eyed, impatient face. 

"Are you forty-nine, Vance?"

"I'm not fifty, at least, " he countered. 

She remained imperturbable, looking him over. He had come to notice thatin the past half-dozen years his best smiles often failed to mellow herexpression. He felt that something disagreeable was coming. 

"Why did Cornwall run away this morning? I hoped to take him on a trip. "

"He had business to do. "

His diversion had been a distinct failure, and had been turned againsthim. For she went on: "Which leads to what I have to say. You're goingback to New York in a few days, I suppose?"

"No, my dear. I haven't been across the water for two years. "

"Paris?"

"Brussels. A little less grace; a little more spirit. "

"Which means money. "

"A few thousand only. I'll be back by fall. "

"Do you know that you'll have to mortgage your future for that money, Vance?"

He blinked at her, but maintained his smile under fire courageously. 

"Come, come! Things are booming. You told me yesterday what you'd cleanup on the last bunch of Herefords. "

When she folded her hands, she was most dangerous, he knew. And now thebony fingers linked and she shrugged the shawl more closely around hershoulders. 

"We're partners, aren't we?" smiled Vance. 

"Partners, yes. You have one share and I have a thousand. But--you don'twant to sell out your final claim, I suppose?"

His smile froze. "Eh?"

"If you want to get those few thousands, Vance, you have nothing to putup for them except your last shreds of property. That's why I say you'llhave to mortgage your future for money from now on. "

"But--how does it all come about?"

"I've warned you. I've been warning you for twenty-five years, Vance. "

Once again he attempted to turn her. He always had the impression that ifhe became serious, deadly serious for ten consecutive minutes with hissister, he would be ruined. He kept on with his semi-jovial tone. 

"There are two arts, Elizabeth. One is making money and the other isspending it. You've mastered one and I've mastered the other. Whichbalances things, don't you think?"

She did not melt; he waved down to the farm land. 

"Watch that wave of wind, Elizabeth. "

A gust struck the scattering of aspens, and turned up the silver of thedark green leaves. The breeze rolled across the trees in a long, ripplingflash of light. But Elizabeth did not look down. Her glance was fixed onthe changeless snow of Mount Discovery's summit. 

"As long as you have something to spend, spending is a very importantart, Vance. But when the purse is empty, it's a bit useless, it seems tome. "

"Well, then, I'll have to mortgage my future. As a matter of fact, Isuppose I could borrow what I want on my prospects. "

A veritable Indian yell, instantly taken up and prolonged by a chorus ofsimilar shouts, cut off the last of his words. Round the corner of thehouse shot a blood-bay stallion, red as the red of iron under theblacksmith's hammer, with a long, black tail snapping and flauntingbehind him, his ears flattened, his beautiful vicious head outstretchedin an effort to tug the reins out of the hands of the rider. Failing inthat effort, he leaped into the air like a steeplechaser and pitched downupon stiffened forelegs. 

The shock rippled through the body of the rider and came to his head witha snap that jerked his chin down against his breast. The stallion rockedback on his hind legs, whirled, and then flung himself deliberately onhis back. A sufficiently cunning maneuver--first stunning the enemy witha blow and then crushing him before his senses returned. But he landed onnothing save hard gravel. The rider had whipped out of the saddle andstood poised, strong as the trunk of a silver spruce. 

The fighting horse, a little shaken by the impact of his fall, nevertheless whirled with catlike agility to his feet--a beautiful thingto watch. As he brought his forequarters off the earth, he lunged at therider with open mouth. A sidestep that would have done credit to apugilist sent the youngster swerving past that danger. He leaped to thesaddle at the same time that the blood-bay came to his four feet. 

The chorus in full cry was around the horse, four or five excited cow-punchers waving their sombreros and yelling for horse or rider, accordingto the gallantry of the fight. 

The bay was in the air more than he was on the ground, eleven or twelvehundred pounds of might, writhing, snapping, bolting, halting, sunfishingwith devilish cunning, dropping out of the air on one stiff foreleg withan accompanying sway to one side that gave the rider the effect of acudgel blow at the back of the head and then a whip-snap to part thevertebrae. Whirling on his hind legs, and again flinging himselfdesperately on the ground, only to fail, come to his feet with theclinging burden once more maddeningly in place, and go again through amaze of fence-rowing and sun-fishing until suddenly he straightened outand bolted down the slope like a runaway locomotive on a downgrade. Aterrifying spectacle, but the rider sat erect, with one arm raised highabove his head in triumph, and his yell trailing off behind him. From arunning gait the stallion fell into a smooth pace--a true wild pacer, hishoofs beating the ground with the force and speed of pistons and hurlinghimself forward with incredible strides. Horse and rider lurched out ofsight among the silver spruce. 

"By the Lord, wonderful!" cried Vance Cornish. 

He heard a stifled cry beside him, a cry of infinite pain. 

"Is--is it over?"

And there sat Elizabeth the Indomitable with her face buried in her handslike a girl of sixteen!

"Of course it's over, " said Vance, wondering profoundly. 

She seemed to dread to look up. "And--Terence?"

"He's all right. Ever hear of a horse that could get that young wildcatout of the saddle? He clings as if he had claws. But--where did he getthat red devil?"

"Terence ran him down--in the mountains--somewhere, " she answered, speaking as one who had only half heard the question. "Two months ofconstant trailing to do it, I think. But oh, you're right! The horse is adevil! And sometimes I think--"

She stopped, shuddering. Vance had returned to the ranch only the daybefore after a long absence. More and more, after he had been away, hefound it difficult to get in touch with things on the ranch. Once he hadbeen a necessary part of the inner life. Now he was on the outside. Terence and Elizabeth were a perfectly completed circle in themselves. 

CHAPTER 3

"If Terry worries you like this, " suggested her brother kindly, "whydon't you forbid these pranks?"

She looked at him as if in surprise. 

"Forbid Terry?" she echoed, and then smiled. Decidedly this was her firsttone, a soft tone that came from deep in her throat. Instinctively Vancecontrasted it with the way she had spoken to him. But it was always thisway when Terry was mentioned. For the first time he saw it clearly. Itwas amazing how blind he had been. "Forbid Terence? Vance, that devil ofa horse is part of his life. He was on a hunting trip when he saw LeSangre--"

"Good Lord, did they call the horse that?"

"A French-Canadian was the first to discover him, and he gave the name. And he's the color of blood, really. Well, Terence saw Le Sangre on ahilltop against the sky. And he literally went mad. Actually, he struckout on foot with his rifle and lived in the country and never stoppedwalking until he wore down Le Sangre somehow and brought him backhobbled--just skin and bones, and Terence not much more. Now Le Sangre ishimself again, and he and Terence have a fight--like that--every day. Idream about it; the most horrible nightmares!"

"And you don't stop it?"

"My dear Vance, how little you know Terence! You couldn't tear that horseout of his life without breaking his heart. I _know!_"

"So you suffer, day by day?"

"I've done very little else all my life, " said Elizabeth gravely. "AndI've learned to bear pain. "

He swallowed. Also, he was beginning to grow irritated. He had neverbefore had a talk with Elizabeth that contained so many reefs thatthreatened shipwreck. He returned to the gist of their conversationrather too bluntly. 

"But to continue, Elizabeth, any banker would lend me money on myprospects. "

"You mean the property which will come to you when I die?"

He used all his power, but he could not meet her glance. "You know that'sa nasty way to put it, Elizabeth. "

"Dear Vance, " she sighed, "a great many people say that I'm a hard woman. I suppose I am. And I like to look facts squarely in the face. Yourprospects begin with my death, of course. "

He had no answer, but bit his lip nervously and wished the ordeal wouldcome to an end. 

"Vance, " she went on, "I'm glad to have this talk with you. It'ssomething you have to know. Of course I'll see that during my life or mydeath you'll be provided for. But as for your main prospects, do you knowwhere they are?"

"Well?"

She was needlessly brutal about it, but as she had told him, hereducation had been one of pain. 

"Your prospects are down there by the river on the back of Le Sangre. "

Vance Cornish gasped. 

"I'll show you what I mean, Vance. Come along. "

The moment she rose, some of her age fell from her. Her carriage waserect. Her step was still full of spring and decision, as she led the wayinto the house. It was a big, solid, two-story building which themightiest wind could not shake. Henry Cornish had merely founded thehouse, just as he had founded the ranch; the main portion of the work hadbeen done by his daughter. And as they passed through, her stern old eyerested peacefully on the deep, shadowy vistas, and her foot fell withjust pride on the splendid rising sweep of the staircase. They passedinto the roomy vault of the upper hall and went down to the end. She tookout a big key from her pocket and fitted it into the lock; then Vancedropped his hand on her arm. His voice lowered. 

"You've made a mistake, Elizabeth. This is Father's room. "

Ever since his death it had been kept unchanged, and practicallyunentered save for an occasional rare day of work to keep it in order. Now she nodded and resolutely turned the key and swung the door open. Vance went in with an exclamation of wonder. It was quite changed fromthe solemn old room and the brown, varnished woodwork which heremembered. Cream-tinted paint now made the walls cool and fresh. Thesolemn engravings no longer hung above the bookcases. And the bookcasesthemselves had been replaced with built-in shelves pleasantly filled withrich bindings, black and red and deep yellow-browns. A tall cabinet stoodopen at one side filled with rifles and shotguns of every description, and another cabinet was loaded with fishing apparatus. The stiff-backedchairs had given place to comfortable monsters of easy lines. VanceCornish, as one in a dream, peered here and there. 

"God bless us!" he kept repeating. "God bless us! But where's there atrace of Father?"

"I left it out, " said Elizabeth huskily, "because this room is meantfor--but let's go back. Do you remember that day twenty-four years agowhen we took Jack Hollis's baby?"

"When _you_ took it, " he corrected. "I disclaim all share in the idea. "

"Thank you, " she answered proudly. "At any rate, I took the boy andcalled him Terence Colby. "

"Why that name, " muttered Vance, "I never could understand. "

"Haven't I told you? No, and I hardly know whether to trust even you withthe secret, Vance. But you remember we argued about it, and you said thatblood would out; that the boy would turn out wrong; that before he wastwenty-five he would have shot a man?"

"I believe the talk ran like that. "

"Well, Vance, I started out with a theory; but the moment I had that babyin my arms, it became a matter of theory, plus, and chiefly plus. I keptremembering what you had said, and I was afraid. That was why I worked upthe Colby idea. "

"That's easy to see. "

"It wasn't so easy to do. But I heard of the last of an old Virginiafamily who had died of consumption in Arizona. I traced his family. Hewas the last of it. Then it was easy to arrange a little story: TerenceColby had married a girl in Arizona, died shortly after; the girl diedalso, and I took the baby. Nobody can disprove what I say. There's not aliving soul who knows that Terence is the son of Jack Hollis--except youand me. "

"How about the woman I got the baby from?"

"I bought her silence until fifteen years ago. Then she died, and nowTerry is convinced that he is the last representative of the Colbyfamily. "

She laughed with excitement and beckoned him out of the room and intoanother--Terry's room, farther down the hall. She pointed to a largephotograph of a solemn-faced man on the wall. "You see that?"

"Who is it?"

"I got it when I took Terry to Virginia last winter--to see the oldfamily estate and go over the ground of the historic Colbys. "

She laughed again happily. 

"Terry was wild with enthusiasm. He read everything he could lay hishands on about the Colbys. Discovered the year they landed in Virginia;how they fought in the Revolution; how they fought and died in the CivilWar. Oh, he knows every landmark in the history of 'his' family. Ofcourse, I encouraged him. "

"I know, " chuckled Vance. "Whenever he gets in a pinch, I've heard yousay: 'Terry, what should a Colby do?'"

"And, " cut in Elizabeth, "you must admit that it has worked. There isn'ta prouder, gentler, cleaner-minded boy in the world than Terry. Notblood. It's the blood of Jack Hollis. But it's what he thinks himself tobe that counts. And now, Vance, admit that your theory is exploded. "

He shook his head. 

"Terry will do well enough. But wait till the pinch comes. You don't knowhow he'll turn out when the rub comes. _Then_ blood will tell!"

She shrugged her shoulders angrily. 

"You're simply being perverse now, Vance. At any rate, that picture isone of Terry's old 'ancestors, ' Colonel Vincent Colby, of prewar days. Terry has discovered family resemblances, of course--same black hair, same black eyes, and a great many other things. "

"But suppose he should ever learn the truth?" murmured Vance. 

She caught her breath. 

"That would be ruinous, of course. But he'll never learn. Only you and Iknow. "

"A very hard blow, eh, " said Vance, "if he were robbed of the Colbyillusion and had Black Jack put in its place as a cold fact? But ofcourse we'll never tell him. "

Her color was never high. Now it became gray. Only her eyes remainedburning, vivid, young, blazing out through the mask of age. 

"Remember you said his blood would tell before he was twenty-five; thatthe blood of Black Jack would come to the surface; that he would haveshot a man?"

"Still harping on that, Elizabeth? What if he does?"

"I'd disown him, throw him out penniless on the world, never see himagain. "

"You're a Spartan, " said her brother in awe, as he looked on that thin, stern face. "Terry is your theory. If he disappoints you, he'll be simplya theory gone wrong. You'll cut him out of your life as if he were analgebraic equation and never think of him again. "

"But he's not going wrong, Vance. Because, in ten days, he'll be twenty-five! And that's what all these changes mean. The moment it grows dark onthe night of his twenty-fifth birthday, I'm going to take him into myfather's room and turn it over to him. "

He had listened to her patiently, a little wearied by her unusual flow ofwords. Now he came out of his apathy with a jerk. He laid his hand onElizabeth's shoulder and turned her so that the light shone full in herface. Then he studied her. 

"What do you mean by that, Elizabeth?"

"Vance, " she said steadily, but with a touch of pity in her voice, "Ihave waited for a score of years, hoping that you'd settle down and tryto do a man's work either here or somewhere else. You haven't done it. Yesterday Mr. Cornwall came here to draw up my will. By that will I leaveyou an annuity, Vance, that will take care of you in comfort; but I leaveeverything else to Terry Colby. That's why I've changed the room. Themoment it grows dark ten days from today, I'm going to take Terry by thehand and lead him into the room and into the position of my father!"

The mask of youth which was Vance Cornish crumbled and fell away. A newman looked down at her. The firm flesh of his face became loose. Hiswhole body was flabby. She had the feeling that if she pushed against hischest with the weight of her arm, he would topple to the floor. Thatweakness gradually passed. A peculiar strength of purpose grew in itsplace. 

"Of course, this is a very shrewd game, Elizabeth. You want to wake meup. You're using the spur to make me work. I don't blame you for usingthe bluff, even if it's a rather cruel one. But, of course, it'simpossible for you to be serious in what you say. "

"Why impossible, Vance?"

"Because you know that I'm the last male representative of our family. Because you know my father would turn in his grave if he knew that aninterloper, a foundling, the child of a murderer, a vagabond, had beenmade the heir to his estate. But you aren't serious, Elizabeth; Iunderstand. "

He swallowed his pride, for panic grew in him in proportion to the lengthof time she maintained her silence. 

"As a matter of fact, I don't blame you for giving me a scare, my dearsister. I have been a shameless loafer. I'm going to reform and lift theburden of business off your shoulders--let you rest the remainder of yourlife. "

It was the worst thing he could have said. He realized it the moment hehad spoken. This forced, cowardly surrender was worse than brazendefiance, and he saw her lip curl. An idler is apt to be like a sullenchild, except that in a grown man the child's sulky spite becomes a darkmalice, all-embracing. For the very reason that Vance knew he wasreceiving what he deserved, and that this was the just reward for histhriftless years of idleness, he began to hate Elizabeth with a cold, quiet hatred. There is something stimulating about any great passion. NowVance felt his nerves soothed and calmed. His self-possession returnedwith a rush. He was suddenly able to smile into her face. 

"After all, " he said, "you're absolutely right. I've been a failure, Elizabeth--a rank, disheartening failure. You'd be foolish to trust theresult of your life labors in my hands--entirely foolish. I admit thatit's a shrewd blow to see the estate go to--Terry. "

He found it oddly difficult to name the boy. 

"But why not? Why not Terry? He's a clean youngster, and he may turn outvery well--in spite of his blood. I hope so. The Lord knows you've givenhim every chance and the best start in the world. I wish him luck!"

He reached out his hand, and her bloodless fingers closed strongly overit. 

"There's the old Vance talking, " she said warmly, a mist across her eyes. "I almost thought that part of you had died. "

He writhed inwardly. "By Jove, Elizabeth, think of that boy, coming outof nothing, everything poured into his hands--and now within ten days ofhis goal! Rather exciting, isn't it? Suppose he should stumble at thevery threshold of his success? Eh?"

He pressed the point with singular insistence. 

"Doesn't it make your heart beat, Elizabeth, when you think that he mightfall--that he might do what I prophesied so long ago--shoot a man beforehe's twenty-five?"

She shrugged the supposition calmly away. 

"My faith in him is based as strongly as the rocks, Vance. But if hefell, after the schooling I've given him, I'd throw him out of my life--forever. "

He paused a moment, studying her face with a peculiar eagerness. Then heshrugged in turn. "Tush! Of course, that's impossible. Let's go down. "

CHAPTER 4

When they reached the front porch, they saw Terence Colby coming up theterrace from the river road on Le Sangre. And a changed horse he was. Oneear was forward as if he did not know what lay in store for him, butwould try to be on the alert. One ear flagged warily back. He wentslowly, lifting his feet with the care of a very weary horse. Yet, whenthe wind fluttered a gust of whirling leaves beside him, he leaped asideand stood with high head, staring, transformed in the instant into acreature of fire and wire-strung nerves. The rider gave to the side-spring with supple grace and then sent the stallion on up the hill. 

Joyous triumph was in the face of Terry. His black hair was blowing abouthis forehead, for his hat was pushed back after the manner of one who hasdone a hard day's work and is ready to rest. He came close to theveranda, and Le Sangre lifted his fine head and stared fearlessly, curiously, with a sort of contemptuous pride, at Elizabeth and Vance. 

"The killer is no longer a killer, " laughed Terry. "Look him over, UncleVance. A beauty, eh?"

Elizabeth said nothing at all. But she rocked herself back and forth atrifle in her chair as she nodded. She glanced over the terrace, hopingthat others might be there to see the triumph of her boy. Then she lookedback at Terence. But Vance was regarding the horse. 

"He might have a bit more in the legs, Terry. "

"Not much more. A leggy horse can't stand mountain work--or any otherwork, for that matter, except a ride in the park. "

"I suppose you're right. He's a picture horse, Terry. And a devilish eye, but I see that you've beaten him. "

"Beaten him?" He shook his head. "We reached a gentleman's agreement. Aslong as I wear spurs, he'll fight me till he gets his teeth in me orsplashes my skull to bits with his heels. Otherwise he'll keep onfighting till he drops. But as soon as I take off the spurs and stoptormenting him, he'll do what I like. No whips or spurs for Le Sangre. Eh, boy?"

He held out the spurs so that the sun flashed on them. The horsestiffened with a shudder, and that forward look of a horse about to boltcame in his eyes. 

"No, no!" cried Elizabeth. 

But Terry laughed and dropped the spurs back in his pocket. 

The stallion moved off, and Terry waved to them. Just as he turned, themind of Vance Cornish raced back to another picture--a man with longblack hair blowing about his face and a gun in either hand, sweepingthrough a dusty street with shots barking behind him. It came suddenly asa revelation, and left him downheaded with the thought. 

"What is it, Vance?" asked his sister, reaching out to touch his arm. 

"Nothing. " Then he added abruptly: "I'm going for a jaunt for a few days, Elizabeth. "

She grew gloomy. 

"Are you going to insist on taking it to heart this way?"

"Not at all. I'm going to be back here in ten days and drink Terry's longlife and happiness across the birthday dinner table. "

He marvelled at the ease with which he could make himself smile in herface. 

"You noticed that--his gentleman's agreement with Le Sangre? I've madehim detest fighting with the idea that only brute beasts fight--men argueand agree. "

"I've noticed that he never has trouble with the cow-punchers. "

"They've seen him box, " chuckled Elizabeth. "Besides, Terry isn't thesort that troublemakers like to pick on. He has an ugly look when he'sangry. "

"H'm, " murmured Vance. "I've noticed that. But as long as he keeps to hisfists, he'll do no harm. But what is the reason for surrounding him withguns, Elizabeth?"

"A very good reason. He loves them, you know. Anything from a shotgun toa derringer is a source of joy to Terence. And not a day goes by that hedoesn't handle them. "

"Certainly the effect of blood, eh?" suggested Vance. 

She glanced sharply at him. 

"You're determined to be disagreeable today, Vance. As a matter of fact, I've convinced him that for the very reason he is so accurate with a gunhe must never enter a gun fight. The advantage would be too much on hisside against any ordinary man. That appeals to Terry's sense of fairplay. No, he's absolutely safe, no matter how you look at it. "

"No doubt. "

He looked away from her and over the valley. The day had worn into thelate afternoon. Bear Creek ran dull and dark in the shadow, and MountDiscovery was robed in blue to the very edge of its shining crown ofsnow. In this dimmer, richer light the Cornish ranch had never seemed sodesirable to Vance. It was not a ranch; it was a little kingdom. AndVance was the dispossessed heir. 

He knew that he was being watched, however, and all that evening he wasat his best. At the dinner table he guided the talk so that Terence Colbywas the lion of the conversation. Afterward, when he was packing histhings in his room for his journey of the next day, he was careful tosing at the top of his voice. He reaped a reward for this cautiousacting, for the next morning, when he climbed into the buckboard that wasto take him down the Blue Mountain road and over to the railroad, hissister came down the steps and stood beside the wagon. 

"You _will_ come back for the birthday party, Vance?" she pleaded. 

"You want me to?"

"You were with me when I got Terry. In fact, you got him for me. And Iwant you to be here when he steps into his own. "

In this he found enough to keep him thoughtful all the way to therailroad while the buckskins grunted up the grade and then spun away downthe long slope beyond. It was one of those little ironies of fate that heshould have picked up the very man who was to disinherit him some twenty-four years later. 

He carried no grudge against Elizabeth, but he certainly retained notenderness. Hereafter he would act his part as well as he could toextract the last possible penny out of her. And in the meantime he mustconcentrate on tripping up Terence Colby, alias Hollis. 

Vance saw nothing particularly vicious in this. He had been idle so longthat he rejoiced in a work which was within his mental range. It includedscheming, working always behind the scenes, pulling strings to makeothers jump. And if he could trip Terry and actually make him shoot a manon or before that birthday, he had no doubt that his sister wouldactually throw the boy out of her house and out of her life. A woman whocould give twenty-four years to a theory would be capable of grim thingswhen the theory went wrong. 

It was early evening when he climbed off the train at Garrison City. Hehad not visited the place since that cattle-buying trip of twenty-fouryears ago that brought the son of Black Jack into the affairs of theCornish family. Garrison City had become a city. There were two solidblocks of brick buildings next to the station, a network of pavedstreets, and no less than three hotels. It was so new to the eye and soobviously full of the "booster" spirit that he was appalled at the ideaof prying through this modern shell and getting back to the heart and thememory of the old days of the town. 

At the restaurant he forced himself upon a grave-looking gentleman acrossthe table. He found that the solemn-faced man was a travelling drummer. The venerable loafer in front of the blacksmith's shop was feeble-minded, and merely gaped at the name of Black Jack. The proprietor of the hotelshook his head with positive antagonism. 

"Of course, Garrison City has its past, " he admitted, "but we are livingit down, and have succeeded pretty well. I think I've heard of a ruffianof the last generation named Jack Hollis; but I don't know anything, andI don't care to know anything, about him. But if you're interested inGarrison City, I'd like to show you a little plot of ground in a placethat is going to be the center of the--"

Vance Cornish made his mind a blank, let the smooth current of words slipoff his memory as from an oiled surface, and gave up Garrison City as ahopeless job. Nevertheless, it was the hotel proprietor who dropped avaluable hint. 

"If you're interested in the early legends, why don't you go to the StateCapitol? They have every magazine and every book that so much as mentionsany place in the state. " So Vance Cornish went to the capitol and enteredthe library. It was a sweaty task and a most discouraging one. The name"Black Jack" revealed nothing; and the name of Hollis was an equal blank, so far as the indices were concerned. He was preserved in legend only, and Vance Cornish could make no vital use of legend. He wanted somethingin cold print. 

So he began an exhaustive search. He went through volume after volume, but though he came upon mention of Black Jack, he never reached theaccount of an eyewitness of any of those stirring holdups or trainrobberies. 

And then he began on the old files of magazines. And still nothing. Hewas about to give up with four days of patient labor wasted when hestruck gold in the desert--the very mine of information which he wanted. 

"How I Painted Black Jack, " by Lawrence Montgomery. 

There was the photograph of the painter, to begin with--a man who haddiscovered the beauty of the deserts of the Southwest. But there wasmore--much more. It told how, in his wandering across the desert, he hadhunted for something more than raw-colored sands and purple mesasblooming in the distance. 

He had searched for a human being to fit into the picture and give thesoftening touch of life. But he never found the face for which he hadbeen looking. And then luck came and tapped him on the shoulder. A lonerider came out of the dusk and the desert and loomed beside his campfire. The moment the firelight flushed on the face of the man, he knew this wasthe face for which he had been searching. He told how they fried baconand ate it together; he told of the soft voice and the winning smile ofthe rider; he told of his eyes, unspeakably soft and unspeakably bold, and the agile, nervous hands, forever shifting and moving in thefirelight. 

The next morning he had asked his visitor to sit for a picture, and hisrequest had been granted. All day he labored at the canvas, and by nightthe work was far enough along for him to dismiss his visitor. So thestranger asked for a small brush with black paint on it, and in thecorner of the canvas drew in the words "Yours, Black Jack. " Then he rodeinto the night. 

Black Jack! Lawrence Montgomery had made up his pack and struck straightback for the nearest town. There he asked for tidings of a certain BlackJack, and there he got what he wanted in heaps. Everyone knew BlackJack--too well! There followed a brief summary of the history of thedesperado and his countless crimes, unspeakable tales of cunning andcourage and merciless vengeance taken. 

Vance Cornish turned the last page of the article, and there was thereproduction of the painting. He held his breath when he saw it. Theoutlaw sat on his horse with his head raised and turned, and it was thevery replica of Terence Colby as the boy had waved to them from the backof Le Sangre. More than a family, sketchy resemblance--far more. 

There was the same large, dark eye; the same smile, half proud and halfjoyous; the same imperious lift of the head; the same bold carving of thefeatures. There were differences, to be sure. The nose of Black Jack hadbeen more cruelly arched, for instance, and his cheekbones were higherand more pronounced. But in spite of the dissimilarities the resemblancewas more than striking. It might have stood for an actual portrait ofTerence Colby masquerading in long hair. 

When the full meaning of this photograph had sunk into his mind, VanceCornish closed his eyes. "Eureka!" he whispered to himself. 

There was something more to be done. But it was very simple. It merelyconsisted in covertly cutting out the pages of the article in question. Then, carefully, for fear of loss, he jotted down the name and date ofthe magazine, folded his stolen pages, and fitted them snugly into hisbreast pocket. That night he ate his first hearty dinner in four days. 

CHAPTER 5

Vance's work was not by any means accomplished. Rather, it might be saidthat he was in the position of a man with a dangerous charge for a gunand no weapon to shoot it. He started out to find the gun. 

In fact, he already had it in mind. Twenty-four hours later he was inCraterville. Five days out of the ten before the twenty-fifth birthday ofTerence had elapsed, and Vance was still far from his goal, but he feltthat the lion's share of the work had been accomplished. 

Craterville was a day's ride across the mountains from the Cornish ranch, and it was the county seat. It was one of those towns which spring intoexistence for no reason that can be discovered, and cling to lifegenerations after they should have died. But Craterville held one thingof which Vance Cornish was in great need, and that was Sheriff JoeMinter, familiarly called Uncle Joe. His reason for wanting the sheriffwas perfectly simple. Uncle Joe Minter was the man who killed Black JackHollis. 

He had been a boy of eighteen then, shooting with a rifle across a windowsill. That shot had formed his life. He was now forty-two and he hadspent the interval as the professional enemy of criminals in themountains. For the glory which came from the killing of Black Jack hadbeen sweet to the youthful palate of Minter, and he had cultivated histaste. He became the most dreaded manhunter in those districts wheremanhunting was most common. He had been sheriff at Craterville for adozen years now, and still his supremacy was not even questioned. 

Vance Cornish was lucky to find the sheriff in town presiding at the headof the long table of the hotel at dinner. He was a man of great dignity. He wore his stiff black hair, still untarnished by gray, very long, brushing it with difficulty to keep it behind his ears. This mass ofblack hair framed a long, stern face, the angles of which had been madeby years. But there was no sign of weakness. He had grown dry, notflabby. His mouth was a thin, straight line, and his fighting chin juttedout in profile. 

He rose from his place to greet Vance Cornish. Indeed, the sheriff actedthe part of master of ceremonies at the hotel, having a sort of silentunderstanding with the widow who owned the place. It was said that thesheriff would marry the woman sooner or later, he so loved to talk at hertable. His talk doubled her business. Her table afforded him an audience;so they needed one another. 

"You don't remember me, " said Vance. 

"I got a tolerable poor memory for faces, " admitted the sheriff. 

"I'm Cornish, of the Cornish ranch. "

The sheriff was duly impressed. The Cornish ranch was a show place. Hearranged a chair for Vance at his right, and presently the talk roseabove the murmur to which it had been depressed by the arrival of thisimportant stranger. The increasing noise made a background. It left Vancealone with the sheriff. 

"And how do you find your work, sheriff?" asked Vance; for he knew thatUncle Joe Minter's great weakness was his love of talk. Everyone in themountains knew it, for that matter. 

"Dull, " complained Minter. "Men ain't what they used to be, or else thelaw is a heap stronger. "

"The men who enforce the law are, " said Vance. 

The sheriff absorbed this patent compliment with the blank eye ofsatisfaction and rubbed his chin. 

"But they's been some talk of rustling, pretty recent. I'm waiting for itto grow and get ripe. Then I'll bust it. "

He made an eloquent gesture which Vance followed. He was distinctlypleased with the sheriff. For Minter was wonderfully preserved. His faceseemed five years younger than his age. His body seemed even younger--round, smooth, powerful muscles padding his shoulders and stirring downthe length of his big arms. And his hands had that peculiar lightrestlessness of touch which Vance remembered to have seen--in the handsof Terence Colby, alias Hollis!

"And how's things up your way?" continued the sheriff. 

"Booming. By the way, how long is it since you've seen the ranch?"

"Never been there. Bear Creek Valley has always been a quiet place sincethe Cornishes moved in; and they ain't been any call for a gent in myline of business up that way. "

He grinned with satisfaction, and Vance nodded. 

"If times are dull, why not drop over? We're having a celebration therein five days. Come and look us over. "

"Maybe I might, and maybe I mightn't, " said the sheriff. "All depends. "

"And bring some friends with you, " insisted Vance. 

Then he wisely let the subject drop and went on to a detailed descriptionof the game in the hills around the ranch. That, he knew, would bring thesheriff if anything would. But he mentioned the invitation no more. Therewere particular reasons why he must not press it on the sheriff any morethan on others in Craterville. 

The next morning, before traintime, Vance went to the post office andleft the article on Black Jack addressed to Terence Colby at the Cornishranch. The addressing was done on a typewriter, which completely removedany means of identifying the sender. Vance played with Providence in onlyone way. He was so eager to strike his blow at the last possible momentthat he asked the postmaster to hold the letter for three days, whichwould land it at the ranch on the morning of the birthday. Then he wentto the train. 

His self-respect was increasing by leaps and bounds. The game was stillnot won, but, starring with absolutely nothing, in six days he hadplanted a charge which might send Elizabeth's twenty-four years of laborup in smoke. 

He got off the train at Preston, the station nearest the ranch, and tooka hired team up the road along Bear Creek Gorge. They debouched out ofthe Blue Mountains into the valley of the ranch in the early evening, andVance found himself looking with new eyes on the little kingdom. He feltthe happiness, indeed, of one who has lost a great prize and then puthimself in a fair way of winning it back. 

They dipped into the valley road. Over the tops of the big silver spruceshe traced the outline of Sleep Mountain against the southern sky. Who butVance, or the dwellers in the valley, would be able to duly appreciatesuch beauty? If there were any wrong in what he had done, this thoughtconsoled him: the ends justified the means. 

Now, as they drew closer, through the branches he made out glimpses ofthe dim, white front of the big house on the hill. That big, cool housewith the kingdom spilled out at its feet, the farming lands, the pasturesof the hills, and the rich forest of the upper mountains. Certainty cameto Vance Cornish. He wanted the ranch so profoundly that the thought oflosing it became impossible. 

CHAPTER 6

But while he had been working at a distance, things had been going onapace at the ranch, a progress which had now gathered such impetus thathe found himself incapable of checking it. The blow fell immediatelyafter dinner that same evening. Terence excused himself early to retireto the mysteries of a new pump-gun. Elizabeth and Vance took their coffeeinto the library. 

The night had turned cool, with a sharp wind driving the chill throughevery crack; so a few sticks were sending their flames crumbling againstthe big back log. The lamp glowing in the corner was the only otherlight, and when they drew their chairs close to the hearth, great tonguesof shadows leaped and fell on the wall behind them. Vance looked at hissister with concern. There was a certain complacency about her thisevening that told him in advance that she had formed a new plan withwhich she was well pleased. And he had come to dread her plans. 

She always filled him with awe--and never more so than tonight, with herthin, homely face illuminated irregularly and by flashes. He keptwatching her from the side, with glances. 

"I think I know why you've gone away for these few days, " she said. 

"To get used to the new idea, " he admitted with such frankness that sheturned to him with unusual sympathy. "It was rather a shock at first. "

"I know it was. And I wasn't diplomatic. There's too much man in me, Vance. Altogether too much, while you--"

She closed her lips suddenly. But he knew perfectly the unspoken words. She was about to suggest that there was too little man in him. He droppedhis chin in his hand, partly for comfort and partly to veil the sneer. Ifshe could have followed what he had done in the past six days!

"And you are used to the new idea?"

"You see that I'm back before the time was up and ahead of my promise, "he said. 

She nodded. "Which paves the way for another new idea of mine. "

He felt that a blow was coming and nerved himself against the shock ofit. But the preparation was merely like tensing one's muscles against afall. When the shock came, it stunned him. 

"Vance, I've decided to adopt Terence!"

His fingertips sank into his cheek, bruising the flesh. What would becomeof his six days of work? What would become of his cunning and hisforethought? All destroyed at a blow. For if she adopted the boy, thevery law would keep her from denying him afterward. For a moment itseemed to him that some devil must have forewarned her of his plans. 

"You don't approve?" she said at last, anxiously. 

He threw himself back in the chair and laughed. All his despair went intothat hollow, ringing sound. 

"Approve? It's a queer question to ask me. But let it go. I know Icouldn't change you. "

"I know that you have a right to advise, " she said gently. "You are myfather's son and you have a right to advise on the placing of his name. "

He had to keep fighting against surging desires to throw his rage in herface. But he mastered himself, except for a tremor of his voice. 

"When are you going to do it?"

"Tomorrow. "

"Elizabeth, why not wait until after the birthday ceremony?"

"Because I've been haunted by peculiar fears, since our last talk, thatsomething might happen before that time. I've actually lain awake atnight and thought about it! And I want to forestall all chances. I wantto rivet him to me!"

He could see by her eagerness that her mind had been irrevocably made up, and that nothing could change her. She wanted agreement, not advice. Andwith consummate bitterness of soul he submitted to his fate. 

"I suppose you're right. Call him down now and I'll be present when youask him to join the circle--the family circle of the Cornishes, youknow. "

He could not school all the bitterness out of his voice, but she seemedtoo glad of his bare acquiescence to object to such trifles. She sent WuChi to call Terence down to them. He had apparently been in his shirtsleeves working at the gun. He came with his hands still faintlyglistening from their hasty washing, and with the coat which he had justbundled into still rather bunched around his big shoulders. He came andstood against the massive, rough-finished stones of the fireplace lookingdown at Elizabeth. There had always been a sort of silent understandingbetween him and Vance. They never exchanged more words and looks thanwere absolutely necessary. Vance realized it more than ever as he lookedup to the tall athletic figure. And he realized also that since he hadlast looked closely at Terence the latter had slipped out of boyhood andinto manhood. There was that indescribable something about the set of thechin and the straight-looking eyes that spelled the difference. 

"Terence, " she said, "for twenty-four years you have been my boy. "

"Yes, Aunt Elizabeth. "

He acknowledged the gravity of this opening statement by straightening alittle, his hand falling away from the stone against which he had beenleaning. But Vance looked more closely at his sister. He could see thegleam of worship in her eyes. 

"And now I want you to be something more. I want you to be my boy in theeyes of the law, so that when anything happens to me, your place won't bethreatened. "

He was straighter than ever. 

"I want to adopt you, Terence!"

Somehow, in those few moments they had been gradually building to aclimax. It was prodigiously heightened now by the silence of the boy. Thethroat of Vance tightened with excitement. 

"I will be your mother, in the eyes of the law, " she was explaininggently, as though it were a mystery which Terry could not understand. "And Vance, here, will be your uncle. You understand, my dear?"

What a world of brooding tenderness went into her voice! Vance wonderedat it. But he wondered more at the stiff-standing form of Terence, andhis silence; until he saw the tender smile vanish from the face ofElizabeth and alarm come into it. All at once Terence had dropped to oneknee before her and taken her hands. And now it was he who was talkingslowly, gently. 

"All my life you've given me things, Aunt Elizabeth. You've given meeverything. Home, happiness, love--everything that could be given. Somuch that you could never be repaid, and all I can do is to love you, yousee, and honor you as if you were my mother, in fact. But there's justone thing that can't be given. And that's a name!"

He paused. Elizabeth was listening with a stricken face, and the heart ofVance thundered with his excitement. Vaguely he felt that there wassomething fine and clean and honorable in the heart of this youth whichwas being laid bare; but about that he cared very little. He was gettingat facts and emotions which were valuable to him in the terms of dollarsand cents. 

"It makes me choke up, " said Terence, "to have you offer me this greatthing. It's a fine name, Cornish. But you know that I can't do it. Itwould be cowardly--a sort of rotten treason for me to change. It would bewrong. I know it would be wrong. I'm a Colby, Aunt Elizabeth. Every timethat name is spoken, I feel it tingling down to my fingertips. I want tostand straighter, live cleaner. When I looked at the old Colby place inVirginia last year, it brought the tears to my eyes. I felt as if I werea product of that soil. Every fine thing that has ever been done by aColby is a strength to me. I've studied them. And every now and then whenI come to some brave thing they've done, I wonder if I could do it. Andthen I say to myself that I _must_ be able to do just such things or elsebe a shame to my blood. 

"Change my name? Why, I've gone all my life thanking God that I come of arace of gentlemen, clean-handed, and praying God to make me worthy of it. That name is like a whip over me. It drives me on and makes me want to dosome fine big thing one of these days. Think of it! I'm the last of arace. I'm the end of it. The last of the Colbys! Why, when you think ofit, you see how I can't possibly change, don't you? If I lost that, I'dlose the best half of myself and my self-respect! You understand, don'tyou? Not that I slight the name of Cornish for an instant. But even ifnames can be changed, blood can't be changed!"

She turned her head. She met the gleaming eyes of Vance, and then let herglance probe the fire and shadow of the hearth. 

"It's all right, my dear, " she said faintly. "Stand up. "

"I've hurt you, " he said contritely, leaning over her. "I feel--like adog. Have I hurt you?"

"Not the least in the world. I only offered it for your happiness, Terry. And if you don't need it, there's no more to be said!"

He bent and kissed her forehead. 

The moment he had disappeared through the tall doorway, Vance, pastcontrol, exploded. 

"Of all the damnable exhibitions of pride in a young upstart, this--"

"Hush, hush!" said Elizabeth faintly. "It's the finest thing I've everheard Terry say. But it frightens me, Vance. It frightens me to know thatI've formed the character and the pride and the self-respect of that boyon--a lie! Pray God that he never learns the truth!"

CHAPTER 7

There were not many guests. Elizabeth had chosen them carefully fromfamilies which had known her father, Henry Cornish, when, in hisreckless, adventurous way, he had been laying the basis of the Cornishfortune in the Rockies. Indeed, she was a little angry when she heard ofthe indiscriminate way in which Vance had scattered the invitations, particularly in Craterville. 

But, as he said, he had acted so as to show her that he had entered fullyinto the spirit of the thing, and that his heart was in the right placeas far as this birthday party was concerned, and she could not dootherwise than accept his explanation. 

Some of the bidden guests, however, came from a great distance, and as amatter of course a few of them arrived the day before the celebration andfilled the quiet rooms of the old house with noise. Elizabeth acceptedthem with resignation, and even pleasure, because they all had pleasantthings to say about her father and good wishes to express for thedestined heir, Terence Colby. It was carefully explained that thisselection of an heir had been made by both Elizabeth and Vance, whichremoved all cause for remark. Vance himself regarded the guests withdistinct amusement. But Terence was disgusted. 

"What these true Westerners need, " he said to Elizabeth later in the day, "is a touch of blood. No feeling of family or the dignity of familyprecedents out here. "

It touched her shrewdly. More than once she had felt that Terry was onthe verge of becoming a complacent prig. So she countered with a sharpthrust. 

"You have to remember that you're a Westerner born and bred, my dear. Avery Westerner yourself!"

"Birth is an accident--birthplaces, I mean, " smiled Terence. "It's theblood that tells. "

"Terry, you're a snob!" exclaimed Aunt Elizabeth. 

"I hope not, " he answered. "But look yonder, now!"

Old George Armstrong's daughter, Nelly, had gone up a tree like asquirrel and was laughing down through the branches at a raw-boned cousinon the ground beneath her. 

"And what of it?" said Elizabeth. "That girl is pretty enough to pleaseany man; and she's the type that makes a wife. "

Terry rubbed his chin with his knuckles thoughtfully. It was the onefamily habit that he had contracted from Vance, much to the irritation ofthe latter. 

"After all, " said Terry, with complacency, "what are good looks with badgrammar?"

Elizabeth snorted literally and most unfemininely. 

"Terence, " she said, lessoning him with her bony, long forefinger, "you're just young enough to be wise about women. When you're a littleolder, you'll get sense. If you want white hands and good grammar, how doyou expect to find a wife in the mountains?"

Terry answered with unshaken, lordly calm. "I haven't thought about thedetails. They don't matter. But a man must have standards of criticism. "

"Standards your foot!" cried Aunt Elizabeth. "You insufferable youngprig. That very girl laughing down through the branches--I'll wager shecould set your head spinning in ten seconds if she thought it worth herwhile to try. "

"Perhaps, " smiled Terence. "In the meantime she has freckles and avocabulary without growing pains. "

"All men are fools, " declared Aunt Elizabeth; "but boys are idiots, bless'em! Terence, before you grow up you'll have sore toes from stumbling, take my word for it! Do you know what a wise man would do?"

"Well?"

"Go out and start a terrific flirtation with Nelly. "

"For the sake of experience?" sighed Terence. 

"Good heavens!" groaned Aunt Elizabeth. "Terry, you're impossible! Whereare you going now?"

"Out to see El Sangre. "

He went whistling out of the door, and she followed him with confusedfeelings of anger, pride, joy, and fear. She went to a side window andsaw him go fearlessly into the corral where the man-destroying El Sangrewas kept. And the big stallion, red fire in the sunshine, went straightto him and nosed at a hip pocket. They had already struck up a perfectunderstanding. Deeply she wondered at it. 

She had never loved the mountains and their people and their ways. It hadbeen a battle to fight. She had fought the battle, won, and gained ahollow victory. And watching Terry caress the great, beautiful horse, sheknew vaguely that his heart, at least, was in tune with the wilderness. 

"I wish to heaven, Terry, " she murmured, "that you could find a master asEl Sangre has done. You need teaching. "

When she turned from the window, she found Vance watching her. He had ahabit of obscurely melting into a background and looking out at herunexpectedly. All at once she knew that he had been there listeningduring all of her talk with Terence. Not that the talk had been of apeculiarly private nature, but it angered her. There was just a semblanceof eavesdropping about the presence of Vance. For she knew that Terenceunbosomed himself to her as he would do in the hearing of no other humanbeing. However, she mastered her anger and smiled at her brother. He hadtaken all these recent changes which were so much to his disadvantagewith a good spirit that astonished and touched her. 

"Do you know what I'm going to give Terry for his birthday?" he said, sauntering toward her. 

"Well?" A mention of Terence and his welfare always disarmed hercompletely. She opened her eyes and her heart and smiled at her brother. 

"There's no set of Scott in the house. I'm going to give Terry one. "

"Do you think he'll ever read the novels? I never could. That antiquatedstyle, Vance, keeps me at arm's length. "

"A stiff style because he wrote so rapidly. But there's the greatest bodyand bone of character. Except for his heroes. Terry reminds me of them, in a way. No thought, not very much feeling, but a great capacity forphysical action. "

"I think you'd like to be Terry's adviser, " she said. 

"I wouldn't aspire to the job, " yawned Vance, "unless I could ride welland shoot well. If a man can't do that, he ceases to be a man in Terry'seyes. And if a woman can't talk pure English, she isn't a woman. "

"That's because he's young, " said Elizabeth. 

"It's because he's a prig, " sneered Vance. He had been drawn farther intothe conversation than he planned; now he retreated carefully. "Butanother year or so may help him. "

He retreated before she could answer, but he left her thoughtful, as hehoped to do. He had a standing theory that the only way to make a womanmeditate is to keep her from talking. And he wanted very much to makeElizabeth meditate the evil in the son of Black Jack. Otherwise all hisplans might be useless and his seeds of destruction fall on barren soil. He was intensely afraid of that, anyway. His hope was to draw the boy andthe sheriff together on the birthday and guide the two explosives untilthey met on the subject of the death of Black Jack. Either Terry wouldkill the sheriff, or the sheriff would kill Terry. Vance hoped for thelatter, but rather expected the former to be the outcome, and if it were, he was inclined to think that Elizabeth would sooner or later makeexcuses for Terry and take him back into the fold of her affections. Accordingly, his work was, in the few days that intervened, to plant allthe seeds of suspicion that he could. Then, when the denouement came, those seeds might blossom overnight into poison flowers. 

In the late afternoon he took up his position in an easy chair on the bigveranda. The mail was delivered, as a rule, just before dusk, one of thecow-punchers riding down for it. Grave fears about the loss of that all-important missive to Terry haunted him, for the postmaster was adoddering old fellow who was quite apt to forget his head. Consequentlyhe was vastly relieved when the mail arrived and Elizabeth brought thefamiliar big envelope out to him, with its typewritten address. 

"Looks like a business letter, doesn't it?" she asked Vance. 

"More or less, " said Vance, covering a yawn of excitement. 

"But how on earth could any business--it's postmarked from Craterville. "

"Somebody may have heard about his prospects; they're starting early toseparate him from his money. "

"Vance, how much talking did you do in Craterville?"

It was hard to meet her keen old eyes. 

"Too much, I'm afraid, " he said frankly. "You see, I've felt rathertouchy about the thing. I want people to know that you and I have agreedon making Terry the heir to the ranch. I don't want anyone to suspectthat we differed. I suppose I talked too much about the birthday plans. "

She sighed with vexation and weighed the letter in her hand. 

"I've half a mind to open it. "

His heartbeat fluttered and paused. 

"Go ahead, " he urged, with well-assured carelessness. 

She shook down the contents of the envelope preparatory to opening it. 

"It's nothing but printed stuff, Vance. I can see that, through theenvelope. "

"But wait a minute, Elizabeth. It might anger Terry to have even hisbusiness mail opened. He's touchy, you know. "

She hesitated, then shrugged her shoulders. 

"I suppose you're right. Let it go. " She laughed at her own concern overthe matter. "Do you know, Vance, that sometimes I feel as if the wholeworld were conspiring to get a hand on Terry?"

CHAPTER 8

Terry did not come down for dinner. It was more or less of a calamity, for the board was quite full of early guests for the next day'sfestivities. Aunt Elizabeth shifted the burden of the entertainment ontothe capable shoulders of Vance, who could please these Westerners when hechose. Tonight he decidedly chose. Elizabeth had never see him in suchhigh spirits. He could flirt good-humoredly and openly across the tableat Nelly, or else turn and draw an anecdote from Nelly's father. He keptthe reins in his hands and drove the talk along so smoothly thatElizabeth could sit in gloomy silence, unnoticed, at the farther end ofthe table. Her mind was up yonder in the room of Terry. 

Something had happened, and it had come through that long businessenvelope with the typewritten address that seemed so harmless. Onereading of the contents had brought Terry out of his chair with anexclamation. Then, without explanation of any sort, he had gone to hisroom and stayed there. She would have followed to find out what was thematter, but the requirements of dinner and her guests kept herdownstairs. 

Immediately after dinner Vance, at a signal from her, dexterously herdedeveryone into the living room and distributed them in comfort around thebig fireplace; Elizabeth Cornish bolted straight for the room of Terence. She knocked and tried the door. To her astonishment, the knob turned, butthe door did not open. She heard the click and felt the jar of the bolt. Terry had locked his door!

A little thing to make her heart fall, one would say, but little thingsabout Terry were great things to Elizabeth. In twenty-four years he hadnever locked his door. What could it mean?

It was a moment before she could call, and she waited breathlessly. Shewas reassured by a quiet voice that answered her: "Just a moment. I'llopen. "

The tone was so matter-of-fact that her heart, with one leap, came backto normal and tears of relief misted her eyes for an instant. Perhaps hewas up here working out a surprise for the next day--he was full oftricks and surprises. That was unquestionably it. And he took so long incoming to the door because he was hiding the thing he had been workingon. As for food, Wu Chi was his slave and would have smuggled a tray upto him. Presently the lock turned and the door opened. 

She could not see his face distinctly at first, the light was so strongbehind him. Besides, she was more occupied in looking for the tray offood which would assure her that Terry was not suffering from some mentalcrisis that had made him forget even dinner. She found the tray, sureenough, but the food had not been touched. 

She turned on him with a new rush of alarm. And all her fears wererealized. Terry had been fighting a hard battle and he was stillfighting. About his eyes there was the look, half-dull and half-hard, that comes in the eyes of young people unused to pain. A worried, tense, hungry face. He took her arm and led her to the table. On it lay anarticle clipped out of a magazine. She looked down at it with unseeingeyes. The sheets were already much crumbled. Terry turned them to a full-page picture, and Elizabeth found herself looking down into the face ofBlack Jack, proud, handsome, defiant. 

Had Vance been there, he might have recognized her actions. As she haddone one day twenty-four years ago, now she turned and dropped heavilyinto a chair, her bony hands pressed to her shallow bosom. A moment latershe was on her feet again, ready to fight, ready to tell a thousand lies. But it was too late. The revelation had been complete and she could tellby his face that Terence knew everything. 

"Terry, " she said faintly, "what on earth have you to do with that--"

"Listen, Aunt Elizabeth, " he said, "you aren't going to fib about it, areyou?"

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"Why were you so shocked?"

She knew it was a futile battle. He was prying at her inner mind withshort questions and a hard, dry voice. 

"It was the face of that terrible man. I saw him once before, you know. On the day--"

"On the day he was murdered!"

That word told her everything. "Murdered!" It lighted all the mentalprocesses through which he had been going. Who in all the reaches of themountain desert had ever before dreamed of terming the killing of thenotorious Black Jack a "murder"?

"What are you saying, Terence? That fellow--"

"Hush! Look at us!"

He picked up the photograph and stood back so that the light fell sharplyon his face and on the photograph which he held beside his head. Hecaught up a sombrero and jammed it jauntily on his head. He tilted hisface high, with resolute chin. And all at once there were two BlackJacks, not one. He evidently saw all the admission that he cared for inher face. He took off the hat with a dragging motion and replaced thephotograph on the table. 

"I tried it in the mirror, " he said quietly. "I wasn't quite sure until Itried it in the mirror. Then I knew, of course. "

She felt him slipping out of her life. 

"What shall I say to you, Terence?"

"Is that my real name?"

She winced. "Yes. Your real name. "

"Good. Do you remember our talk of today?"

"What talk?"

He drew his breath with something of a groan. 

"I said that what these people lacked was the influence of family--of oldblood!"

He made himself smile at her, and Elizabeth trembled. "If I couldexplain--" she began. 

"Ah, what is there to explain, Aunt Elizabeth? Except that you have beena thousand times kinder to me than I dreamed before. Why, I--I actuallythought that you were rather honored by having a Colby under your roof. Ireally felt that I was bestowing something of a favor on you!"

"Terry, sit down!"

He sank into a chair slowly. And she sat on the arm of it with hermournful eyes on his face. 

"Whatever your name may be, that doesn't change the man who wears thename. "

He laughed softly. "And you've been teaching me steadily for twenty-fouryears that blood will tell? You can't change like this. Oh, I understandit perfectly. You determined to make me over. You determined to destroymy heritage and put the name of the fine old Colbys in its place. It wasa brave thing to try, and all these years how you must have waited, andwaited to see how I would turn out, dreading every day some outbreak ofthe bad blood! Ah, you have a nerve of steel, Aunt Elizabeth! How haveyou endured the suspense?"

She felt that he was mocking her subtly under this flow of compliment. But it was the bitterness of pain, not of reproach, she knew. 

She said: "Why didn't you let me come up with you? Why didn't you sendfor me?"

"I've been busy doing a thing that no one could help me with. I've beenburning my dreams. " He pointed to a smoldering heap of ashes on thehearth. 

"Terry!"

"Yes, all the Colby pictures that I've been collecting for the pastfifteen years. I burned 'em. They don't mean anything to anyone else, andcertainly they have ceased to mean anything to me. But when I came toAnthony Colby--the eighteen-twelve man, you know, the one who has alwaysbeen my hero--it went pretty hard. I felt as if--I were burning my ownpersonality. As a matter of fact, in the last couple of hours I've beenborn over again. "

Terry paused. "And births are painful, Aunt Elizabeth!"

At that she cried out and caught his hand. "Terry dear! Terry dear! Youbreak my heart!"

"I don't mean to. You mustn't think that I'm pitying myself. But I wantto know the real name of my father. He must have had some name other thanBlack Jack. What was it?"

"Are you going to gather his memory to your heart, Terry?"

"I am going to find something about him that I can be proud of. Bloodwill tell. I know that I'm not all bad, and there must have been good inBlack Jack. I want to know all about him. I want to know about--hiscrimes. "

He labored through a fierce moment of silent struggle while her heartwent helplessly out to him. 

"Because--I had a hand in every one of those crimes! Everything that hedid is something that I might have done under the same temptation. "

"But you're not all your father's son. You had a mother. A dear, sweet-faced girl--"

"Don't!" whispered Terry. "I suppose he broke--her heart?"

"She was a very delicate girl, " she said after a moment. 

"And now my father's name, please?"

"Not that just now. Give me until tomorrow night, Terry. Will you dothat? Will you wait till tomorrow night, Terry? I'm going to have a longtalk with you then, about many things. And I want you to keep this inmind always. No matter how long you live, the influence of the Colbyswill never go out of your life. And neither will my influence, I hope. Ifthere is anything good in me, it has gone into you. I have seen to that. Terry, you are not your father's son alone. All these other things haveentered into your make-up. They're just as much a part of you as hisblood. "

"Ah, yes, " said Terry. "But blood will tell!"

It was a mournful echo of a thing she had told him a thousand times. 

CHAPTER 9

She went straight down to the big living room and drew Vance away, mindless of her guests. He came humming until he was past the door and inthe shadowy hall. Then he touched her arm, suddenly grown serious. 

"What's wrong, Elizabeth?"

Her voice was low, vibrating with fierceness. And Vance blessed thedimness of the hall, for he could feel the blood recede from his face andthe sweat stand on his forehead. 

"Vance, if you've done what I think you've done, you're lower than asnake, and more poisonous and more treacherous. And I'll cut you out ofmy heart and my life. You know what I mean?"

It was really the first important crisis that he had ever faced. And nowhis heart grew small, cold. He knew, miserably, his own cowardice. Andlike all cowards, he fell back on bold lying to carry him through. It wasa triumph that he could make his voice steady--more than steady. He couldeven throw the right shade of disgust into it. 

"Is this another one of your tantrums, Elizabeth? By heavens, I'm growingtired of 'em. You continually throw in my face that you hold the stringsof the purse. Well, tie them up as far as I'm concerned. I won't whine. I'd rather have that happen than be tyrannized over any longer. "

She was much shaken. And there was a sting in this reproach that carriedhome to her; there was just a sufficient edge of truth to wound her. Hadthere been much light, she could have read his face; the dimness of thehall was saving Vance, and he knew it. 

"God knows I'd like to believe that you haven't had anything to do withit. But you and I are the only two people in the world who know thesecret of it--"

He pretended to guess. "It's something about Terence? Something about hisfather?"

Again she was disarmed. If he were guilty, it was strange that he shouldapproach the subject so openly. And she began to doubt. 

"Vance, he knows everything! Everything except the real name of BlackJack!"

"Good heavens!"

She strained her eyes through the shadows to make out his realexpression; but there seemed to be a real horror in his restrainedwhisper. 

"It isn't possible, Elizabeth!"

"It came in that letter. That letter I wanted to open, and which youpersuaded me not to!" She mustered all her damning facts one afteranother. "And it was postmarked from Craterville. Vance, you have been inCraterville lately!"

He seemed to consider. 

"Could I have told anyone? Could I, possibly? No, Elizabeth, I'll giveyou my word of honor that I've never spoken a syllable about that subjectto anyone!"

"Ah, but what have you written?"

"I've never put pen to paper. But--how did it happen?"

He had control of himself now. His voice was steadier. He could feel herrecede from her aggressiveness. 

"It was dated after you left Craterville, of course. And--I can't standimagining that you could be so low. Only, who else would have a motive?"

"But how was it done?"

"They sent him an article about his father and a picture of Black Jackthat happens to look as much like Terry as two peas. "

"Then I have it! If the picture looks like Terry, someone took it forgranted that he'd be interested in the similarity. That's why it wassent. Unless they told him that he was really Black Jack's son. Did theperson who sent the letter do that?"

"There was no letter. Only a magazine clipping and the photograph of thepainting. "

They were both silent. Plainly she had dismissed all idea of herbrother's guilt. 

"But what are we going to do, Elizabeth? And how has he taken it?"

"Like poison, Vance. He--he burned all the Colby pictures. Oh, Vance, twenty-four years of work are thrown away!"

"Nonsense! This will all straighten out. I'm glad he's found out. Sooneror later he was pretty sure to. Such things will come to light. "

"Vance, you'll help me? You'll forgive me for accusing you, and you'llhelp me to keep Terry in hand for the next few days? You see, he declaredthat he will not be ashamed of his father. "

"You can't blame him for that. "

"God knows I blame no one but myself. "

"I'll help you with every ounce of strength in my mind and body, mydear. "

She pressed his hand in silence. 

"I'm going up to talk with him now, " he said. "I'm going to do what I canwith him. You go in and talk. And don't let them see that anything iswrong. "

The door had not been locked again. He entered at the call of Terry andfound him leaning over the hearth stirring up the pile of charred paperto make it burn more freely. A shadow crossed the face of Terry as he sawhis visitor, but he banished it at once and rose to greet him. In hisheart Vance was a little moved. He went straight to the younger man andtook his hand. 

"Elizabeth has told me, " he said gently, and he looked with a moist eyeinto the face of the man who, if his plans worked out, would be eithermurderer or murdered before the close of the next day. "I am very sorry, Terence. "

"I thought you came to congratulate me, " said Terry, withdrawing hishand. 

"Congratulate you?" echoed Vance, with unaffected astonishment. 

"For having learned the truth, " said Terry. "Also, for having a fatherwho was a strong man. "

Vance could not resist the opening. 

"In a way, I suppose he was, " he said dryly. "And if you look at it inthat way, I do congratulate you, Terence!"

"You've always hated me, Uncle Vance, " Terry declared. "I've known it allthese years. And I'll do without your congratulations. "

"You're wrong, Terry, " said Vance. He kept his voice mild. "You're verywrong. But I'm old enough not to take offense at what a young spitfiresays. "

"I suppose you are, " retorted Terry, in a tone which implied that hehimself would never reach that age. 

"And when a few years run by, " went on Vance, "you'll change yourviewpoint. In the meantime, my boy, let me give you this warning. Nomatter what you think about me, it is Elizabeth who counts. "

"Thanks. You need have no fear about my attitude to Aunt Elizabeth. Youought to know that I love her, and respect her. "

"Exactly. But you're headstrong, Terry. Very headstrong. And so isElizabeth. Take your own case. She took you into the family for the sakeof a theory. Did you know that?"

The boy stiffened. "A theory?"

"Quite so. She wished to prove that blood, after all, was more talk thana vital influence. So she took you in and gave you an imaginary line ofancestors with which you were entirely contented. But, after all, it hasbeen twenty-four years of theory rather than twenty-four years of Terry. You understand?"

"It's a rather nasty thing to hear, " said Terence huskily. "Perhapsyou're right. I don't know. Perhaps you're right. "

"And if her theory is proved wrong--look out, Terry! She'll throw you outof her life without a second thought. "

"Is that a threat?"

"My dear boy, not by any means. You think I have hated you? Not at all. Ihave simply been indifferent. Now that you are in more or less trouble, you see that I come to you. And hereafter if there should be a crisis, you will see who is your true friend. Now, good night!"

He had saved his most gracious speech until the very end, and after it heretired at once to leave Terence with the pleasant memory in his mind. For he had in his mind the idea of a perfect crime for which he would notbe punished. He would turn Terry into a corpse or a killer, and in eithercase the youngster would never dream who had dealt the blow. 

No wonder, then, as he went downstairs, that he stepped onto the verandafor a few moments. The moon was just up beyond Mount Discovery; thevalley unfolded like a dream. Never had the estate seemed so charming toVance Cornish, for he felt that his hand was closing slowly around hisinheritance. 

CHAPTER 10

The sleep of the night seemed to blot out the excitement of the precedingevening. A bright sun, a cool stir of air, brought in the next morning, and certainly calamity had never seemed farther from the Cornish ranchthan it did on this day. All through the morning people kept arriving inones and twos. Every buckboard on the place was commissioned to haul theguests around the smooth roads and show them the estate; and those whopreferred were furnished with saddle horses from the stable to keep theirown mounts fresh for their return trip. Vance took charge of the wagonparties; Terence himself guided the horsemen, and he rode El Sangre, aflashing streak of blood red. 

The exercise brought the color to his face; the wind raised his spirits;and when the gathering at the house to wait for the big dinner began, hewas as gay as any. 

"That's the way with young people, " Elizabeth confided to her brother. "Trouble slips off their minds. "

And then the second blow fell, the blow on which Vance had counted forhis great results. No less a person than Sheriff Joe Minter galloped upand threw his reins before the veranda. He approached Elizabeth with ahigh flourish of his hat and a profound bow, for Uncle Joe Minteraffected the mannered courtesy of the "Southern" school. Vance had themin profile from the side, and his nervous glance flickered from one tothe other. The sheriff was plainly pleased with what he had seen on hisway up Bear Creek. He was also happy to be present at so large agathering. But to Elizabeth his coming was like a death. Her brothercould tell the difference between her forced cordiality and the realthing. She had his horse put up; presented him to the few people whom hehad not met, and then left him posing for the crowd of admirers. Life tothe sheriff was truly a stage. Then Elizabeth went to Vance. 

"You saw?" she gasped. 

"Sheriff Minter? What of it? Rather nervy of the old ass to come up herefor the party; he hardly knows us. "

"No, no! Not that! But don't you remember? Don't you remember what JoeMinter did?"

"Good Lord!" gasped Vance, apparently just recalling. "He killed BlackJack! And what will Terry do when he finds out?"

She grew still whiter, hearing him name her own fear. 

"They mustn't meet, " she said desperately. "Vance, if you're half a manyou'll find some way of getting that pompous, windy idiot off the place. "

"My dear! Do you want me to invite him to leave?"

"Something--I don't care what!"

"Neither do I. But I can't insult the fool. That type resents an insultwith gunplay. We must simply keep them apart. Keep the sheriff fromtalking. "

"Keep rain from falling!" groaned Elizabeth. "Vance, if you won't doanything, I'll go and tell the sheriff that he must leave!"

"You don't mean it!"

"Do you think that I'm going to risk a murder?"

"I suppose you're right, " nodded Vance, changing his tactics withMachiavellian smoothness. "If Terry saw the man who killed his father, all his twenty-four years of training would go up in smoke and the bloodof his father would talk in him. There'd be a shooting!"

She caught a hand to her throat. "I'm not so sure of that, Vance. I thinkhe would come through this acid test. But I don't want to take chances. "

"I don't blame you, Elizabeth, " said her brother heartily. "Neither wouldI. But if the sheriff stays here, I feel that I'm going to win the betthat I made twenty-four years ago. You remember? That Terry would shoot aman before he was twenty-five?"

"Have I ever forgotten?" she said huskily. "Have I ever let it go out ofmy mind? But it isn't the danger of Terry shooting. It's the danger ofTerry being shot. If he should reach for a gun against the sheriff--thatprofessional mankiller--Vance, something has to be done!"

"Right, " he nodded. "I wouldn't trust Terry in the face of such atemptation to violence. Not for a moment!"

The natural stubbornness on which he had counted hardened in her face. 

"I don't know. "

"It would be an acid test, Elizabeth. But perhaps now is the time. You'vespent twenty-four years training him. If he isn't what he ought to benow, he never will be, no doubt. "

"It may be that you're right, " she said gloomily. "Twenty-four years!Yes, and I've filled about half of my time with Terry and his training. Vance, you are right. If he has the elements of a mankiller in him afterwhat I've done for him, then he's a hopeless case. The sheriff shallstay! The sheriff shall stay!"

She kept repeating it, as though the repetition of the phrase might bringher courage. And then she went back among her guests. 

As for Vance, he remained skillfully in the background that day. It waspeculiarly vital, this day of all days, that he should not be much inevidence. No one must see in him a controlling influence. 

In the meantime he watched his sister with a growing admiration and witha growing concern. Instantly she had a problem on her hands. For themoment Terence heard that the great sheriff himself had joined the party, he was filled with happiness. Vance watched them meet with a heartswelling with happiness and surety of success. Straight through a groupcame Terry, weaving his way eagerly, and went up to the sheriff. Vancesaw Elizabeth attempt to detain him, attempt to send him on an errand. But he waved her suggestion away for a moment and made for the sheriff. Elizabeth, seeing that the meeting could not be avoided, at leastdetermined to be present at it. She came up with Terence and presentedhim. 

"Sheriff Minter, this is Terence Colby. "

"I've heard of you, Colby, " said the sheriff kindly. And he waited for aresponse with the gleaming eye of a vain man. There was not long to wait. 

"You've really heard of me?" said Terry, immensely pleased. "By the Lord, I've heard of you, sheriff! But, of course, everybody has. "

"I dunno, son, " said the sheriff benevolently. "But I been driftingaround a tolerable long time, I guess. "

"Why, " said Terry, with a sort of outburst, "I've simply eaten upeverything I could gather. I've even read about you in magazines!"

"Well, now you don't say, " protested the sheriff. "In magazines?"

And his eye quested through the group, hoping for other listeners whomight learn how broadly the fame of their sheriff was spread. 

"That Canning fellow who travelled out West and ran into you and wasalong while you were hunting down the Garrison boys. I read his article. "

The sheriff scratched his chin. "I disremember him. Canning? Canning?Come to think of it, I do remember him. Kind of a small man with washed-out eyes. Always with a notebook on his knee. I got sick of answering allthat gent's questions, I recollect. Yep, he was along when I took theGarrison boys, but that little party didn't amount to much. "

"He thought it did, " said Terry fervently. "Said it was the bravest, coolest-headed, cunningest piece of work he'd ever seen done. Perhapsyou'll tell me some of the other things--the things you count big?"

"Oh, I ain't done nothing much, come to think of it. All pretty simple, they looked to me, when I was doing them. Besides, I ain't much of a handat talk!"

"Ah, " said Terry, "you'd talk well enough to suit me, sheriff!"

The sheriff had found a listener after his own heart. 

"They ain't nothing but a campfire that gives a good light to see a storyby--the kind of stories I got to tell, " he declared. "Some of these daysI'll take you along with me on a trail, son, if you'd like--and most likeI'll talk your arm off at night beside the fire. Like to come?"

"Like to?" cried Terry. "I'd be the happiest man in the mountains!"

"Would you, now? Well, Colby, you and me might hit it off pretty well. I've heard tell you ain't half bad with a rifle and pretty slick with arevolver, too. "

"I practice hard, " said Terry frankly. "I love guns. "

"Good things to love, and good things to hate, too, " philosophized thesheriff. "But all right in their own place, which ain't none too big, these days. The old times is gone when a man went out into the world witha hoss under him, and a pair of Colts strapped to his waist, and made hisown way. Them days is gone, and our younger boys is going to pot!"

"I suppose so, " admitted Terry. 

"But you got a spark in you, son. Well, one of these days we'll gettogether. And I hear tell you got El Sangre?"

"I was lucky, " said Terry. 

"That's a sizable piece of work, Colby. I've seen twenty that run ElSangre, and never even got close enough to eat his dust. Nacheral pacer, right enough. I've seen him kite across country like a train! And hismane and tail blowing like smoke!"

"I got him with patience. That was all. "

"S'pose we take a look at him?"

"By all means. Just come along with me. "

Elizabeth struck in. 

"Just a moment, Terence. There's Mr. Gainor, and he's been asking to seeyou. You can take the sheriff out to see El Sangre later. Besides, half adozen people want to talk to the sheriff, and you mustn't monopolize him. Miss Wickson begged me to get her a chance to talk to you--the realSheriff Minter. Do you mind?"

"Pshaw, " said the sheriff. "I ain't no kind of a hand at talking to thewomenfolk. Where is she?"

"Down yonder, sheriff. Shall we go?"

"The old lady with the cane?"

"No, the girl with the bright hair. "

"Doggone me, " muttered the sheriff. "Well, let's saunter down that way. "

He waved to Terence, who, casting a black glance in the direction of Mr. Gainor, went off to execute Elizabeth's errand. Plainly Elizabeth had wonthe first engagement, but Vance was still confident. The dinner tablewould tell the tale. 

CHAPTER 11

Elizabeth left the ordering of the guests at the table to Vance, and sheconsulted him about it as they went into the dining room. It was a long, low-ceilinged room, with more windows than wall space. It opened onto asmall porch, and below the porch was the garden which had been the prideof Henry Cornish. Beside the tall glass doors which led out onto theporch she reviewed the seating plans of Vance. "You at this end and I atthe other, " he said. "I've put the sheriff beside you, and right acrossfrom the sheriff is Nelly. She ought to keep him busy. The old idiot hasa weakness for pretty girls, and the younger the better, it seems. Nextto the sheriff is Mr. Gainor. He's a political power, and what time thesheriff doesn't spend on you and on Nelly he certainly will give toGainor. The arrangement of the rest doesn't matter. I simply worked toget the sheriff well-pocketed and keep him under your eye. "

"But why not under yours, Vance? You're a thousand times more diplomaticthan I am. "

"I wouldn't take the responsibility, for, after all, this may turn out tobe a rather solemn occasion, Elizabeth. "

"You don't think so, Vance?"

"I pray not. "

"And where have you put Terence?"

"Next to Nelly, at your left. "

"Good heavens, Vance, that's almost directly opposite the sheriff. You'llhave them practically facing each other. "

It was the main thing he was striving to attain. He placated hercarefully. 

"I had to. There's a danger. But the advantage is huge. You'll be therebetween them, you might say. You can keep the table talk in hand at thatend. Flash me a signal if you're in trouble, and I'll fire a questiondown the table at the sheriff or Terry, and get their attention. In themeantime you can draw Terry into talk with you if he begins to ask thesheriff what you consider leading questions. In that way, you'll keep thetalk a thousand leagues away from the death of Black Jack. "

He gained his point without much more trouble. Half an hour later thetable was surrounded by the guests. It was a table of baronialproportions, but twenty couples occupied every inch of the space easily. Vance found himself a greater distance than he could have wished from thescene of danger, and of electrical contact. 

At least four zones of cross-fire talk intervened, and the talk at thefarther end of the table was completely lost to him, except when some newand amazing dish, a triumph of Wu Chi's fabrication, was brought on, andan appreciative wave of silence attended it. 

Or again, the mighty voice of the sheriff was heard to bellow forth inlaughter of heroic proportions. 

Aside from that, there was no information he could gather except by hiseyes. And chiefly, the face of Elizabeth. He knew her like a book inwhich he had often read. Twice he read the danger signals. When the greatroast was being removed, he saw her eyes widen and her lips contract atrifle, and he knew that someone had come very close to the danger lineindeed. Again when dessert was coming in bright shoals on the trays ofthe Chinese servants, the glance of his sister fixed on him down thelength of the table with a grim appeal. He made a gesture ofhelplessness. Between them four distinct groups into which the table talkhad divided were now going at full blast. He could hardly have madehimself heard at the other end of the table without shouting. 

Yet that crisis also passed away. Elizabeth was working hard, but as themeal progressed toward a close, he began to worry. It had seemedimpossible that the sheriff could actually sit this length of time insuch an assemblage without launching into the stories for which he wasfamous. Above all, he would be sure to tell how he had started on hiscareer as a manhunter by relating how he slew Black Jack. 

Once the appalling thought came to Vance that the story must have beentold during one of those moments when his sister had shown alarm. Thecrisis might be over, and Terry had indeed showed a restraint which was acredit to Elizabeth's training. But by the hunted look in her eyes, heknew that the climax had not yet been reached, and that she wascontinually fighting it away. 

He writhed with impatience. If he had not been a fool, he would havetaken that place himself, and then he could have seen to it that thesheriff, with dexterous guiding, should approach the fatal story. As itwas, how could he tell that Elizabeth might not undo all his plans andcleverly keep the sheriff away from his favorite topic for an untoldlength of time? But as he told his sister, he wished to place all theseeming responsibility on her own shoulders. Perhaps he had played toosafe. 

The first ray of hope came to him as coffee was brought in. Theprodigious eating of the cattlemen and miners at the table had broughtthem to a stupor. They no longer talked, but puffed with unfamiliarawkwardness at the fine Havanas which Vance had provided. Even the womentalked less, having worn off the edge of the novelty of actually diningat the table of Elizabeth Cornish. And since the hostess was occupiedsolely with the little group nearest her, and there was no guiding mindto pick up the threads of talk in each group and maintain it, this dutyfell more and more into the hands of Vance. He took up his task withpleasure. 

Farther and farther down the table extended the sphere of his mildinfluence. He asked Mr. Wainwright to tell the story of how he treed thebear so that the tenderfoot author could come and shoot it. Mr. Wainwright responded with gusto. The story was a success. He varied it byrequesting young Dobel to describe the snowslide which had wiped out theVorheimer shack the winter before. 

Young Dobel did well enough to make the men grunt at the end, and hebrought several little squeals of horror from the ladies. 

All of this was for a purpose. Vance was setting the precedent, and theywere becoming used to hearing stories. At the end of each tale thesilence of expectation was longer and wider. Finally, it reached theother end of the table, and suddenly the sheriff discovered that taleswere going the rounds, and that he had not yet been heard. He rolled hiseye with an inward look, and Vance knew that he was searching for somesmooth means of introducing one of his yarns. 

Victory!

But here Elizabeth cut trenchantly into the heart of the conversation. She had seen and understood. She shot home half a dozen questions withthe accuracy of a marksman, and beat up a drumfire of responses from theladies which, for a time, rattled up and down the length of the table. The sheriff was biting his mustache thoughtfully. 

It was only a momentary check, however. Just at the point where Vancebegan to despair of ever effecting his goal, the silence began again aslady after lady ran out of material for the nonce. And as the silencespread, the sheriff was visibly gathering steam. 

Again Elizabeth cut in. But this time there was only a sporadicchattering in response. Coffee was steaming before them, Wu Chi'spowerful, thick, aromatic coffee, which only he knew how to make. Theywere in a mood, now, to hear stories, that tableful of people. Anexpected ally came to the aid of Vance. It was Terence, who had beeneating his heart out during the silly table talk of the past few minutes. Now he seized upon the first clear opening. 

"Sheriff Minter, I've heard a lot about the time you ran down JohnnyGarden. But I've never had the straight of it. Won't you tell us how ithappened?"

"Oh, " protested the sheriff, "it don't amount to much. "

Elizabeth cast one frantic glance at her brother, and strove to edge intothe interval of silence with a question directed at Mr. Gainor. But heshelved that question; the whole table was obviously waiting for thegreat man to speak. A dozen appeals for the yarn poured in. 

"Well, " said the sheriff, "if you folks are plumb set on it, I'll tellyou just how it come about. "

There followed a long story of how Johnny Garden had announced that hewould ride down and shoot up the sheriff's own town, and then get away onthe sheriff's own horse--and how he did it. And how the sheriff waslaughed at heartily by the townsfolk, and how the whole mountain districtjoined in the laughter. And how he started out single-handed in themiddle of winter to run down Johnny Garden, and struck through themountains, was caught above the timberline in a terrific blizzard, kepton in peril of his life until he barely managed to reach the timber againon the other side of the ridge. How he descended upon the hiding-place ofJohnny Garden, found Johnny gone, but his companions there, and made abargain with them to let them go if they would consent to stand by andoffer no resistance when he fought with Johnny on the latter's return. How they were as good as their word and how, when Johnny returned, theystood aside and let Johnny and the sheriff fight it out. How the sheriffbeat Johnny to the draw, but was wounded in the left arm while Johnnyfired a second shot as he lay dying on the floor of the lean-to. How thesheriff's wound was dressed by the companions of the dead Johnny, and howhe was safely dismissed with honor, as between brave men, and howafterwards he hunted those same men down one by one. 

It was quite a long story, but the audience followed it with a breathlessinterest. 

"Yes, sir, " concluded the sheriff, as the applause of murmurs fell off. "And from yarns like that one you wouldn't never figure it that I was theson of a minister brung up plumb peaceful. Now, would you?"

And again, to the intense joy of Vance, it was Terry who brought thesubject back, and this time the subject of all subjects which Elizabethdreaded, and which Vance longed for. 

"Tell us how you came to branch out, Sheriff Minter?"

"It was this way, " began the sheriff, while Elizabeth cast at Vance aglance of frantic and weary appeal, to which he responded with a gesturewhich indicated that the cause was lost. 

"I was brung up mighty proper. I had a most amazing lot of prayers at thetip of my tongue when I wasn't no more'n knee-high to a grasshopper. Butwhen a man has got a fire in him, they ain't no use trying to smother it. You either got to put water on it or else let it burn itself out. 

"My old man didn't see it that way. When I got to cutting up he'd try tosmother it, and stop me by saying: 'Don't!' Which don't accomplishnothing with young gents that got any spirit. Not a damn thing--askingyour pardon, ladies! Well, sirs, he kept me in harness, you might say, and pulling dead straight down the road and working hard and faithful. But all the time I'd been saving up steam, and swelling and swelling andgetting pretty near ready to bust. 

"Well, sirs, pretty soon--we was living in Garrison City them days, whenGarrison wasn't near the town that it is now--along comes word that JackHollis is around. A lot of you younger folks ain't never heard nothingabout him. But in his day Jack Hollis was as bad as they was made. Theywas nothing that Jack wouldn't turn to real handy, from shootin' up atown to sticking up a train or a stage. And he done it all just about aswell. He was one of them universal experts. He could blow a safe as neatas you'd ask. And if it come to a gun fight, he was greased lightningwith a flying start. That was Jack Hollis. "

The sheriff paused to draw breath. 

"Perhaps, " said Elizabeth Cornish, white about the lips, "we had bettergo into the living room to hear the rest of the sheriff's story?"

It was not a very skillful diversion, but Elizabeth had reached the pointof utter desperation. And on the way into the living room unquestionablyshe would be able to divert Terry to something else. Vance held hisbreath. 

And it was Terry who signed his own doom. 

"We're very comfortable here, Aunt Elizabeth. Let's not go in till thesheriff has finished his story. "

The sheriff rewarded him with a flash of gratitude, and Vance settledback in his chair. The end could not, now, be far away. 

CHAPTER 12

"I was saying, " proceeded the sheriff, "that they scared their babies inthese here parts with the name of Jack Hollis. Which they sure done. Well, sir, he was bad. "

"Not all bad, surely, " put in Vance. "I've heard a good many storiesabout the generosity of--"

He was anxious to put in the name of Black Jack, since the sheriff wassticking so close to "Jack Hollis, " which was a name that Terry had notyet heard for his dead father. But before he could get out the name, thesheriff, angry at the interruption, resumed the smooth current of histale with a side flash at Vance. 

"Not all bad, you say? Generous? Sure he was generous. Them that liveoutside the law has got to be generous to keep a gang around 'em. Notthat Hollis ever played with a gang much, but he had hangers-on all overthe mountains and gents that he had done good turns for and hadn't goneoff and talked about it. But that was just common sense. He knew he'dneed friends that he could trust if he ever got in trouble. If he waswounded, they had to be someplace where he could rest up. Ain't that so?Well, sir, that's what the goodness of Jack Hollis amounted to. No, sir, he was bad. Plumb bad and all bad!

"But he had them qualities that a young gent with an imagination is aptto cotton to. He was free with his money. He dressed like a dandy. He'dgamble with hundreds, and then give back half of his winnings if he'dbroke the gent that run the bank. Them was the sort of things that JackHollis would do. And I had my head full of him. Well, about the time thathe come to the neighborhood, I sneaked out of the house one night andwent off to a dance with a girl that I was sweet on. And when I comeback, I found Dad waiting up for me ready to skin me alive. He tried togive me a clubbing. I kicked the stick out of his hands and swore thatI'd leave and never come back. Which I never done, living up to my wordproper. 

"But when I found myself outside in the night, I says to myself: 'Whereshall I go now?'

"And then, being sort of sick at the world, and hating Dad particular, Idecided to go out and join Jack Hollis. I was going to go bad. Mostly tocut up Dad, I reckon, and not because I wanted to particular. 

"It wasn't hard to find Jack Hollis. Not for a kid my age that was surenot to be no officer of the law. Besides, they didn't go out single andhunt for Hollis. They went in gangs of a half a dozen at a time, or moreif they could get 'em. And even then they mostly got cleaned up when theycornered Hollis. Yes, sir, he made life sad for the sheriffs in themparts that he favored most. 

"I found Jack toasting bacon over a fire. He had two gents with him, andthey brung me in, finding me sneaking around like a fool kid instead ofwalking right into camp. Jack sized me up a minute. He was a fine-lookingboy, was Hollis. He gimme a look out of them fine black eyes of his whichI won't never forget. Aye, a handsome scoundrel, that Hollis!"

Elizabeth Cornish sank back in her chair and covered her eyes with herhands for a moment. To the others it seemed that she was merely rubbingweary eyes. But her brother knew perfectly that she was near to fainting. 

He looked at Terry and saw that the boy was following the tale withsparkling eyes. 

"I like what you say about this Hollis, sheriff, " he ventured softly. 

"Do you? Well, so did I like what I seen of him that night, for all Iknew that he was a no-good, man-killing, heartless sort. I told him rightoff that I wanted to join him. I even up and give him an exhibition ofshooting. 

"What do you think he says to me? 'You go home to your ma, young man!'

"That's what he said. 

"'I ain't a baby, ' says I to Jack Hollis. 'I'm a grown man. I'm ready tofight your way. '

"'Any fool can fight, ' says Jack Hollis. 'But a gent with any sense don'thave to fight. You can lay to that, son!'

"'Don't call me son, ' says I. 'I'm older than you was when you startedout. '

"I'd had my heart busted before I started, ' says Jack Hollis to me. 'Areyou as old as that, son? You go back home and don't bother me no more. I'll come back in five years and see if you're still in the same mind!'

"And that was what I seen of Jack Hollis. 

"I went back into town--Garrison City. I slept over the stables the restof that night. The next day I loafed around town not hardly nowaysknowing what I was going to do. 

"Then I was loafing around with my rifle, like I was going out on ahunting trip that afternoon. And pretty soon I heard a lot of noisecoming down the street, guns and what not. I look out the window andthere comes Jack Hollis, hellbent! Jack Hollis! And then it pops into myhead that they was a big price, for them days, on Jack's head. I pickedup my gun and eased it over the sill of the window and got a good bead. 

"Jack turned in his saddle--"

There was a faint groan from Elizabeth Cornish. All eyes focused on herin amazement. She mustered a smile. The story went on. 

"When Jack turned to blaze away at them that was piling out around thecorner of the street, I let the gun go, and I drilled him clean. Greatsensation, gents, to have a life under your trigger. Just beckon one miteof an inch and a life goes scooting up to heaven or down to hell. I nevergot over seeing Hollis spill sidewise out of that saddle. There he was aminute before better'n any five men when it come to fighting. And now hewasn't nothing but a lot of trouble to bury. Just so many pounds offlesh. You see? Well, sir, the price on Black Jack set me up in life andgimme my start. After that I sort of specialized in manhunting, and I'vekept on ever since. "

Terry leaned across the table, his left arm outstretched to call thesheriff's attention. 

"I didn't catch that last name, sheriff, " he said. 

The talk was already beginning to bubble up at the end of the sheriff'stale. But there was something in the tone of the boy that cut through thetalk to its root. People were suddenly looking at him out of eyes whichwere very wide indeed. And it was not hard to find a reason. His handsomeface was colorless, like a carving from the stone, and under his knittedbrows his black eyes were ominous in the shadow. The sheriff franklygaped at him. It was another man who sat across the table in the chairwhere the ingenuous youth had been a moment before. 

"What name? Jack Hollis?"

"I think the name you used was Black Jack, sheriff?"

"Black Jack? Sure. That was the other name for Jack Hollis. He was mostlycalled Black Jack for short, but that was chiefly among his partners. Outside he was called Jack Hollis, which was his real name. "

Terence rose from his chair, more colorless than ever, the knuckles ofone hand resting upon the table. He seemed very tall, years older, grim. 

"Terry!" called Elizabeth Cornish softly. 

It was like speaking to a stone. 

"Gentlemen, " said Terry, though his eyes never left the face of thesheriff, and it was obvious that he was making his speech to one pair ofears alone. "I have been living among you under the name of Colby--Terence Colby. It seems an appropriate moment to say that this is not myname. After what the sheriff has just told you it may be of interest toknow that my real name is Hollis. Terence Hollis is my name and my fatherwas Jack Hollis, commonly known as Black Jack, it seems from the story ofthe sheriff. I also wish to say that I am announcing my parentage notbecause I wish to apologize for it--in spite of the rather remarkablenarrative of the sheriff--but because I am proud of it. "

He lifted his head while he spoke. And his eye went boldly, calmly downthe table. 

"This could not have been expected before, because none of you knew myfather's name. I confess that I did not know it myself until a very shorttime ago. Otherwise I should not have listened to the sheriff's storyuntil the end. Hereafter, however, when any of you are tempted to talkabout Black or Jack Hollis, remember that his son is alive--and in goodhealth!"

He hung in his place for an instant as though he were ready to hear areply. But the table was stunned. Then Terry turned on his heel and leftthe room. 

It was the signal for a general upstarting from the table, a pushing backof chairs, a gathering around Elizabeth Cornish. She was as white asTerry had been while he talked. But there was a gathering excitement inher eye, and happiness. The sheriff was full of apologies. He wouldrather have had his tongue torn out by the roots than to have offendedher or the young man with his story. 

She waved the sheriff's apology aside. It was unfortunate, but it couldnot have been helped. They all realized that. She guided her guests intothe living room, and on the way she managed to drift close to herbrother. 

Her eyes were on fire with her triumph. 

"You heard, Vance? You saw what he did?"

There was a haunted look about the face of Vance, who had seen his high-built schemes topple about his head. 

"He did even better than I expected, Elizabeth. Thank heaven for it!"

CHAPTER 13

Terence Hollis had gone out of the room and up the stairs like a manstunned or walking in his sleep. Not until he stepped into the familiarroom did the blood begin to return to his face, and with the warmth therewas a growing sensation of uneasiness. 

Something was wrong. Something had to be righted. Gradually his mindcleared. The thing that was wrong was that the man who had killed hisfather was now under the same roof with him, had shaken his hand, had satin bland complacency and looked in his face and told of the butchery. 

Butchery it was, according to Terry's standards. For the sake of theprice on the head of the outlaw, young Minter had shoved his rifle acrossa window sill, taken his aim, and with no risk to himself had shot downthe wild rider. His heart stood up in his throat with revulsion at thethought of it. Murder, horrible, and cold-blooded, the more horriblebecause it was legal. 

Something had to be done. What was it?

And when he turned, what he saw was the gun cabinet with a shimmer oflight on the barrels. Then he knew. He selected his favorite Colt anddrew it out. It was loaded, and the action in perfect condition. Many andmany an hour he had practiced and blazed away hundreds of rounds ofammunition with it. It responded to his touch like a muscular part of hisown body. 

He shoved it under his coat, and walking down the stairs again the chillof the steel worked through to his flesh. He went back to the kitchen andcalled out Wu Chi. The latter came shuffling in his slippers, nodding, grinning in anticipation of compliments. 

"Wu, " came the short demand, "can you keep your mouth shut and do whatyou're told to do?"

"Wu try, " said the Chinaman, grave as a yellow image instantly. 

"Then go to the living room and tell Mr. Gainor and Sheriff Minter thatMr. Harkness is waiting for them outside and wishes to see them onbusiness of the most urgent nature. It will only be the matter of amoment. Now go. Gainor and the sheriff. Don't forget. "

He received a scared glance, and then went out onto the veranda and satdown to wait. 

That was the right way, he felt. His father would have called the sheriffto the door, in a similar situation, and after one brief challenge theywould have gone for their guns. But there was another way, and that wasthe way of the Colbys. Their way was right. They lived like gentlemen, and, above all, they fought always like gentlemen. 

Presently the screen door opened, squeaked twice, and then closed with ahum of the screen as it slammed. Steps approached him. He got up from thechair and faced them, Gainor and the sheriff. The sheriff hadinstinctively put on his hat, like a man who does not understand the openair with an uncovered head. But Gainor was uncovered, and his white hairglimmered. 

He was a tall, courtly old fellow. His ceremonious address had won himmuch political influence. Men said that Gainor was courteous to a dog, not because he respected the dog, but because he wanted to practice for aman. He had always the correct rejoinder, always did the right thing. Hehad a thin, stern face and a hawk nose that gave him a cast of ferocityin certain aspects. 

It was to him that Terry addressed himself. 

"Mr. Gainor, " he said, "I'm sorry to have sent in a false message. But mybusiness is very urgent, and I have a very particular reason for notwishing to have it known that I have called you out. "

The moment he rose out of the chair and faced them, Gainor had stoppedshort. He was quite capable of fast thinking, and now his glanceflickered from Terry to the sheriff and back again. It was plain that hehad shrewd suspicions as to the purpose behind that call. The sheriff wasmerely confused. He flushed as much as his tanned-leather skin permitted. As for Terry, the moment his glance fell on the sheriff he felt hismuscles jump into hard ridges, and an almost uncontrollable desire to goat the throat of the other seized him. He quelled that desire and foughtit back with a chill of fear. 

"My father's blood working out!" he thought to himself. 

And he fastened his attention on Mr. Gainor and tried to shut the pictureof the sheriff out of his brain. But the desire to leap at the tall manwas as consuming as the passion for water in the desert. And with ashudder of horror he found himself without a moral scruple. Just behindthe thin partition of his will power there was a raging fury to get atJoe Minter. He wanted to kill. He wanted to snuff that life out as thelife of Black Jack Hollis had been snuffed. 

He excluded the sheriff deliberately from his attention and turned fullyupon Gainor. 

"Mr. Gainor, will you be kind enough to go over to that grove of sprucewhere the three of us can talk without any danger of interruption?"

Of course, that speech revealed everything. Gainor stiffened a little andthe tuft of beard which ran down to a point on his chin quivered andjutted out. The sheriff seemed to feel nothing more than a mild surpriseand curiosity. And the three went silently, side by side, under thespruce. They were glorious trees, strong of trunk and nobly proportioned. Their tops were silver-bright in the sunshine. Through the lower branchesthe light was filtered through layer after layer of shadow, until on theground there were only a few patches of light here and there, and thesewere no brighter than silver moonshine, and seemed to be without heat. Indeed, in the mild shadow among the trees lay the chill of the mountainair which seems to lurk in covert places waiting for the night. 

It might have been this chill that made Terry button his coat closerabout him and tremble a little as he entered the shadow. The great trunksshut out the world in a scattered wall. There was a narrow opening hereamong the trees at the very center. The three were in a sort of gorge ofwhich the solemn spruce trees furnished the sides, the cold blue of themountain skies was just above the lofty tree-tips, and the wind kept thepure fragrance of the evergreens stirring about them. The odor is thesoul of the mountains. A great surety had come to Terry that this was thelast place he would ever see on earth. He was about to die, and he wasglad, in a dim sort of way, that he should die in a place so beautiful. He looked at the sheriff, who stood calm but puzzled, and at Gainor, whowas very grave, indeed, and returned his look with one of infinite pity, as though he knew and understood and acquiesced, but was deeply grievedthat it must be so. 

"Gentlemen, " said Terry, making his voice light and cheerful as he feltthat the voice of a Colby should be at such a time, being about to die, "I suppose you understand why I have asked you to come here?"

"Yes, " nodded Gainor. 

"But I'm damned if I do, " said the sheriff frankly. 

Terry looked upon him coldly. He felt that he had not the slightestchance of killing this professional manslayer, but at least he would dohis best--for the sake of Black Jack's memory. But to think that hislife--his mind--his soul--all that was dear to him and all that he wasdear to, should ever lie at the command of the trigger of this hard, crafty, vain, and unimportant fellow! He writhed at the thought. It madehim stand stiffer. His chin went up. He grew literally taller beforetheir eyes, and such a look came on his face that the sheriffinstinctively fell back a pace. 

"Mr. Gainor, " said Terry, as though his contempt for the sheriff was toogreat to permit his speaking directly to Minter, "will you explain to thesheriff that my determination to have satisfaction does not come from thefact that he killed my father, but because of the manner of the killing?To the sheriff it seems justifiable. To me it seems a murder. Having thatthought, there is only one thing to do. One of us must not leave thisplace!" Gainor bowed, but the sheriff gaped. 

"By the eternal!" he scoffed. "This sounds like one of them duels of theold days. This was the way they used to talk!"

"Gentlemen, " said Gainor, raising his long-fingered hand, "it is mysolemn duty to admonish you to make up your differences amicably. "

"Whatever that means, " sneered the sheriff. "But tell this young foolthat's trying to act like he couldn't see me or hear me--tell him that Idon't carry no grudge ag'in' him, that I'm sorry he's Black Jack's son, but that it's something he can live down, maybe. And I'll go so far as tosay I'm sorry that I done all that talking right to his face. But fartherthan that I won't go. And if all this is leading up to a gunplay, by God, gents, the minute a gun comes into my hand I shoot to kill, mark youthat, and don't you never forget it!"

Mr. Gainor had remained with his hand raised during this outbreak. Now heturned to Terry. 

"You have heard?" he said. "I think the sheriff is going quite a waytoward you, Mr. Colby. "

"Hollis!" gasped Terry. "Hollis is the name, sir!"

"I beg your pardon, " said Gainor. "Mr. Hollis it is! Gentlemen, I assureyou that I feel for you both. It seems, however, to be one of thoseunfortunate affairs when the mind must stop its debate and physicalaction must take up its proper place. I lament the necessity, but I admitit, even though the law does not admit it. But there are unwritten laws, sirs, unwritten laws which I for one consider among the holies ofholies. "

Palpably the old man was enjoying every minute of his own talk. It wasnot his first affair of this nature. He came out of an early and morecourtly generation where men drank together in the evening by firelightand carved one another in the morning with glimmering bowie knives. 

"You are both, " he protested, "dear to me. I esteem you both as men andas good citizens. And I have done my best to open the way for peacefulnegotiations toward an understanding. It seems that I have failed. Verywell, sirs. Then it must be battle. You are both armed? With revolvers?"

"Nacher'ly, " said the sheriff, and spat accurately at a blaze on the treetrunk beside him. He had grown very quiet. 

"I am armed, " said Terry calmly, "with a revolver. "

"Very good. "

The hand of Gainor glided into his bosom and came forth bearing a whitehandkerchief. His right hand slid into his coat and came forth likewise--bearing a long revolver. 

"Gentlemen, " he said, "the first man to disobey my directions I shallshoot down unquestioningly, like a dog. I give you my solemn word forit!"

And his eye informed them that he would enjoy the job. 

He continued smoothly: "This contest shall accord with the only terms bywhich a duel with guns can be properly fought. You will stand back toback with your guns not displayed, but in your clothes. At my word youwill start walking in the opposite directions until my command 'Turn!'and at this command you will wheel, draw your guns, and fire until oneman falls--or both!"

He sent his revolver through a peculiar, twirling motion and shook backhis long white hair. 

"Ready, gentlemen, and God defend the right!"

CHAPTER 14

The talk was fitful in the living room. Elizabeth Cornish did her best torevive the happiness of her guests, but she herself was a prey to thesame subdued excitement which showed in the faces of the others. Arestraint had been taken away by the disappearance of both the stormcenters of the dinner--the sheriff and Terry. Therefore it was possibleto talk freely. And people talked. But not loudly. They were prone togather in little familiar groups and discuss in a whisper how Terry hadrisen and spoken before them. Now and then someone, for the sake ofpoliteness, strove to open a general theme of conversation, but it diedaway like a ripple on a placid pond. 

"But what I can't understand, " said Elizabeth to Vance when she was ableto maneuver him to her side later on, "is why they seem to expectsomething more. "

Vance was very grave and looked tired. The realization that all hiscunning, all his work, had been for nothing, tormented him. He had sethis trap and baited it, and it had worked perfectly--save that the teethof the trap had closed over thin air. At the denouement of the sheriff'sstory there should have been the barking of two guns and a film ofgunpowder smoke should have gone tangling to the ceiling. Instead therehad been the formal little speech from Terry--and then quiet. Yet he hadto mask and control his bitterness; he had to watch his tongue in talkingwith his sister. 

"You see, " he said quietly, "they don't understand. They can't see howfine Terry is in having made no attempt to avenge the death of hisfather. I suppose a few of them think he's a coward. I even heard alittle talk to that effect!"

"Impossible!" cried Elizabeth. 

She had not thought of this phase of the matter. All at once she hatedthe sheriff. 

"It really is possible, " said Vance. "You see, it's known that Terrynever fights if he can avoid it. There never has been any real reason forfighting until today. But you know how gossip will put the most unrelatedfacts together, and make a complete story in some way. "

"I wish the sheriff were dead!" moaned Elizabeth. "Oh, Vance, if you onlyhadn't gone near Craterville! If you only hadn't distributed thosewholesale invitations!"

It was almost too much for Vance--to be reproached after so much of thetriumph was on her side--such a complete victory that she herself wouldnever dream of the peril she and Terry had escaped. But he had to controlhis irritation. In fact, he saw his whole life ahead of him carefullyschooled and controlled. He no longer had anything to sell. Elizabeth hadmade a mock of him and shown him that he was hollow, that he was livingon her charity. He must all the days that she remained alive keepflattering her, trying to find a way to make himself a necessity to her. And after her death there would be a still harder task. Terry, whodisliked him pointedly, would then be the master, and he would face thebitter necessity of cajoling the youngster whom he detested. A fine life, truly! An almost noble anguish of the spirit came upon Vance. He wasurged to the very brink of the determination to thrust out into the worldand make his own living. But he recoiled from that horrible idea in time. 

"Yes, " he said, "that was the worst step I ever took. But I was trying tobe wholehearted in the Western way, my dear, and show that I had enteredinto the spirit of things. "

"As a matter of fact, " sighed Elizabeth, "you nearly ruined Terry'slife--and mine!"

"Very near, " said the penitent Vance. "But then--you see how well it hasturned out? Terry has taken the acid test, and now you can trust himunder any--"

The words were literally blown off ragged at his lips. Two revolver shotsexploded at them. No one gun could have fired them. And there was aterrible significance in the angry speed with which one had followed theother, blending, so that the echo from the lofty side of Sleep Mountainwas but a single booming sound. In that clear air it was impossible totell the direction of the noise. 

Everyone in the room seemed to listen stupidly for a repetition of thenoises. But there was no repetition. 

"Vance, " whispered Elizabeth in such a tone that the coward dared notlook into her face. "It's happened!"

"What?" He knew, but he wanted the joy of hearing it from her own lips. 

"It has happened, " she whispered in the same ghostly voice. "But whichone?"

That was it. Who had fallen--Terry, or the sheriff? A long, heavy stepcrossed the little porch. Either man might walk like that. 

The door was flung open. Terence Hollis stood before them. 

"I think that I've killed the sheriff, " he said simply. "I'm going up tomy room to put some things together; and I'll go into town with any manwho wishes to arrest me. Decide that between yourselves. "

With that he turned and walked away with a step as deliberately unhurriedas his approach had been. The manner of the boy was more terrible thanthe thing he had done. Twice he had shocked them on the same afternoon. And they were just beginning to realize that the shell of boyhood wasbeing ripped away from Terence Colby. Terry Hollis, son of Black Jack, was being revealed to them. 

The men received the news with utter bewilderment. The sheriff was asformidable in the opinion of the mountains as some Achilles. It wasincredible that he should have fallen. And naturally a stern murmur rose:"Foul play!"

Since the first vigilante days there has been no sound in all the West sodreaded as that deep-throated murmur of angry, honest men. That murmurfrom half a dozen law-abiding citizens will put the fear of death in thehearts of a hundred outlaws. The rumble grew, spread: "Foul play. " Andthey began to look to one another, these men of action. 

Only Elizabeth was silent. She rose to her feet, as tall as her brother, without an emotion on her face. And her brother would never forget her. 

"It seems that you've won, Vance. It seems that blood will out, afterall. The time is not quite up--and you win the bet!"

Vance shook his head as though in protest and struck his hand across hisface. He dared not let her see the joy that contorted his features. Triumph here on the very verge of defeat! It misted his eyes. Joy gavewings to his thoughts. He was the master of the valley. 

"But--you'll think before you do anything, Elizabeth?"

"I've done my thinking already--twenty-four years of it. I'm going to dowhat I promised I'd do. "

"And that?"

"You'll see and hear in time. What's yonder?"

The men were rising, one after another, and bunching together. BeforeVance could answer, there was a confusion in the hall, running feet hereand there. They heard the hard, shrill voice of Wu Chi chatteringdirections and the guttural murmurs of his fellow servants as theyanswered. Someone ran out into the hall and came back to the huddling, stirring crowd in the living room. 

"He's not dead--but close to it. Maybe die any minute--maybe live throughit!"

That was the report. 

"We'll get young Hollis and hold him to see how the sheriff comes out. "

"Aye, we'll get him!"

All at once they boiled into action and the little crowd of men thrustfor the big doors that led into the hall. They cast the doors back andcame directly upon the tall, white-headed figure of Gainor. 

CHAPTER 15

Gainor's dignity split the force of their rush. They recoiled as waterstrikes on a rock and divides into two meager swirls. And when one or twowent past him on either side, he recalled them. 

"Boys, there seems to be a little game on hand. What is it?"

Something repelling, coldly inquiring in his attitude and in his voice. They would have gone on if they could, but they could not. He held themwith a force of knowledge of things that they did not know. They wereremembering that this man had gone out with the sheriff to meet, apparently, his death. And yet Gainor, a well-tried friend of thesheriff, seemed unexcited. They had to answer his question, and how couldthey lie when he saw them rushing through a door with revolvers coming tobrown, skillful hands? It was someone from the rear who made theconfession. 

"We're going to get young Black Jack!"

That was it. The speech came out like the crack of a gun, clearing theatmosphere. It told every man exactly what was in his own mind, felt butnot confessed. They had no grudge against Terry, really. But they weredetermined to hang the son of Black Jack. Had it been a lesser deed, theymight have let him go. But his victim was too distinguished in theirsociety. He had struck down Joe Minter; the ghost of the great Black Jackhimself seemed to have stalked out among them. 

"You're going to get young Terry Hollis?" interpreted Gainor, and hisvoice rose and rang over them. Those who had slipped past him on eitherside came back and faced him. In the distance Elizabeth had not stirred. Vance kept watching her face. It was cold as ice, unreadable. He couldnot believe that she was allowing this lynching party to organize underher own roof--a lynching party aimed at Terence. It began to grow in himthat he had gained a greater victory than he imagined. 

"If you aim at Terry, " went on Gainor, his voice even louder, "you'llhave to aim at me, too. There's going to be no lynching bee, my friends!"

The women had crowded back in the room. They made a little bank of stirand murmur around Elizabeth. 

"Gentlemen, " said Gainor, shaking his white hair back again in hisimposing way, "there has been no murder. The sheriff is not going to die. There has been a disagreement between two men of honor. The sheriff isnow badly wounded. I think that is all. Does anybody want to askquestions about what has happened?"

There was a bustle in the group of men. They were puttingaway the weapons, not quite sure what they could do next. 

"I am going to tell you exactly what has happened, " said Gainor. "Youheard the unfortunate things that passed at the table today. What thesheriff said was not said as an insult; but under the circumstances itbecame necessary for Terence Hollis to resent what he had heard. As a manof honor he could not do otherwise. You all agree with me in that?"

They grunted a grudging assent. There were ways and ways of looking atsuch things. The way of Gainor was a generation old. But there wassomething so imposing about the old fellow, something which breathed thevery spirit of honor and fair play, that they could not argue the point. 

"Accordingly Mr. Hollis sent for the sheriff. Not to bring him outdoorsand shoot him down in a sudden gunplay, nor to take advantage of himthrough a surprise--as a good many men would have been tempted to do, myfriends, for the sheriff has a wide reputation as a handler of guns ofall sorts. No, sir, he sent for me also, and he told us frankly that thebad blood between him and the sheriff must be spent. You understand? Bythe Lord, my friends, I admired the fine spirit of the lad. He expectedto be shot rather than to drop the sheriff. I could tell that by hisexpression. But his eye did not falter. It carried me back to the olddays--to old days, sirs!"

There was not a murmur in the entire room. The eye of Elizabeth Cornishwas fire. Whether with anger or pride, Vance could not tell. But he beganto worry. 

"We went over to the group of silver spruce near the house. I gave themthe directions. They came and stood together, back to back, with theirrevolvers not drawn. They began to walk away in opposite directions at mycommand. 

"When I called 'Turn, ' they wheeled. My gun was ready to shoot down thefirst man guilty of foul play--but there was no attempt to turn too soon, before the signal. They whirled, snatching out their guns--and therevolver of the sheriff hung in his clothes!"

A groan from the little crowd. 

"Although, upon my word, " said Gainor, "I do not think that the sheriffcould have possibly brought out his gun as swiftly as Terence Hollis did. His whirl was like the spin of a top, or the snap of a whiplash, and ashe snapped about, the revolver was in his hand, not raised to draw abead, but at his hip. The sheriff set his teeth--but Terry did not fire!"

A bewildered murmur from the crowd. 

"No, my friends, " cried Gainor, his voice quivering, "he did not fire. Hedropped the muzzle of his gun--and waited. By heaven, my heart went outto him. It was magnificent. "

The thin, strong hand of Elizabeth closed on the arm of Vance. "That wasa Colby who did that!" she whispered. 

"The sheriff gritted his teeth, " went on Gainor, "and tore out his gun. All this pause had been such a space as is needed for an eyelash toflicker twice. Out shot the sheriff's Colt. And then, and not until then, did the muzzle of Terry's revolver jerk up. Even after that delay he beatthe sheriff to the trigger. The two shots came almost together, but thesheriff was already falling when he pulled his trigger, and his aim waswild. 

"He dropped on one side, the revolver flying out of his hand. I startedforward, and then I stopped. By heaven, the sheriff had stretched out hisarm and picked up his gun again. He was not through fighting. 

"A bulldog spirit, you say? Yes! And what could I do? It was thesheriff's right to keep on fighting as long as he wished. And it was theright of Terence to shoot the man full of holes the minute his handtouched the revolver again. 

"I could only stand still. I saw the sheriff raise his revolver. It wasan effort of agony. But he was still trying to kill. And I nerved myselfand waited for the explosion of the gun of Terence. I say I nerved myselffor that shock, but the gun did not explode. I looked at him in wonder. My friends, he was putting up his gun and quietly looking the sheriff inthe eye!

"At that I shouted to him, I don't know what. I shouted to the sheriffnot to fire. Too late. The muzzle of the gun was already tilting up, thebarrel was straightening. And then the gun fell from Minter's hand and hedropped on his side. His strength had failed him at the last moment. 

"But I say, sirs, that what Terence Hollis did was the finest thing Ihave ever seen in my life, and I have seen fine things done by gentlemenbefore. There may be unpleasant associations with the name of Terry'sfather. I, for one, shall never carry over those associations to the son. Never! He has my hand, my respect, my esteem in every detail. He is agentleman, my friends! There is nothing for us to do. If the sheriff isunfortunate and the wound should prove fatal, Terence will give himselfup to the law. If he lives, he will be the first to tell you to keep yourhands off the boy!"

He ended in a little silence. But there was no appreciative burst ofapplause from those who heard him. The fine courage of Terence was, tothem, merely the iron nerve of the man-killer, the keen eye and thejudicious mind which knew that the sheriff would collapse before he firedhis second shot. And his courtesy before the first shot was simply thesurety of the man who knew that no matter what advantage he gave to hisenemy, his own speed of hand would more than make up for it. 

Gainor, reading their minds, paid no more heed to them. He went straightacross the room and took the hand of Elizabeth. 

"Dear Miss Cornish, " he said so that all could hear, "I congratulate youfor the man you have given us in Terence Hollis. "

Vance, watching, saw the tears of pleasure brighten the eyes of hissister. 

"You are very kind, " she said. "But now I must see Sheriff Minter and besure that everything is done for him. "

It seemed that the party took this as a signal for dismissal. As she wentacross the room, there were a dozen hasty adieus, and soon the guestswere streaming towards the doors. 

Vance and Elizabeth and Gainor went to the sheriff. He had been installedin a guest room. His eyes were closed, his arms outstretched. A thick, telltale bandage was wrapped about his breast. And Wu Chi, skillful insuch matters from a long experience, was sliding about the room in hiswhispering slippers. The sheriff did not open his eyes when Elizabethtried his pulse. It was faint, but steady. 

He had been shot through the body and the lungs grazed, for as hebreathed there was a faint bubble of blood that grew and swelled andburst on his lips at every breath. But he lived, and he would live unlessthere were an unnecessary change for the worse. They went softly out ofthe room again. Elizabeth was grave. Mr. Gainor took her hand. 

"I think I know what people are saying now, and what they will sayhereafter. If Terry's father were any other than Hollis, this affairwould soon he forgotten, except as a credit to him. But even as it is, hewill live this matter down. I want to tell you again, Miss Cornish, thatyou have reason to be proud of him. He is the sort of man I should beproud to have in my own family. Madam, good-by. And if there is anythingin which I can be of service to you or to Terence, call on me at any timeand to any extent. "

And he went down the hall with a little swagger. Mr. Gainor felt that hehad risen admirably to a great situation. As a matter of fact, he had. 

Elizabeth turned to Vance. 

"I wish you'd find Terence, " she said, "and tell him that I'm waiting forhim in the library. "

CHAPTER 16

Vance went gloomily to the room of Terry and called him out. The boy waspale, but perfectly calm, and he looked older, much older. 

"There was a great deal of talk, " said Vance--he must make doubly sure ofTerence now. "And they even started a little lynching party. But westopped all that. Gainor made a very nice little speech about you. Andnow Elizabeth is waiting for you in the library. "

Terry bit his lip. 

"And she?" he asked anxiously. 

"There's nothing to worry about, " Vance assured him. 

"She'll probably read you a curtain lecture. But at heart she's proud ofyou because of the way Gainor talked. You can't do anything wrong in mysister's eyes. "

Terry breathed a great sigh of relief. 

"But I'm not ashamed of what I've done. I'm really not, Uncle Vance. I'mafraid that I'd do it over again, under the same circumstances. "

"Of course you would. Of course you would, my boy. But you don't have toblurt that out to Elizabeth, do you? Let her think it was theoverwhelming passion of the moment; something like that. A woman likes tobe appealed to, not defied. Particularly Elizabeth. Take my advice. She'll open her arms to you after she's been stern as the devil for amoment. "

The boy caught his hand and wrung it. 

"By the Lord, Uncle Vance, " he said, "I certainly appreciate this!"

"Tush, Terry, tush!" said Vance. "You'll find that I'm with you andbehind you in more ways than you'd ever guess. "

He received a grateful glance as they went down the broad stairstogether. At the door to the library Vance turned away, but Elizabethcalled to him and asked him in. He entered behind Terence Hollis, andfound Elizabeth sitting in her father's big chair under the window, looking extremely fragile and very erect and proud. Across her lap was alegal-looking document. 

Vance knew instantly that it was the will she had made up in favor ofTerence. He had been preparing himself for the worst, but at this hisheart sank. He lowered himself into a chair. Terence had gone straight toElizabeth. 

"I know I've done a thing that will cut you deeply, Aunt Elizabeth, " hesaid. "I'm not going to ask you to see any justice on my side. I onlywant to ask you to forgive me, because--"

Elizabeth was staring straight at and through her protege. 

"Are you done, Terence?"

This time Vance was shocked into wide-eyed attention. The voice ofElizabeth was hard as iron. It brought a corresponding stiffening ofTerence. 

"I'm done, " he said, with a certain ring to his voice that Vance was gladto hear. 

It brought a flush into the pale cheeks of Elizabeth. 

"It is easy to see that you're proud of what you have done, Terence. "

"Yes, " he answered with sudden defiance, "I am proud. It's the best thingI've ever done. I regret only one part of it. "

"And that?"

"That my bullet didn't kill him!"

Elizabeth looked down and tapped the folded paper against her fingertips. Whether it was mere thoughtfulness or a desire to veil a profound emotionfrom Terence, her brother could not tell. But he knew that something ofimportance was in the air. He scented it as clearly as the smoke of aforest fire. 

"I thought, " she said in her new and icy manner, "that that would be yourone regret. "

She looked suddenly up at Terence. 

"Twenty-four years, " she said, "have passed since I took you into mylife. At that time I was told that I was doing a rash thing, a dangerousthing--that before your twenty-fifth birthday the bad blood would out;that you would, in short, have shot a man. And the prophecy has cometrue. By an irony of chance it has happened on the very last day. And byanother irony you picked your victim from among the guests under myroof!"

"Victim?" cried Terry hoarsely. "Victim, Aunt Elizabeth?"

"If you please, " she said quietly, "not that name again, Terence. I wishyou to know exactly what I have done. Up to this time I have given you aplace in my affections. I have tried to the best of my skill to bring youup with a fitting education. I have given you what little wisdom andadvice I have to give. Today I had determined to do much more. I had awill made out--this is it in my hands--and by the terms of this will Imade you my heir--the heir to the complete Cornish estate aside from acomfortable annuity to Vance. "

She looked him in the eye, ripped the will from end to end, and tossedthe fragments into the fire. There was a sharp cry from Vance, who sprangto his feet. It was the thrill of an unexpected triumph, but his sistertook it for protest. 

"Vance, I haven't used you well, but from now on I'm going to change. Asfor you, Terence, I don't want you near me any longer than may benecessary. Understand that I expect to provide for you. I haven't raisedyou merely to cast you down suddenly. I'm going to establish you inbusiness, see that you are comfortable, supply you with an income that'srespectable, and then let you drift where you will. 

"My own mind is made up about your end before you take a step across thethreshold of my house. But I'm still going to give you every chance. Idon't want to throw you out suddenly, however. Take your time. Make upyour mind what you want to do and where you are going. Take all the timeyou wish for such a conclusion. It's important, and it needs time forsuch a decision. When that decision is made, go your way. I never wish tohear from you again. I want no letters, and I shall certainly refuse tosee you. "

Every word she spoke seemed to be a heavier blow than the last, andTerence bowed under the accumulated weight. Vance could see the boystruggle, waver between fierce pride and desperate humiliation andsorrow. To Vance it was clear that the stiff pride of Elizabeth as shesat in the chair was a brittle strength, and one vital appeal would breakher to tears. But the boy did not see. Presently he straightened, bowedto her in the best Colby fashion, and turned on his heel. He went out ofthe room and left Vance and his sister facing one another, but notmeeting each other's glances. 

"Elizabeth, " he said at last, faintly--he dared not persuade too muchlest she take him at his word. "Elizabeth, you don't mean it. It wastwenty-four years ago that you passed your word to do this if thingsturned out as they have. Forget your promise. My dear, you're stillwrapped up in Terry, no matter what you have said. Let me go and call himback. Why should you torture yourself for the sake of your pride?"

He even rose, not too swiftly, and still with his eyes upon her. When shelifted her hand, he willingly sank back into his chair. 

"You're a very kind soul, Vance. I never knew it before. I'm appreciatingit now almost too late. But what I have done shall stand!"

"But, my dear, the pain--is it worth--"

"It means that my life is a wreck and a ruin, Vance. But I'll stand bywhat I've done. I won't give way to the extent of a single scruple. "

And the long, bitter silence which was to last so many days at theCornish ranch began. And still they did not look into one another's eyes. As for Vance, he did not wish to. He was seeing a bright future. Not longto wait; after this blow she would go swiftly to her grave. 

He had barely reached that conclusion when the door opened again. Terrystood before them in the old, loose, disreputable clothes of a cow-puncher. The big sombrero swung in his hand. The heavy Colt dragged downin its holster over his right hip. His tanned face was drawn and stern. 

"I won't keep you more than a moment, " he said. "I'm leaving. And I'mleaving with nothing of yours. I've already taken too much. If I live tobe a hundred, I'll never forgive myself for taking your charity thesetwenty-four years. For what you've spent maybe I can pay you back one ofthese days, in money. But for all the time and--patience--you've spent onme I can never repay you. I know that. At least, here's where I stoppiling up a debt. These clothes and this gun come out of the money I madepunching cows last year. Outside I've got El Sangre saddled with a saddleI bought out of the same money. They're my start in life, the clothesI've got on and the gun and the horse and the saddle. So I'm startingclean--Miss Cornish!"

Vance saw his sister wince under that name from the lips of Terry. Butshe did not speak. 

"There'll be no return, " said Terence sadly. "My trail is an out trail. Good-by again. " And so he was gone. 

CHAPTER 17

Down the Bear Creek road Terence Hollis rode as he had never riddenbefore. To be sure, it was not the first time that El Sangre hadstretched to the full his mighty strength, but on those other occasionshe had fought the burst of speed, straining back in groaning stirrupleathers, with his full weight wresting at the bit. Now he let the reinplay to such a point that he was barely keeping the power of the stallionin touch. He lightened his weight as only a fine horseman can do, shifting a few vital inches forward, and with the burden falling moreover his withers, El Sangre fled like a racer down the valley. Not thathe was fully extended. His head was not stretched out as a cow-pony'shead is stretched when he runs; he held it rather high, as though hecarried in his big heart a reserve strength ready to be called on for anyemergency. For all that, it was running such as Terry had never known. 

The wind became a blast, jerking the brim of his sombrero up andwhistling in his hair. He was letting the shame, the grief, the thousandregrets of that parting with Aunt Elizabeth be blown out of his soul. Hismind was a whirl; the thoughts became blurs. As a matter of fact, Terrywas being reborn. 

He had lived a life perfectly sheltered. The care of Elizabeth Cornishhad surrounded him as the Blue Mountains and Sleep Mountain surroundedBear Valley and fenced off the full power of the storm winds. The realityof life had never reached him. Now, all in a day, the burden was placedon his back, and he felt the spur driven home to the quick. No wonderthat he winced, that his heart contracted. 

But now that he was awakening, everything was new. Uncle Vance, whom hehad always secretly despised, now seemed a fine character, gentle, cultured, thoughtful of others. Aunt Elizabeth Cornish he had accepted asa sort of natural fact, as though there were a blood tie between them. Now he was suddenly aware of twenty-four years of patient love. Thesorrow of it, that only the loss of that love should have brought himrealization of it. Vague thoughts and aspirations formed in his mind. Heyearned toward some large and heroic deed which should re-establishhimself in her respect. He wished to find her in need, in great trouble, free her from some crushing burden with one perilous effort, lay hishomage at her feet. 

All of which meant that Terry Hollis was a boy--a bewildered, heart-stricken boy. Not that he would have undone what he had done. It seemedto him inevitable that he should resent the story of the sheriff andshoot him down or be shot down himself. All that he regretted was that hehad remained mute before Aunt Elizabeth, unable to explain to her a thingwhich he felt so keenly. And for the first time he realized the flintybasis of her nature. The same thing that enabled her to give half alifetime to the cherishing of a theory, also enabled her to cast all theresult of that labor out of her life. It stung him again to the quickevery time he thought of it. There was something wrong. He felt that ahundred hands of affection gave him hold on her. And yet all those gripswere brushed away. 

The torment was setting him on fire. And the fire was burning away thesmug complacency which had come to him during his long life in thevalley. 

When El Sangre pulled out of his racing gallop and struck out up a slopeat his natural gait, the ground-devouring pace, Terry Hollis was pantingand twisting in the saddle as though the labor of the gallop had beenhis. They climbed and climbed, and still his mind was involved in a hazeof thought. It cleared when he found that there were no longer highmountains before him. He drew El Sangre to a halt with a word. The greatstallion turned his head as he paused and looked back to his master witha confiding eye as though waiting willingly for directions. And all atonce the heart of Terence went out to the blood-bay as it had never gonebefore to any creature, dumb or human. For El Sangre had known such painas he himself was learning at this moment. El Sangre was giving him truetrust, true love, and asking him for no return. 

The stallion, following his own will, had branched off from the BearCreek trail and climbed through the lower range of the Blue Peaks. Theywere standing now on a mountain-top. The red of the sunset filled thewest and brought the sky close to them with the lower drifts of stainedclouds. Eastward the winding length of Bear Creek was turning pink andpurple. The Cornish ranch had never seemed so beautiful to Terry as itwas at this moment. It was a kingdom, and he was leaving, thedisinherited heir. 

He turned west to the blare of the sunset. Blue Mountains tumbled away inlessening ranges--beyond was Craterville, and he must go there today. That was the world to him just then. And something new passed throughTerry. The world was below him; it lay at his feet with its hopes and itsbattles. And he was strong for the test. He had been living in a dream. Now he would live in fact. And it was glorious to live!

And when his arms fell, his right hand lodged instinctively on the buttof his revolver. It was a prophetic gesture, but there, again, wassomething that Terry Hollis did not understand. 

He called to El Sangre softly. The stallion responded with the faintestof whinnies to the vibrant power in the voice of the master; and at thatsmooth, effortless pace, he glided down the hillside, weaving dexterouslyamong the jagged outcroppings of rock. A period had been placed afterTerry's old life. And this was how he rode into the new. 

The long and ever-changing mountain twilight began as he wound throughthe lower ranges. And when the full dark came, he broke from the lastsweep of foothills and El Sangre roused to a gallop over the level towardCraterville. 

He had been in the town before, of course. But he felt this evening thathe had really never seen it before. On other days what existed outside ofBear Valley did not very much matter. That was the hub around which therest of the world revolved, so far as Terry was concerned. It was verydifferent now. Craterville, in fact, was a huddle of broken-down housesamong a great scattering of boulders with the big mountains plunging upon every side to the dull blue of the night sky. 

But Craterville was also something more. It was a place where severalhundred human beings lived, any one of whom might be the decisiveinfluence in the life of Terry. Young men and old men were in that town, cunning and strength; old crones and lovely girls were there. Whom wouldhe meet? What should he see? A sudden kindness toward others pouredthrough Terry Hollis. After all, every man might be a treasure to him. Aqueer choking came in his throat when he thought of all that he hadmissed by his contemptuous aloofness. 

One thing gave him check. This was primarily the sheriff's town, and bythis time they knew all about the shooting. But what of that? He hadfought fairly, almost too fairly. 

He passed the first shapeless shack. The hoofs of El Sangre bit into thedust, choking and red in daylight, and acrid of scent by the night. Allwas very quiet except for a stir of voices in the distance here andthere, always kept hushed as though the speaker felt and acknowledged theinfluence of the profound night in the mountains. Someone came down thestreet carrying a lantern. It turned his steps into vast spokes ofshadows that rushed back and forth across the houses with the swing ofthe light. The lantern light gleamed on the stained flank of El Sangre. 

"Halloo, Jake, that you?"

The man with the lantern raised it, but its light merely served to blindhim. Terry passed on without a word and heard the other mutter behindhim: "Some damn stranger!"

Perhaps strangers were not welcome in Craterville. At least, it seemed sowhen he reached the hotel after putting up his horse in the shed behindthe old building. Half a dozen dark forms sat on the veranda talking inthe subdued voices which he had noted before. Terry stepped through thelighted doorway. There was no one inside. 

"Want something?" called a voice from the porch. The widow Rickson camein to him. 

"A room, please, " said Terry. 

But she was gaping at him. "You! Terence--Hollis!"

A thousand things seemed to be in that last word, which she brought outwith a shrill ring of her voice. Terry noted that the talking on theporch was cut off as though a hand had been clapped over the mouth ofevery man. 

He recalled that the widow had been long a friend of the sheriff and hewas suddenly embarrassed. 

"If you have a spare room, Mrs. Rickson. Otherwise, I'll find--"

Her manner had changed. It became as strangely ingratiating as it hadbeen horrified, suspicious, before. 

"Sure I got a room. Best in the house, if you want it. And--you'll behungry, Mr. --Hollis?"

He wondered why she insisted so savagely on that newfound name? Headmitted that he was very hungry from his ride, and she led him back tothe kitchen and gave him cold ham and coffee and vast slices of bread andbutter. 

She did not talk much while he ate, and he noted that she asked noquestions. Afterwards she led him through the silence of the place up tothe second story and gave him a room at the corner of the building. Hethanked her. She paused at the door with her hand on the knob, and hereyes fixed him through and through with a glittering, hostile stare. Awisp of gray hair had fallen across her cheek, and there it was plasteredto the skin with sweat, for the evening was, warm. 

"No trouble, " she muttered at length. "None at all. Make yourself tohome, Mr. --Hollis!"

CHAPTER 18

When the door closed on her, Terry remained standing in the middle of theroom watching the flame in the oil lamp she had lighted flare and rise atthe corner, and then steady down to an even line of yellow; but he wasnot seeing it; he was listening to that peculiar silence in the house. Itseemed to have spread over the entire village, and he heard no more ofthose casual noises which he had noticed on his coming. 

He went to the window and raised it to let whatever wind was abroad enterthe musty warmth of the room. He raised the sash with stealthy caution, wondering at his own stealthiness. And he was oddly glad when the windowrose without a squeak. He leaned out and looked up and down the street. It was unchanged. Across the way a door flung open, a child darted outwith shrill laughter and dodged about the corner of the house, escapingafter some mischief. 

After that the silence again, except that before long a murmur began onthe veranda beneath him where the half-dozen obscure figures had beensitting when he entered. Why should they be mumbling to themselves? Hethought he could distinguish the voice of the widow Rickson among therest, but he shrugged that idle thought away and turned back into hisroom. He sat down on the side of the bed and pulled off his boots, butthe minute they were off he was ill at ease. There was somethingoppressive about the atmosphere of this rickety old hotel. What sort of aworld was this he had entered, with its whispers, its cold glances?

He cast himself back on his bed, determined to be at ease. Nevertheless, his heart kept bumping absurdly. Now, Terry began to grow angry. With thefeeling that there was danger in the air of Craterville--for him--therecame a nervous setting of the muscles, a desire to close on someone andthrottle the secret of this hostility. At this point he heard a lighttapping at the door. Terry sat bolt upright on the bed. 

There are all kinds of taps. There are bold, heavy blows on the door thatmean danger without; there are careless, conversational rappings; butthis was a furtive tap, repeated after a pause as though it contained acode message. 

First there was a leap of fear--then cold quiet of the nerves. He wassurprised at himself. He found himself stepping into whatever adventurelay toward him with the lifting of the spirits. It was a stimulus. 

He called cheerfully: "Come in!"

And the moment he had spoken he was off the bed, noiselessly, and halfthe width of the room away. It had come to him as he spoke that it mightbe well to shift from the point from which his voice had been heard. 

The door opened swiftly--so swiftly was it opened and closed that it madea faint whisper in the air, oddly like a sigh. And there was no click ofthe lock either in the opening or the closing. Which meant anincalculably swift and dexterous manipulation with the fingers. Terryfound himself facing a short-throated man with heavy shoulders; he wore ashapeless black hat bunched on his head as though the whole hand hadgrasped the crown and shoved the hat into place. It sat awkwardly to oneside. And the hat typified the whole man. There was a sort of shiftyreadiness about him. His eyes flashed in the lamplight as they glanced atthe bed, and then flicked back toward Terry. And a smile began somewherein his face and instantly went out. It was plain that he had understoodthe maneuver. 

He continued to survey Terry insolently for a moment without announcinghimself. Then he stated: "You're him, all right!"

"Am I?" said Terry, regarding this unusual visitor with increasingsuspicion. "But I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. "

The big-shouldered man raised a stubby hand. He had an air of one whodeprecates, and at the same time lets another into a secret. He movedacross the room with short steps that made no sound, and gave him apeculiar appearance of drifting rather than walking. He picked up a chairand placed it down on the rug beside the bed and seated himself in it. 

Aside from the words he had spoken, since he entered the room he had madeno more noise than a phantom. 

"You're him, all right, " he repeated, balancing back in the chair. But hegathered his toes under him, so that he remained continually poised inspite of the seeming awkwardness of his position. 

"Who am I?" asked Terry. 

"Why, Black Jack's kid. It's printed in big type all over you. "

His keen eyes continued to bore at Terry as though he were striving toread features beneath a mask. Terry could see his visitor's face moreclearly now. It was square, with a powerfully muscled jaw and featuresthat had a battered look. Suddenly he teetered forward in his chair anddropped his elbows aggressively on his knees. 

"D'you know what they're talking about downstairs?"

"Haven't the slightest idea. "

"You ain't! The old lady is trying to fix up a bad time for you. "

"She's raising a crowd?"

"Doing her best. I dunno what it'll come to. The boys are stirring alittle. But I think it'll be all words and no action. Four-flushers, mostof 'em. Besides, they say you bumped old Minter for a goal; and theydon't like the idea of messing up with you. They'll just talk. If theytry anything besides their talk--well, you and me can fix 'em!"

Terry slipped into the only other chair which the room provided, but heslid far down in it, so that his holster was free and the gun buttconveniently under his hand. 

"You seem a charitable sort, " he said. "Why do you throw in with me?"

"And you don't know who I am?" said the other. 

He chuckled noiselessly, his mouth stretching to remarkable proportions. 

"I'm sorry, " said Terry. 

"Why, kid, I'm Denver. I'm your old man's pal, Denver! I'm him that donethe Silver Junction job with old Black Jack, and a lot more jobs, whenyou come to that!"

He laughed again. "They were getting sort of warm for me out in the bignoise. So I grabbed me a side-door Pullman and took a trip out to the oldbeat. And think of bumping into Black Jack's boy right off the bat!"

He became more sober. "Say, kid, ain't you got a glad hand for me? Ain'tyou ever heard Black Jack talk?"

"He died, " said Terry soberly, "before I was a year old. "

"The hell!" murmured the other. "The hell! Poor kid. That was a rottenlay, all right. If I'd known about that, I'd of--but I didn't. Well, letit go. Here we are together. And you're the sort of a sidekick I need. Black Jack, we're going to trim this town to a fare-thee-well!"

"My name is Hollis, " said Terry. "Terence Hollis. "

"Terence hell, " snorted the other. "You're Black Jack's kid, ain't you?And ain't his moniker good enough for you to work under? Why, kid, that'sa trademark most of us would give ten thousand cash for!"

He broke off and regarded Terry with a growing satisfaction. 

"You're his kid, all right. This is just the way Black Jack would ofsat--cool as ice--with a gang under him talking about stretching hisneck. And now, bo, hark to me sing! I got the job fixed and--But wait aminute. What you been doing all these years? Black Jack was known when hewas your age!"

With a peculiar thrill of awe and of aversion Terry watched the face ofthe man who had known his father so well. He tried to make himselfbelieve that twenty-four years ago Denver might have been quite anothertype of man. But it was impossible to re-create that face other than as abulldog in the human flesh. The craft and the courage of a fighter werewritten large in those features. 

"I've been leading--a quiet life, " he said gently. 

The other grinned. "Sure--quiet, " he chuckled. "And then you wake up andbust Minter for your first crack. You began late, son, but you may gofar. Pretty tricky with the gat, eh?"

He nodded in anticipatory admiration. 

"Old Minter had a name. Ain't I had my run-in with him? He was smoothwith a cannon. And fast as a snake's tongue. But they say you beat himfair and square. Well, well, I call that a snappy start in the world!"

Terry was silent, but his companion refused to be chilled. 

"That's Black Jack over again, " he said. "No wind about what he'd done. No jabber about what he was going to do. But when you wanted somethingdone, go to Black Jack. Bam! There it was done clean for you and no talkafterward. Oh, he was a bird, was your old man. And you take after him, right enough!"

A voice rose in Terry. He wanted to argue. He wanted to explain. It wasnot that he felt any consuming shame because he was the son of Black JackHollis. But there was a sort of foster parenthood to which he owed aclean-minded allegiance--the fiction of the Colby blood. He hadworshipped that thought for twenty years. He could not discard it in aninstant. 

Denver was breezing on in his quick, husky voice, so carefully toned thatit barely served to reach Terry. 

"I been waiting for a pal like you, kid. And here's where we hit it off. You don't know much about the game, I guess? Neither did Black Jack. As apeterman he was a loud ha-ha; as a damper-getter he was just an amateur;as a heel or a houseman, well, them things were just outside him. When itcome to the gorilla stuff, he was there a million, though. And when therewas a call for fast, quick, soft work, Black Jack was the man. Kid, I cansee that you're cut right on his pattern. And here's where you come inwith me. Right off the bat there's going to be velvet. Later on I'lleducate you. In three months you'll be worth your salt. Are you on?"

He hardly waited for Terry to reply. He rambled on. 

"I got a plant that can't fail to blossom into the long green, kid. Thestore safe. You know what's in it? I'll tell you. Ten thousand cold. Tenthousand bucks, boy. Well, well, and how did it get there? Because a lotof the boobs around here have put their spare cash in the safe forsafekeeping!"

He tilted his chin and indulged in another of his yawning, silent burstsof laughter. 

"And you never seen a peter like it. Tin, kid, tin. I could turn itinside out with a can opener. But I ain't long on a kit just now. I'm onthe hog for fair, as a matter of fact. Well, I don't need a kit. I gotsome sawdust and I can make the soup as pretty as you ever seen. We'llblow the safe, kid, and then we'll float. Are you on?"

He paused, grinning with expectation, his face gradually becoming blankas he saw no response in Terry. 

"As nearly as I can make out--because most of the slang is new to me, "said Terry, "you want to dynamite the store safe and--"

"Who said sawdust? Soup, kid, soup! I want to blow the door off thepeter, not the roof off the house. Say, who d'you think I am, a boob?"

"I understand, then. Nitroglycerin? Denver, I'm not with you. It's mightygood of you to ask me to join in--but that isn't my line of work. "

The yegg raised an expostulatory hand, but Terry went on: "I'm going tokeep straight, Denver. "

It seemed as though this simple tiding took the breath from Denver. 

"Ah!" he nodded at length. "You playing up a new line. No strong-armstuff except when you got to use it. Going to try scratching, kid? Isthat it, or some other kind of slick stuff?"

"I mean what I say, Denver. I'm going straight. "

The yegg shook his head, bewildered. "Say, " he burst out suddenly, "ain'tyou Black Jack's kid?"

"I'm his son, " said Terry. 

"All right. You'll come to it. It's in the blood, Black Jack. You can'tget away from it. "

Terry tugged his shirt open at the throat; he was stifling. "Perhaps, " hesaid. 

"It's the easy way, " went on Denver. "Well, maybe you ain't ripe yet, butwhen you are, tip me off. Gimme a ring and I'll be with you. "

"One more thing. You're broke, Denver. And I suppose you need what's inthat safe. But if you take it, the widow will be ruined. She runs thehotel and the store, too, you know. "

"Why, you poor boob, " groaned Denver, "don't you know she's the old damethat's trying to get you mobbed?"

"I suppose so. But she was pretty fond of the sheriff, you know. I don'tblame her for carrying a grudge. Now, about the money, Denver; I happento have a little with me. Take what you want. "

Denver took the proffered money without a word, counted it with a deftlystabbing forefinger, and shoved the wad into his hip pocket. 

"All right, " he said, "this'll sort of sweeten the pot. You don't needit?"

"I'll get along without it. And you won't break the safe?"

"Hell!" grunted Denver. "Does it hang on that?"

Terry leaned forward in his chair. 

"Denver, don't break that safe!"

"You kind of say that as if you was boss, maybe, " sneered Denver. 

"I am, " said Terry, "as far as this goes. "

"How'll you stop me, kid? Sit up all night and nurse the safe?"

"No. But I'll follow you, Denver. And I'll get you. You understand? I'llstay on your trail till I have you. "

Again there was a long moment of silence, then, "Black Jack!" mutteredDenver. "You're like his ghost! I think you'd get me, right enough! Well, I'll call it off. This fifty will help me along a ways. "

At the door he whirled sharply on Terence Hollis. "How much have you gotleft?" he asked. 

"Enough, " said Terry. 

"Then lemme have another fifty, will you?"

"I'm sorry. I can't quite manage it. "

"Make it twenty-five, then. "

"Can't do that either, Denver. I'm very sorry. "

"Hell, man! Are you a short sport? I got a long jump before me. Ain't yougot any credit around this town?"

"I--not very much, I'm afraid. "

"You're kidding me, " scowled Denver. "That wasn't Black Jack's way. Fromhis shoes to his skin everything he had belonged to his partners. Hisghost'll haunt you if you're turning me down, kid. Why, ain't you theheir of a rich rancher over the hills? Ain't that what I been told?"

"I was, " said Terry, "until today. "

"Ah! You got turned out for beaning Minter?"

Terry remained silent. 

"Without a cent?"

Suddenly the pudgy arm of Denver shot out and his finger pointed intoTerry's face. 

"You damn fool! This fifty is the last cent you got in the world!"

"Not at all, " said Terry calmly. 

"You lie!" Denver struck his knuckles across his forehead. "And I wasgoing to trim you. Black Jack, I didn't know you was as white as this. Fifty? Pal, take it back!"

He forced the money into Terry's pocket. 

"And take some more. Here; lemme stake you. I been pulling a sob story, but I'm in the clover, Black Jack. Gimme your last cent, will you? Kid, here's a hundred, two hundred--say what you want. "

"Not a cent--nothing, " said Terry, but he was deeply moved. 

Denver thoughtfully restored the money to his wallet. 

"You're white, " he said gently. "And you're straight as they come. Keepit up if you can. I know damned well that you can't. I've seen 'em trybefore. But they always slip. Keep it up, Black Jack, but if you everchange your mind, lemme know. I'll be handy. Here's luck!"

And he was gone as he had entered, with a whish of the swiftly moved doorin the air, and no click of the lock. 

CHAPTER 19

The door had hardly closed on him when Terence wanted to run after himand call him back. There was a thrill still running in his blood sincethe time the yegg had leaned so close and said: "That wasn't Black Jack'sway!"

He wanted to know more about Black Jack, and he wanted to hear the storyfrom the lips of this man. A strange warmth had come over him. It hadseemed for a moment that there was a third impalpable presence in theroom--his father listening. And the thrill of it remained, a ghostly andyet a real thing. 

But he checked his impulse. Let Denver go, and the thought of his fatherwith him. For the influence of Black Jack, he felt, was quicksand pullinghim down. The very fact that he was his father's son had made him shootdown one man. Again the shadow of Black Jack had fallen across his pathtoday and tempted him to crime. How real the temptation had been, Terrydid not know until he was alone. Half of ten thousand dollars wouldsupport him for many a month. One thing was certain. He must let hisfather remain simply a name. 

Going to the window in his stocking feet, he listened again. There weremore voices murmuring on the veranda of the hotel now, but within a fewmoments forms began to drift away down the street, and finally there wassilence. Evidently the widow had not secured backing as strong as shecould have desired. And Terry went to bed and to sleep. 

He wakened with the first touch of dawn along the wall beside his bed andtumbled out to dress. It was early, even for a mountain town. Therattling at the kitchen stove commenced while he was on the waydownstairs. And he had to waste time with a visit to El Sangre in thestable before his breakfast was ready. 

Craterville was in the hollow behind him when the sun rose, and El Sangrewas taking up the miles with the tireless rhythm of his pace. He hadintended searching for work of some sort near Craterville, but now herealized that it could not be. He must go farther. He must go where hisname was not known. 

For two days he held on through the broken country, climbing more than hedropped. Twice he came above the ragged timber line, with its wind-shapedarmy of stunted trees, and over the tiny flowers of the summit lands. Atthe end of the second day he came out on the edge of a precipitousdescent to a prosperous grazing country below. There would be his goal. 

A big mountain sheep rounded a corner with a little flock behind him. Terry dropped the leader with a snapshot and watched the flock scamperdown what was almost the sheer face of a cliff--a beautiful bit ofacrobatics. They found foothold on ridges a couple of inches deep, hardlyvisible to the eye from above. Plunging down a straight drop without asign of a ledge for fifty feet below them, they broke the force of thefall and slowed themselves constantly by striking their hoofs from sideto side against the face of the cliff. And so they landed, with bunchedfeet, on the first broad terrace below and again bounced over the ledgeand so out of sight. 

He dined on wild mutton that evening. In the morning he hunted along theedge of the cliffs until he came to a difficult route down to the valley. An ordinary horse would never have made it, but El Sangre was in hisglory. If he had not the agility of the mountain sheep, he was well-nighas level-headed in the face of tremendous heights. He knew how to pitchten feet down to a terrace and strike on his bunched hoofs so that theforce of the fall would not break his legs or unseat his rider. Again heunderstood how to drive in the toes of his hoofs and go up safely throughloose gravel where most horses, even mustangs, would have skidded to thebottom of the slope. And he was wise in trails. Twice he rejected thecourses which Terry picked, and the rider very wisely let him have hisway. The result was that they took a more winding, but a far safercourse, and arrived before midmorning in the bottomlands. 

The first ranch house he applied to accepted him. And there he took uphis work. 

It was the ordinary outfit--the sun- and wind-racked shack for a house, the stumbling outlying barns and sheds, and the maze of corral fences. They asked Terry no questions, accepted his first name without anaddition, and let him go his way. 

He was happy enough. He had not the leisure for thought or forremembering better times. If he had leisure here and there, he used itindustriously in teaching El Sangre the "cow" business. The stallionlearned swiftly. He began to take a joy in sitting down on a rope. 

At the end of a week Terry won a bet when a team of draught horseshitched onto his line could not pull El Sangre over his mark, and brokethe rope instead. There was much work, too, in teaching him to turn inthe cow-pony fashion, dropping his head almost to the ground and bunchinghis feet altogether. For nothing of its size that lives is so deft indodging as the cow-pony. That part of El Sangre's education was notcompleted, however, for only the actual work of a round-up could give himthe faultless surety of a good cow-pony. And, indeed, the ranchmandeclared him useless for real roundup work. 

"A no-good, high-headed fool, " he termed El Sangre, having sprained hisbank account with an attempt to buy the stallion from Terry the daybefore. 

At the end of a fortnight the first stranger passed, and ill-luck made ita man from Craterville. He knew Terry at a glance, and the next morningthe rancher called Terry aside. 

The work of that season, he declared, was going to be lighter than he hadexpected. Much as he regretted it, he would have to let his new hand go. Terry taxed him at once to get at the truth. 

"You've found out my name. That's why you're turning me off. Is that thestraight of it?"

The sudden pallor of the other was a confession. 

"What's names to me?" he declared. "Nothing, partner. I take a man theway I find him. And I've found you all right. The reason I got to let yougo is what I said. "

But Terry grinned mirthlessly. 

"You know I'm the son of Black Jack Hollis, " he insisted. "You think thatif you keep me you'll wake up some morning to find your son's throat cutand your cattle gone. Am I right?"

"Listen to me, " the rancher said uncertainly. "I know how you feel aboutlosing a job so suddenly when you figured it for a whole season. SupposeI give you a whole month's pay and--"

"Damn your money!" said Terry savagely. "I don't deny that Black Jack wasmy father. I'm proud of it. But listen to me, my friend. I'm livingstraight. I'm working hard. I don't object to losing this job. It's theattitude behind it that I object to. You'll not only send me away, butyou'll spread the news around--Black Jack's son is here! Am I a plaguebecause of that name?"

"Mr. Hollis, " insisted the rancher in a trembling voice, "I don't mean toget you all excited. Far as your name goes, I'll keep your secret. I giveyou my word on it. Trust me, I'll do what's right by you. "

He was in a panic. His glance wavered from Terry's eyes to the revolverat his side. 

"Do you think so?" said Terry. "Here's one thing that you may not havethought of. If you and the rest like you refuse to give me honest work, there's only one thing left for me--and that's dishonest work. You turnme off because I'm the son of Black Jack; and that's the very thing thatwill make me the son of Black Jack in more than name. Did you ever stopto realize that?"

"Mr. Hollis, " quavered the rancher, "I guess you're right. If you want tostay on here, stay and welcome, I'm sure. "

And his eye hunted for help past the shoulder of Terry and toward theshed, where his eldest son was whistling. Terry turned away in mutedisgust. By the time he came out of the bunkhouse with his blanket roll, there was neither father nor son in sight. The door of the shack wasclosed, and through the window he caught a glimpse of a rifle. Tenminutes later El Sangre was stepping away across the range at a pace thatno mount in the cattle country could follow for ten miles. 

CHAPTER 20

There was an astonishing deal of life in the town, however. A largecompany had reopened some old diggings across the range to the north ofCalkins, and some small fragments of business drifted the way of thelittle cattle town. Terry found a long line of a dozen horses waiting tobe shod before the blacksmith shop. One great wagon was lumbering out atthe farther end of the street, with the shrill yells of the teamstercalling back as he picked up his horses one by one with his voice. Another freight-wagon stood at one side, blocking half the street. And astir of busy life was everywhere in the town. The hotel and storecombined was flooded with sound, and the gambling hall across the streetwas alive even at midday. 

It was noon, and Terry found that the dining room was packed to the lastchair. The sweating waiter improvised a table for him in the corner ofthe hall and kept him waiting twenty minutes before he was served withham and eggs. He had barely worked his fork into the ham when a familiarvoice hailed him. 

"Got room for another at that table?"

He looked up into the grinning face of Denver. For some reason it was ashock to Terry. Of course, the second meeting was entirely coincidental, but a still small voice kept whispering to him that there was fate in it. He was so surprised that he could only nod. Denver at once appropriated achair and seated himself in his usual noiseless way. 

When he rearranged the silver which the waiter placed before him, therewas not the faintest click of the metal. And Terry noted, too, a certainnice justness in every one of Denver's motions. He was never fiddlingabout with his hands; when they stirred, it was to do something, and whenthe thing was done, the hands became motionless again. 

His eyes did not rove; they remained fixed for appreciable periodswherever they fell, as though Denver were finding something worthremembering in the wall, or in a spot on the table. When his glancetouched on a face, it hung there in the same manner. After a moment onewould forget all the rest of his face, brutal, muscular, shapeless, andsee only the keen eyes. 

Terry found it difficult to face the man. There was need to be excitedabout something, to talk with passion, in order to hold one's own in thepresence of Denver, even when the chunky man was silent. He was notsilent now; he seemed in a highly cheerful, amiable mood. 

"Here's luck, " he said. "I didn't know this God-forsaken country couldraise as much luck as this!"

"Luck?" echoed Terry. 

"Why not? D'you think I been trailing you?"

He chuckled in his noiseless way. It gave Terry a feeling of expectation. He kept waiting for the sound to come into that laughter, but it neverdid. Suddenly he was frank, because it seemed utterly futile to attemptto mask one's real thoughts from this fellow. 

"I don't know, " he said, "that it would surprise me if you _had_ beentailing me. I imagine you're apt to do queer things, Denver. "

Denver hissed, very softly and with such a cutting whistle to his breaththat Terry's lips remained open over his last word. 

"Forget that name!" Denver said in a half-articulate tone of voice. 

He froze in his place, staring straight before him; but Terry gathered animpression of the most intense watchfulness--as though, while he staredstraight before him, he had sent other and mysterious senses exploringfor him. He seemed suddenly satisfied that all was well, and as herelaxed, Terry became aware of a faint gleam of perspiration on the browof his companion. 

"Why the devil did you tell me the name if you didn't want me to use it?"he asked. 

"I thought you'd have some savvy; I thought you'd have some of your dad'shorse sense, " said Denver. 

"No offense, " answered Terry, with the utmost good nature. 

"Call me Shorty if you want, " said Denver. In the meantime he wasregarding Terry more and more closely. 

"Your old man would of made a fight out of it if I'd said as much to himas I've done to you, " he remarked at length. 

"Really?" murmured Terry. 

And the portrait of his father swept back on him--the lean, imperious, handsome face, the boldness of the eyes. Surely a man all fire andpowder, ready to explode. He probed his own nature. He had never beenparticularly quick of temper--until lately. But he began to wonder if hisequable disposition might not rise from the fact that his life in BearValley had been so sheltered. He had been crossed rarely. In the outerworld it was different. That very morning he had been tempted wickedly totake the tall rancher by the throat and grind his face into the sand. 

"But maybe you're different, " went on Denver. "Your old man used to flareup and be over it in a minute. Maybe you remember things and pack agrudge with you. "

"Perhaps, " said Terry, grown strangely meek. "I hardly know. "

Indeed, he thought, how little he really knew of himself. Suddenly hesaid: "So you simply happened over this way, Shorty?"

"Sure. Why not? I got a right to trail around where I want. Besides, whatwould there be in it for me--following you?"

"I don't know, " said Terry gravely. "But I expect to find out sooner orlater. What else are you up to over here?"

"I have a little job in mind at the mine, " said Denver. "Something thatmay give the sheriff a bit of trouble. " He grinned. 

"Isn't it a little--unprofessional, " said Terry dryly, "for you to tellme these things?"

"Sure it is, bo--sure it is! Worst in the world. But I can always tell agent that can keep his mouth shut. By the way, how many jobs you beenfired from already?"

Terry started. "How do you know that?"

"I just guess at things. "

"I started working for an infernal idiot, " sighed Terry. "When he learnedmy name, he seemed to be afraid I'd start shooting up his place one ofthese days. "

"Well, he was a wise gent. You ain't cut out for working, son. Not a bit. It'd be a shame to let you go to waste simply raising calluses on yourhands. "

"You talk well, " sighed Terry, "but you can't convince me. "

"Convince you? Hell, I ain't trying to convince your father's son. You'relike Black Jack. You got to find out yourself. We was with a Mick, once. Red-headed devil, he was. I says to Black Jack: 'Don't crack no jokesabout the Irish around this guy!'

"'Why not?' says your dad. 

"'Because there'd be an explosion, ' says I. 

"'H'm, ' says Black Jack, and lifts his eyebrows in a way he had of doing. 

"And the first thing he does is to try a joke on the Irish right in frontof the Mick. Well, there was an explosion, well enough. "

"What happened?" asked Terry, carried away with curiosity. 

"What generally happened, kid, when somebody acted up in front of yourdad?" From the air he secured an imaginary morsel between stubby thumband forefinger and then blew the imaginary particle into empty space. 

"He killed him?" asked Terry hoarsely. 

"No, " said Denver, "he didn't do that. He just broke his heart for him. Kicked the gat out of the hand of the poor stiff and wrestled with him. Black Jack was a wildcat when it come to fighting with his hands. When hegot through with the Irishman, there wasn't a sound place on the fool. Black Jack climbed back on his horse and threw the gun back at the guy onthe ground and rode off. Next we heard, the guy was working for aChinaman that run a restaurant. Black Jack had taken all the fight out ofhim. "

That scene out of the past drifted vividly back before Terry's eyes. Hesaw the sneer on the lips of Black Jack; saw the Irishman go for his gun;saw the clash, with his father leaping in with tigerish speed; felt theshock of the two strong bodies, and saw the other turn to pulp under thegrip of Black Jack. 

By the time he had finished visualizing the scene, his jaw was set hard. It had been easy, very easy, to throw himself into the fierceness of hisdead father's mood. During this moment of brooding he had been lookingdown, and he did not notice the glance of Denver fasten upon him with analmost hypnotic fervor, as though he were striving to reach to the verysoul of the younger man and read what was written there. When Terrylooked up, the face of his companion was as calm as ever. 

"And you're like the old boy, " declared Denver. "You got to find out foryourself. It'll be that way with this work idea of yours. You've lost onejob. You'll lose the next one. But--I ain't advising you no more!"

CHAPTER 21

Terry left the hotel more gloomy than he had been even when he departedfrom the ranch that morning. The certainty of Denver that he would findit impossible to stay by his program of honest work had made a strongimpression upon his imaginative mind, as though the little safecrackerreally had the power to look into the future and into the minds of men. Where he should look for work next, he had no idea. And he balancedbetween a desire to stay near the town and work out his destiny there, orelse drift far away. Distance, however, seemed to have no barrier againstrumor. After two days of hard riding, he had placed a broad gap betweenhimself and the Cornish ranch, yet in a short time rumor had overtakenhim, casually, inevitably, and the force of his name was strong enough totake away his job. 

Standing in the middle of the street he looked darkly over the squatroofs of the town to the ragged mountains that marched away against thehorizon--a bleak outlook. Which way should he ride?

A loud outburst of curses roared behind him, a whip snapped above him, hestepped aside and barely from under the feet of the leaders as a longteam wound by with the freight wagon creaking and swaying and rumblingbehind it. The driver leaned from his seat in passing and volleyed a fewcrackling remarks in the very ear of Terry. It was strange that he didnot resent it. Ordinarily he would have wanted to, climb onto that seatand roll the driver down in the dust, but today he lacked ambition. Painnumbed him, a peculiar mental pain. And, with the world free before himto roam in, he felt imprisoned. 

He turned. Someone was laughing at him from the veranda of the hotel andpointing him out to another, who laughed raucously in turn. Terry knewwhat was in their minds. A man who allowed himself to be cursed by apassing teamster was not worthy of the gun strapped at his thigh. Hewatched their faces as through a cloud, turned again, saw the door of thegambling hall open to allow someone to come out, and was invited by thecool, dim interior. He crossed the street and passed through the door. 

He was glad, instantly. Inside there was a blanket of silence; beyond thewindow the sun was a white rain of heat, blinding and appalling. Butinside his shoes took hold on a floor moist from a recent scrubbing andsoft with the wear of rough boots; and all was dim, quiet, hushed. 

There was not a great deal of business in the place, naturally, at thishour of the day. And the room seemed so large, the tables were sonumerous, that Terry wondered how so small a town could support it. Thenhe remembered the mine and everything was explained. People who dug goldlike dirt spent it in the same spirit. Half a dozen men were here andthere, playing in what seemed a listless manner, save when you lookedclose. 

Terry slumped into a big chair in the darkest corner and relaxed untilthe coolness had worked through his skin and into his blood. Presently helooked about him to find something to do, and his eye dropped naturallyon the first thing that made a noise--roulette. For a moment he watchedthe spinning disk. The man behind the table on his high stool waswhirling the thing for his own amusement, it seemed. Terry walked overand looked on. 

He hardly knew the game. But he was fascinated by the motions of theball; one was never able to tell where it would stop, on one of thethirty-six numbers, on the red or on the black, on the odd or the even. He visualized a frantic, silent crowd around the wheel listening to theclick of the ball. 

And now he noted that the wheel had stopped the last four times on theodd. He jerked a five-dollar gold piece out of his pocket and placed iton the even. The wheel spun, clicked to a stop, and the rake of thecroupier slicked his five dollars away across the smooth-worn top of thetable. 

How very simple! But certainly the wheel must stop on the even this time, having struck the odd five times in a row. He placed ten dollars on theeven. 

He did not feel that it was gambling. He had never gambled in his life, for Elizabeth Cornish had raised him to look on gambling not as a sin, but as a crowning folly. However, this was surely not gambling. There wasno temptation. Not a word had been spoken to him since he entered theplace. There was no excitement, no music, none of the drink and song ofwhich he had heard so much in robbing men of their cooler senses. It wasonly his little system that tempted him on. 

He did not know that all gambling really begins with the creation of asystem that will beat the game. And when a man follows a system, he isstarted on the most cold-blooded gambling in the world. 

Again the disk stopped, and the ball clicked softly and the ten dollarsslid away behind the rake of the man on the stool. This would never do!Fifteen dollars gone out of a total capital of fifty! He doubled withsome trepidation again. Thirty dollars wagered. The wheel spun--the moneydisappeared under the rake. 

Terry felt like setting his teeth. Instead, he smiled. He drew out hislast five dollars and wagered it with a coldness that seemed to make sureof loss, on a single number. The wheel spun, clicked; he did not evenwatch, and was turning away when a sound of a little musical shower ofgold attracted him. Gold was being piled before him. Five times thirty-six made one hundred and eighty dollars he had won! He came back to thetable, scooped up his winnings carelessly and bent a kinder eye upon thewheel. He felt that there was a sort of friendly entente between them. 

It was time to go now, however. He sauntered to the door with a guiltychill in the small of his back, half expecting reproaches to be shoutedafter him for leaving the game when he was so far ahead of it. Butapparently the machine which won without remorse lost without complaint. 

At the door he made half a pace into the white heat of the sunlight. Thenhe paused, a cool edging of shadow falling across one shoulder while theheat burned through the shirt of the other. Why go on?

Across the street the man on the veranda of the hotel began laughingagain and pointing him out. Terry himself looked the fellow over in anodd fashion, not with anger or with irritation, but with a sort of coldcalculation. The fellow was trim enough in the legs. But his shoulderswere fat from lack of work, and the bulge of flesh around the armpitswould probably make him slow in drawing a gun. 

He shrugged his own lithe shoulders in contempt and turned. The man onthe stool behind the roulette wheel was yawning until his jaw musclesstood out in hard, pointed ridges, and his cheeks fell in ridiculously. Terry went back. He was not eager to win; but the gleam of colors on thewheel fascinated him. He placed five dollars, saw the wheel win, took inhis winnings without emotion. 

While he scooped the two coins up, he did not see the croupier turn hishead and shoot a single glance to a fat, squat man in the corner of theroom, a glance to which the fat man responded with the slightest of nodsand smiles. He was the owner. And he was not particularly happy at thethought of some hundred and fifty dollars being taken out of his treasuryby some chance stranger. 

Terry did not see the glance, and before long he was incapable of seeinganything saving the flash of the disk, the blur of the alternate colorsas they spun together. He paid no heed to the path of the sunlight as itstretched along the floor under the window and told of a westering sun. The first Terry knew of it he was standing in a warm pool of gold, but hegave the sun at his feet no more than a casual glance. It was metallicgold that he was fascinated by and the whims and fancies of that singularwheel. Twice that afternoon his fortune had mounted above three thousanddollars--once it mounted to an even six thousand. He had stopped to counthis winnings at this point, and on the verge of leaving decided to makeit an even ten thousand before he went away. And five minutes later hewas gambling with five hundred in his wallet. 

When the sunlight grew yellow, other men began to enter the room. Terrywas still at his post. He did not see them. There was no human face inthe world for him except the colorless face of the croupier, and thelong, pale eyelashes that lifted now and then over greenish-orange eyes. And Terry did not heed when he was shouldered by the growing crowd aroundthe wheel. 

He only knew that other bets were being placed and that it was anuisance, for the croupier took much longer in paying debts andcollecting winnings, so that the wheel spun less often. 

Meantime he was by no means unnoticed. A little whisper had gone therounds that a real plunger was in town. And when men came into the hall, their attention was directed automatically by the turn of other eyestoward six feet of muscular manhood, heavy-shouldered and erect, with aflare of a red silk bandanna around his throat and a heavy sombrero worntilted a little to one side and back on his head. 

"He's playing a system, " said someone. "Been standing there all afternoonand making poor Pedro--the thief!--sweat and shake in his boots. "

In fact, the owner of the place had lost his complacence and his smiletogether. He approached near to the wheel and watched its spin with aface turned sallow and flat of cheek from anxiety. For with the settingof the sun it seemed that luck flooded upon Terry Hollis. He began to betin chunks of five hundred, alternating between the red and the odd, andwinning with startling regularity. His winnings were now shoved into anawkward canvas bag. Twenty thousand dollars! That had grown from thefifty. 

No wonder the crowd had two looks for Terry. His face had lost its colorand grown marvellously expressionless. 

"The real gambler's look, " they said. 

His mouth was pinched at the corners, and otherwise his expression nevervaried. 

Once he turned. A broad-faced man, laughing and obviously too self-contented to see what he was doing, trod heavily on the toes of Terry, stepping past the latter to get his winnings. He was caught by theshoulder and whirled around. The crowd saw the tall man draw his rightfoot back, balance, lift a trifle on his toes, and then a balled fistshot up, caught the broad-faced man under the chin and dumped him in acrumpled heap half a dozen feet away. They picked him up and took himaway, a stunned wreck. Terry had turned back to his game, and in tenseconds had forgotten what he had done. 

But the crowd remembered, and particularly he who had twice laughed atTerry from the veranda of the hotel. 

The heap in the canvas sack diminished, shrank--he dumped the remainderof the contents into his pocket. He had been betting in solid lumps of athousand for the past twenty minutes, and the crowd watched in amazement. This was drunken gambling, but the fellow was obviously sober. Then ahand touched the shoulder of Terry. 

"Just a minute, partner. "

He looked into the face of a big man, as tall as he and far heavier ofbuild: a magnificent big head, heavily marked features, a short-croppedblack beard that gave him dignity. A middle-aged man, about forty-five, and still in the prime of life. 

"Lemme pass a few words with you. "

Terry drew back to the side. 

CHAPTER 22

"My Name's Pollard, " said the older man. "Joe Pollard. "

"Glad to know you, sir. My name--is Terry. " The other admitted thisreticence with a faint smile. 

"I got a name around here for keeping my mouth shut and not butting in onanother gent's game. But I always noticed that when a gent is in a losingrun, half the time he don't know it. Maybe that might be the way withyou. I been watching and seen your winnings shrink considerable lately. "

Terry weighed his money. "Yes, it's shrunk a good deal. "

"Stand out of the game till later on. Come over and have a bite to eatwith me. "

He went willingly, suddenly aware of a raging appetite and a dinner longpostponed. The man of the black beard was extremely friendly. 

"One of the prettiest runs I ever see, that one you made, " he confidedwhen they were at the table in the hotel. "You got a system, I figure. "

"A new one, " said Terry. "I've never played before. "

The other blinked. 

"Beginner's luck, I suppose, " said Terry frankly. "I started with fifty, and now I suppose I have about eight hundred. "

"Not bad, not bad, " said the other. "Too bad you didn't stop half an hourbefore. Just passing through these parts?"

"I'm looking for a job, " said Terry. "Can you tell me where to starthunting? Cows are my game. "

The other paused a moment and surveyed his companion. There seemed just ashade of doubt in his eyes. They were remarkably large and yellowishgray, those eyes of Joe Pollard, and now and again when he grewthoughtful they became like clouded agate. They had that color now as hegazed at Terry. Eventually his glance cleared. 

"I got a little work of my own, " he declared. "My range is all clogged upwith varmints. Any hand with a gun and traps?"

"Pretty fair hand, " said Terry modestly. 

And he was employed on the spot. 

He felt one reassuring thing about his employer--that no echo out of hispast or the past of his father would make the man discharge him. Indeed, taking him all in all, there was under the kindliness of Joe Pollard anindescribable basic firmness. His eyes, for example, in their habit oflooking straight at one, reminded him of the eyes of Denver. His voicewas steady and deep and mellow, and one felt that it might be expanded toan enormous volume. Such a man would not fly off into snap judgments andbecome alarmed because an employee had a past or a strange name. 

They paid a short visit to the gambling hall after dinner, and then gottheir horses. Pollard was struck dumb with admiration at the sight of theblood-bay. 

"Maybe you been up the Bear Creek way?" he asked Terry. 

And when the latter admitted that he knew something of the Blue Mountaincountry, the rancher exclaimed: "By the Lord, partner, I'd say that hossis a ringer for El Sangre. "

"Pretty close to a ringer, " said Terry. "This is El Sangre himself. "

They were jogging out of town. The rancher turned in the saddle andcrossed his companion with one of his searching glances, but returned noreply. Presently, however, he sent his own capable Steeldust into a sharpgallop; El Sangre roused to a flowing pace and held the other evenwithout the slightest difficulty. At this Pollard drew rein with anexclamation. 

"El Sangre as sure as I live!" he declared. "Ain't nothing else in theseparts that calls itself a hoss and slides over the ground the way ElSangre does. Partner, what sort of a price would you set on El Sangre, maybe?"

"His weight in gold, " said Terry. 

The rancher cursed softly, without seeming altogether pleased. Andthereafter during the ride his glance continually drifted toward thebrilliant bay--brilliant even in the pallor of the clear mountainstarlight. 

He explained this by saying after a time: "I been my whole life in theseparts without running across a hoss that could pack me the way a manought to be packed on a hoss. I weigh two hundred and thirty, son, and itbusts the back of a horse in the mountains. Now, you ain't a flyweightyourself, and El Sangre takes you along like you was a feather. "

Steeldust was already grunting at every sharp rise, and El Sangre had noteven broken out in perspiration. 

A mile or so out of the town they left the road and struck onto a meresemblance of a trail, broad enough, but practically as rough as naturechose to make it. This wound at sharp and ever-changing angles into thehills, and presently they were pressing through a dense growth oflodgepole pine. 

It seemed strange to Terry that a prosperous rancher with an outfit ofany size should have a road no more beaten than this one leading to hisplace. But he was thinking too busily of other things to pay much heed tosuch surmises and small events. He was brooding over the events of theafternoon. If his exploits in the gaming hall should ever come to the earof Aunt Elizabeth, he was certain enough that he would be finally damnedin her judgment. Too often he had heard her express an opinion of thosewho lived by "chance and their wits, " as she phrased it. And the thoughtof it irked him. 

He roused himself out of his musing. They had come out from the trees andwere in sight of a solidly built house on the hill. There was one thingwhich struck his mind at once. No attempt had been made to find level forthe foundation. The log structure had been built apparently at random onthe slope. It conformed, at vast waste of labor, to the angle of the baseand the irregularities of the soil. This, perhaps, made it seem smallerthan it was. They caught the scent of wood smoke, and then saw a paledrift of the smoke itself. 

A flurry of music escaped by the opening of a door and was shut out bythe closing of it. It was a moment before Terry, startled, had analyzedthe sound. Unquestionably it was a piano. But how in the world, and whyin the world, had it been carted to the top of this mountain?

He glanced at his companion with a new respect and almost with asuspicion. 

"Up to some damn doings again, " growled the big man. "Never got no peacenor quiet up my way. "

Another surprise was presently in store for Terry. Behind the house, which grew in proportions as they came closer, they reached a horse shed, and when they dismounted, a servant came out for the horses. Outside ofthe Cornish ranch he did not know of many who afforded such luxuries. 

However, El Sangre could not be handled by another, and Terry put up hishorse and found the rancher waiting for him when he came out. Inside theshed he had found ample bins of barley and oats and good grain hay. Andin the stalls his practiced eye scanned the forms of a round dozen finehorses with points of blood and bone that startled him. 

Coming to the open again, he probed the darkness as well as he could togain some idea of the ranch which furnished and supported all theseevidences of prosperity. But so far as he could make out, there was onlya jumble of ragged hilltops behind the house, and before it the slopefell away steeply to the valley far below. He had not realized beforethat they had climbed so high or so far. 

Joe Pollard was humming. Terry joined him on the way to the house with adeepened sense of awe; he was even beginning to feel that there was atouch or two of mystery in the make-up of the man. 

Proof of the solidity with which the log house was built was furnished atonce. Coming to the house, there was only a murmur of voices and ofmusic. The moment they opened the door, a roar of singing voices and ajangle of piano music rushed into their ears. 

Terry found himself in a very long room with a big table in the centerand a piano at the farther end. The ceiling sloped down from the right tothe left. At the left it descended toward the doors of the kitchen andstorerooms; at the right it rose to the height of two full stories. Oneof these was occupied by a series of heavy posts on which hung saddlesand bridles and riding equipment of all kinds, and the posts supported abalcony onto which opened several doors--of sleeping rooms, no doubt. Asfor the wall behind the posts, it, too, was pierced with severalopenings, but Terry could not guess at the contents of the rooms. But hewas amazed by the size of the structure as it was revealed to him fromwithin. The main room was like some baronial hall of the old days of warand plunder. A role, indeed, into which it was not difficult to fit theburly Pollard and the dignity of his beard. 

Four men were around the piano, and a girl sat at the keys, splashing outsyncopated music while the men roared the chorus of the song. But at thesound of the closing of the door all five turned toward the newcomers, the girl looking over her shoulder and keeping the soft burden of thesong still running. 

CHAPTER 23

So turned, Terry could not see her clearly. He caught a glimmer of redbronze hair, dark in shadow and brilliant in high lights, and a sheen ofgreenish eyes. Otherwise, he only noted the casual manner in which sheacknowledged the introduction, unsmiling, indifferent, as Pollard said:"Here's my daughter Kate. This is Terry--a new hand. "

It seemed to Terry that as he said this the rancher made a gesture as ofwarning, though this, no doubt, could be attributed to his wish tosilently explain away the idiosyncrasy of Terry in using his first nameonly. He was presented in turn to the four men, and thought them theoddest collection he had ever laid eyes on. 

Slim Dugan was tall, but not so tall as he looked, owing to his verysmall head and narrow shoulders. His hair was straw color, excessivelysilky, and thin as the hair of a year-old child. There were other pointsof interest in Slim Dugan; his feet, for instance, were small as the feetof a girl, accentuated by the long, narrow riding boots, and his handsseemed to be pulled out to a great and unnecessary length. They made upfor it by their narrowness. 

His exact opposite was Marty Cardiff, chunky, fat, it seemed, until onenoted the roll and bulge of the muscles at the shoulders. His head wassettled into his fat shoulders somewhat in the manner of Denver's, Terrythought. 

Oregon Charlie looked the part of an Indian, with his broad nose and highcheekbones, flat face, slanted dark eyes; but his skin was a dead andpeculiar white. He was a down-headed man, and one could rarely imaginehim opening his lips to speak; he merely grunted as he shook hands withthe stranger. 

To finish the picture, there was a man as huge as Joe Pollard himself, and as powerful, to judge by appearances. His face was burned to a jovialred; his hair was red also, and there was red hair on the backs of hisfreckled hands. 

All these men met Terry with cordial nods, but there was a carelessnessabout their demeanor which seemed strange to Terry. In his experience, the men of the mountains were a timid or a blustering lot beforenewcomers, uneasy, and anxious to establish their place. But these menacted as if meeting unknown men were a part of their common, dailyexperience. They were as much at their ease as social lions. 

Pollard was explaining the presence of Terry. 

"He's come up to clean out the varmints, " he said to the others. "Theybeen getting pretty thick on the range, you know. "

"You came in just wrong, " complained Kate, while the men turned fourpairs of grave eyes upon Terry and seemed to be judging him. "I gotOregon singing at last, and he was doing fine. Got a real voice, Charliehas. Regular branded baritone, I'll tell a man. "

"Strike up agin for us, Charlie, " said Pollard good-naturedly. "You don'tnever make much more noise'n a grizzly. "

But Charlie looked down at his hands and a faint spot of red appeared inhis cheek. Obviously he was much embarrassed. And when he looked up, itwas to fix a glance of cold suspicion upon Terry, as though warning himnot to take this talk of social acquirements as an index to his realcharacter. 

"Get us some coffee, Kate, " said Pollard. "Turned off cold coming up thehill. "

She did not rise. She had turned around to her music again, and now sheacknowledged the order by lifting her head and sending a shrill whistlethrough the room. Her father started violently. 

"Damn it, Kate, don't do that!"

"The only thing that'll bring Johnny on the run, " she respondedcarelessly. 

And, indeed, the door on the left of the room flew open a moment later, and a wide-eyed Chinaman appeared with a long pigtail jerking about hishead as he halted and looked about in alarm. 

"Coffee for the boss and the new hand, " said Kate, without turning herhead, as soon as she heard the door open. "Pronto, Johnny. "

Johnny snarled an indistinct something and withdrew muttering. 

"You'll have Johnny quitting the job, " complained Pollard, frowning. "Youcan't scare the poor devil out of his skin like that every time you wantcoffee. Besides, why didn't you get up and get it for us yourself?"

Still she did not turn; but, covering a yawn, replied: "Rather sit hereand play. "

Her father swelled a moment in rage, but he subsided again withoutaudible protest. Only he sent a scowl at Terry as though daring him totake notice of this insolence. As for the other men, they had scatteredto various parts of the room and remained there, idly, while the boss andthe new hand drank the scalding coffee of Johnny. All this time Pollardremained deep in thought. His meditations exploded as he banged the emptycup back on the table. 

"Kate, this stuff has got to stop. Understand?"

The soft jingling of the piano continued without pause. 

"Stop that damned noise!"

The music paused. Terry felt the long striking muscles leap into hardridges along his arms, but glancing at the other four, he found that theywere taking the violence of Pollard quite as a matter of course. One waswhittling, another rolled a cigarette, and all of them, if they took anyvisible notice of the argument, did so with the calmest of side glances. 

"Turn around!" roared Pollard. 

His daughter turned slowly and faced him. Not white-faced with fear, butto the unutterable astonishment of Terry she was quietly looking herfather up and down. Pollard sprang to his feet and struck the table sothat it quivered through all its massive length. 

"Are you trying to shame me before a stranger?" thundered the big man. "Is that the scene?"

She flicked Terry Hollis with a glance. "I think he'll understand andmake allowances. "

It brought the heavy fist smashing on the table again. And an uglyfeeling rose in Hollis that the big fellow might put hands on hisdaughter. 

"And what d'you mean by that? What in hell d'you mean by that?"

In place of wincing, she in turn came to her feet gracefully. There hadbeen such an easy dignity about her sitting at the piano that she hadseemed tall to Terry. Now that she stood up, he was surprised to see thatshe was not a shade more than average height, beautifully and stronglymade. 

"You've gone about far enough with your little joke, " said the girl, andher voice was low, but with an edge of vibrancy that went through Hollis. "And you're going to stop--pronto!"

There was a flash of teeth as she spoke, and a quiver through her body. Terry had never seen such passion, such unreasoning, wild passion, asthat which had leaped on the girl. Though her face was not contorted, danger spoke from every line of it. He made himself tense, prepared for asimilar outbreak from the father, but the latter relaxed as suddenly ashis daughter had become furious. 

"There you go, " he complained, with a sort of heavy whine. "Always flyingoff the handle. Always turning into a wildcat when I try to reason withyou!"

"Reason!" cried the girl. "Reason!"

Joe Pollard grew downcast under her scorn. And Terry, sensing that thecrisis of the argument had passed, watched the other four men in theroom. They had not paid the slightest attention to the debate during itslater phases. And two of them--Slim and huge Phil Marvin--had begun toroll dice on a folded blanket, the little ivories winking in the lightrapidly until they came to a rest at the farther end of the cloth. Possibly this family strife was a common thing in the Pollard household. At any rate, the father now passed off from accusation to abrupt apology. "You always get me riled at the end of the day, Kate. Damn it! Can't younever bear with a gent?"

The tigerish alertness passed from Kate Pollard. She was filled all atonce with a winning gentleness and, crossing to her father, took hisheavy hands in hers. 

"I reckon I'm a bad one, " she accused herself. "I try to get overtantrums--but--I can't help it! Something--just sort of grabs me by thethroat when I get mad. I--I see red. "

"Hush up, honey, " said the big man tenderly, and he ran his thick fingersover her hair. "You ain't so bad. And all that's bad in you comes out ofme. You forget and I'll forget. "

He waved across the table. 

"Terry'll be thinking we're a bunch of wild Indians the way we beenactin'. "

"Oh!"

Plainly she was recalled to the presence of the stranger for the firsttime in many minutes and, dropping her chin in her hand, she studied thenew arrival. 

He found it difficult to meet her glance. The Lord had endowed TerryHollis with a remarkable share of good looks, and it was not the firsttime that he had been investigated by the eyes of a woman. But in all hislife he had never been subjected to an examination as minute, asinsolently frank as this one. He felt himself taken part and parcel, examined in detail as to forehead, chin, and eyes and heft of shoulders, and then weighed altogether. In self-defense he looked boldly back ather, making himself examine her in equal detail. Seeing her so close, hewas aware of a marvellously delicate olive-tanned skin with delightfultints of rose just beneath the surface. He found himself saying inwardly:"It's easy to look at her. It's very easy. By the Lord, she's beautiful!"

As for the girl, it seemed that she was not quite sure in her judgment. For now she turned to her father with a faint frown of wonder. And againit seemed to Terry that Joe Pollard made an imperceptible sign, such ashe had made to the four men when he introduced Terry. 

But now he broke into breezy talk. 

"Met Terry down in Pedro's--"

The girl seemed to have dismissed Terry from her mind already, for shebroke in: "Crooked game he's running, isn't it?"

"I thought so till today. Then I seen Terry, here, trim Pedro for a flattwenty thousand!"

"Oh, " nodded the girl. Again her gaze reverted leisurely to the strangerand with a not unflattering interest. 

"And then I seen him lose most of it back again. Roulette. "

She nodded, keeping her eyes on Terry, and the boy found himself desiringmightily to discover just what was going on behind the changing green ofher eyes. He was shocked when he discovered. It came like the break ofhigh dawn in the mountains of the Big Bend. Suddenly she had smiledopenly, frankly. "Hard luck, partner!"

A little shivering sense of pleasure ran through him. He knew that he hadbeen admitted by her--accepted. 

Her father had thrown up his head. 

"Someone come in the back way. Oregon, go find out!"

Dark-eyed Oregon Charlie slipped up and through the door. Everyone in theroom waited, a little tense, with lifted heads. Slim was studying thelast throw that Phil Marvin had made. Terry could not but wonder whatsignificance that "back way" had. Presently Oregon reappeared. 

"Pete's come. "

"The hell!"

"Went upstairs. "

"Wants to be alone, " interrupted the girl. "He'll come down and talk whenhe feels like it. That's Pete's way. "

"Watching us, maybe, " growled Joe Pollard, with a shade of uneasinessstill. "Damned funny gent, Pete is. Watches a man like a cat; watches agopher hole all day, maybe. And maybe the gent he watches is a friendhe's known for ten years. Well--let Pete go. They ain't no explaininghim. "

Through the last part of his talk, and through the heaviness of hisvoice, cut another tone, lighter, sharper, venomous: "Phil, you gummedthem dice that last time!"

Joe Pollard froze in place; the eyes of the girl widened. Terry, lookingacross the room, saw Phil Marvin scoop up the dice and start to his feet. 

"You lie, Slim!"

Instinctively Terry slipped his hand onto his gun. It was what PhilMarvin had done, as a matter of fact. He stood swelling and glowering, staring down at Slim Dugan. Slim had not risen. His thin, lithe body wascoiled, and he reminded Terry in ugly fashion of a snake ready to strike. His hand was not near his gun. It was the calm courage and self-confidence of a man who is sure of himself and of his enemy. Terry hadheard of it before, but never seen it. As for Phil, it was plain that hewas ill at ease in spite of his bulk and the advantage of his position. He was ready to fight. But he was not at all pleased with the prospect. 

Terry again glanced at the witnesses. Every one of them was alert, butthere was none of that fear which comes in the faces of ordinary men whenstrife between men is at hand. And suddenly Terry knew that every one ofthe five men in the room was an old familiar of danger, every one of thema past master of gun fighting!

CHAPTER 24

The uneasy wait continued for a moment or more. The whisper of JoePollard to his daughter barely reached the ear of Terry. 

"Cut in between 'em, girl. You can handle 'em. I can't!"

She responded instantly, before Terry recovered from his shock ofsurprise. 

"Slim, keep away from your gun!"

She spoke as she whirled from her chair to her feet. It was strange tosee her direct all her attention to Slim, when Phil Marvin seemed the oneabout to draw. 

"I ain't even nearin' my gun, " asserted Slim truthfully. "It's Philthat's got a strangle hold on his. "

"You're waiting for him to draw, " said the girl calmly enough. "I knowyou, Slim. Phil, don't be a fool. Drop your hand away from that gat!"

He hesitated; she stepped directly between him and his enemy of themoment and jerked the gun from its holster. Then she faced Slim. Obviously Phil was not displeased to have the matter taken out of hishands; obviously Slim was not so pleased. He looked coldly up to thegirl. 

"This is between him and me, " he protested. "I don't need none of yourhelp, Kate. "

"Don't you? You're going to get it, though. Gimme that gun, Slim Dugan!"

"I want a square deal, " he complained. "I figure Phil has been crookingthe dice on me. "

"Bah! Besides, I'll give you a square deal. "

She held out her hand for the weapon. 

"Got any doubts about me being square, Slim?"

"Kate, leave this to me!"

"Why, Slim, I wouldn't let you run loose now for a million. You got thatugly look in your eyes. I know you, partner!"

And to the unutterable astonishment of Terry, the man pulled his gun fromits holster and passed it up to her, his eyes fighting hers, his handmoving slowly. She stepped back, weighing the heavy weapons in her hands. Then she faced Phil Marvin with glittering eyes. 

"It ain't the first time you been accused of queer stunts with the dice. What's the straight of it, Phil? Been doing anything to these dice?"

"Me? Sure I ain't!"

Her glance lingered on him the least part of a second. 

"H'm!" said the girl. "Maybe not. "

Slim was on his feet, eager. "Take a look at 'em, Kate. Take a look atthem dice!"

She held them up to the light--then dropped them into a pocket of herskirt. "I'll look at 'em in the morning, Slim. "

"The stuff'll be dry by that time!"

"Dry or not, that's what I'm going to do. I won't trust lamplight. "

Slim turned on his heel and flung himself sulkily down on the blanket, fighting her with sullen eyes. She turned on Phil. 

"How much d'you win?"

"Nothin'. Just a couple of hundred. "

"Just a couple of hundred! You call that nothing?"

Phil grunted. The other men leaned forward in their interest to watch theprogress of the trial, all saving Joe Pollard, who sat with his elbowsbraced in sprawling fashion on the table, at ease, his eyes twinklingcontentedly at the girl. Why she refused to examine the dice at once wasplain to Terry. If they proved to have been gummed, it would mean a gunfight with the men at a battling temperature. In the morning when theyhad cooled down, it might be a different matter. Terry watched her inwonder. His idea of an efficient woman was based on Aunt Elizabeth, coldof eye and brain, practical in methods on the ranch, keen with figures. The efficiency of this slip of a girl was a different matter, a thing ofpassion, of quick insight, of lightning guesses. He could see the play ofeager emotion in her face as she studied Phil Marvin. And how could shedo justice? Terry was baffled. 

"How long you two been playing?" "About twenty minutes. "

"Not more'n five!" cut in Slim hotly. 

"Shut up, Slim!" she commanded. "I'm running this here game; Phil, howmany straight passes did you make?"

"Me? Oh, I dunno. Maybe--five. "

"Five straight passes!" said the girl. "Five straight passes!"

"You heard me say it, " growled big Phil Marvin. 

All at once she laughed. 

"Phil, give that two hundred back to Slim!"

It came like a bolt from the blue, this decision. Marvin hesitated, shookhis head. 

"Damned if I do. I don't back down. I won it square!"

"Listen to me, " said the girl. Instead of threatening, as Terry expected, she had suddenly become conciliatory. She stepped close to him anddropped a slim hand on his burly shoulder. "Ain't Slim a pal of yours?You and him, ain't you stuck together through thick and thin? He thinksyou didn't win that coin square. Is Slim's friendship worth two hundredto you, or ain't it? Besides, you ain't lying down to nobody. Why, youbig squarehead, Phil, don't we all know that you'd fight a bull with yourbare hands? Who'd call you yaller? We'd simply say you was square, Phil, and you know it. "

There was a pause. Phil was biting his lip, scowling at Slim. Slim wassneering in return. It seemed that she had failed. Even if she forcedPhil to return the money, he and Slim would hate each other as long asthey lived. And Terry gained a keen impression that if the hatredcontinued, one of them would die very soon indeed. Her solution of theproblem was a strange one. She faced them both. 

"You two big sulky babies!" she exclaimed. "Slim, what did Phil do foryou down in Tecomo? Phil, did Slim stand by you last April--you know thetime? Why, boys, you're just being plain foolish. Get up, both of you, and take a walk outside where you'll get cooled down. "

Slim rose. He and Phil walked slowly toward the door, at a littledistance from each other, one eyeing the other shrewdly. At the door theyhesitated. Finally, Phil lurched forward and went out first. Slim glidedafter. 

"By heaven!" groaned Pollard as the door closed. "There goes two goodmen! Kate, what put this last fool idea into your head?"

She did not answer for a moment, but dropped into a chair as thoughsuddenly exhausted. 

"It'll work out, " she said at length. "You wait for it!"

"Well, " grumbled her father, "the mischief is working. Run along to bed, will you?"

She rose, wearily, and started across the room. But she turned before shepassed out of their sight and leaned against one of the pillars. 

"Dad, why you so anxious to get me out of the way?"

"What d'you mean by that? I got no reason. Run along and don't botherme!"

He turned his shoulder on her. As for the girl, she remained a moment, looking thoughtfully at the broad back of Pollard. Then her glanceshifted and dwelt a moment on Terry--with pity, he wondered?

"Good night, boys!"

When the door closed on her, Joe Pollard turned his attention more fullyon his new employee, and when Terry suggested that it was time for him toturn in, his suggestion was hospitably put to one side. Pollard begantalking genially of the mountains, of the "varmints" he expected Terry toclean out, and while he talked, he took out a broad silver dollar andbegan flicking it in the air and catching it in the calloused palm of hishand. 

"Call it, " he interrupted himself to say to Terry. 

"Heads, " said Terry carelessly. 

The coin spun up, flickered at the height of its rise, and rang loudly onthe table. 

"You win, " said Pollard. "Well, you're a lucky gent, Terry, but I'll goyou ten you can't call it again. "

But again Terry called heads, and again the coin chimed, steadied, andshowed the Grecian goddess. The rancher doubled his bet. He lost, doubled, lost again, doubled again, lost. A pile of money had appeared bymagic before Terry. 

"I came to work for money, " laughed Terry, "not _take_ it away. "

"I always lose at this game, " sighed Joe Pollard. 

The door opened, and Phil Marvin and Slim Dugan came back, talking andlaughing together. 

"What d'you know about that?" Pollard exclaimed softly. "She guessedright. She always does! Oughta be a man, with a brain like she's got. Here we are again!"

He spun the coin; it winked, fell, a streak of light, and again Terry hadwon. He began to grow excited. On the next throw he lost. A moment laterhis little pile of winnings had disappeared. And now he had forgotten theface of Joe Pollard, forgotten the room, forgotten everything except thethick thumb that snapped the coin into the air. The cold, quiet passionof the gambler grew in him. He was losing steadily. Out of his walletcame in a steady stream the last of his winnings at Pedro's. And still heplayed. Suddenly the wallet squeezed flat between his fingers. 

"Pollard, " he said regretfully, "I'm broke. "

The other waved away the idea. 

"Break up a fine game like this because you're broke?" The cloudy agateeyes dwelt kindly on the face of Terry, and mysteriously as well. "Thatain't nothing. Nothing between friends. You don't know the style of a manI am, Terry. Your word is as good as your money with me!"

"I've no security--"

"Don't talk security. Think I'm a moneylender? This is a game. Come on!"

Five minutes later Terry was three hundred behind. A mysteriousprovidence seemed to send all the luck the way of the heavy, tanned thumbof Pollard. 

"That's my limit, " he announced abruptly, rising. 

"No, no!" Pollard spread out his big hand on the table. "You got the redhoss, son. You can bet to a thousand. He's worth that--to me!"

"I won't bet a cent on him, " said Terry firmly. 

"Every damn cent I've won from you ag'in' the hoss, son. That's a lot ofcash if you win. If you lose, you're just out that much hossflesh, andI'll give you a good enough cayuse to take El Sangre's place. "

"A dozen wouldn't take his place, " insisted Terry. 

"That so?"

Pollard leaned back in his chair and put a hand behind his neck tosupport his head. It seemed to Terry that the big man made some oddmotion with his hidden fingers. At any rate, the four men who lounged onthe farther side of the room now rose and slowly drifted in differentdirections. Oregon Charlie wandered toward the door. Slim sauntered tothe window behind the piano and stood idly looking out into the night. Phil Marvin began to examine a saddle hanging from a peg on one of theposts, and finally, chunky Marty Cardiff strolled to the kitchen door andappeared to study the hinges. 

All these things were done casually, but Terry, his attention finally offthe game, caught a meaning in them. Every exit was blocked for him. Hewas trapped at the will of Joe Pollard!

CHAPTER 25

Looking back, he could understand everything easily. The horse was themain objective of Pollard. He had won the money so as to tempt Terry togamble with the value of the blood-bay. But by fair means or foul heintended to have El Sangre. And now, the moment his men were in place, achange came over Pollard. He straightened in the chair. A slightoutthrust of his lower jaw made his face strangely brutal, conscienceless. And his cloudy agate eyes were unreadable. 

"Look here, Terry, " he argued calmly, but Terry could see that the voicewas raised so that it would undubitably reach the ears of the farthest ofthe four men. "I don't mind letting a gambling debt ride when a gentain't got anything more to put up for covering his money. But when a genthas got more, I figure he'd ought to cover with it. "

Unreasoning anger swelled in the throat of Terry Hollis; the same blindpassion which had surged in him before he started up at the Cornish tableand revealed himself to the sheriff. And the similarity was what soberedhim. It was the hunger to battle, to kill. And it seemed to him thatBlack Jack had stepped out of the old picture and now stood behind him, tempting him to strike. 

Another covert signal from Pollard. Every one of the four turned towardhim. The chances of Terry were diminished, nine out of ten, for each ofthose four, he shrewdly guessed, was a practiced gunman. Cold reason cameto Terry's assistance. 

"I told you when I was broke, " he said gently. "I told you that I wasthrough. You told me to go on. "

"I figured you was kidding me, " said Pollard harshly. "I knew you stillhad El Sangre back. Son, I'm a kind sort of a man, I am. I got a name forit. "

In spite of himself a faint and cruel smile flickered at the corners ofhis mouth as he spoke. He became grave again. 

"But they's some things I can't stand. They's some things that I hateworse'n I hate poison. I won't say what one of 'em is. I leave it to you. And I ask you to keep in the game. A thousand bucks ag'in' a boss. Ain'tthat more'n fair?"

He no longer took pains to disguise his voice. It was hard and heavy andrang into the ear of Terry. And the latter, feeling that his hour hadcome, looked deliberately around the room and took note of every guardedexit, the four men now openly on watch for any action on his part. Pollard himself sat erect, on the edge of his chair, and his right handhad disappeared beneath the table. 

"Suppose I throw the coin this time?" he suggested. 

"By God!" thundered Pollard, springing to his feet and throwing off themask completely. "You damned skunk, are you accusin' me of crooking thethrow of the coin?"

Terry waited for the least moment--waited in a dull wonder to findhimself unafraid. But there was no fear in him. There was only a cold, methodical calculation of chances. He told himself, deliberately, that nomatter how fast Pollard might be, he would prove the faster. He wouldkill Pollard. And he would undoubtedly kill one of the others. And they, beyond a shadow of a doubt, would kill him. He saw all this as in apicture. 

"Pollard, " he said, more gently than before, "you'll have to eat thattalk!"

A flash of bewilderment crossed the face of Pollard--then rage--then thatslight contraction of the features which in some men precedes a violenteffort. 

But the effort did not come. While Terry literally wavered on tiptoe, hisnerves straining for the pull of his gun and the leap to one side as hesent his bullet home, a deep, unmusical voice cut in on them:

"Just hold yourself up a minute, will you, Joe?"

Terry looked up. On the balcony in front of the sleeping rooms of thesecond story, his legs spread apart, his hands shoved deep into histrouser pockets, his shapeless black hat crushed on the back of his head, and a broad smile on his ugly face, stood his nemesis--Denver the yegg!

Pollard sprang back from the table and spoke with his face still turnedto Terry. 

"Pete!" he called. "Come in!"

But Denver, alias Shorty, alias Pete, merely laughed. 

"Come in nothing, you fool! Joe, you're about half a second from hell, and so's a couple more of you. D'you know who the kid is? Eh? I'll tellyou, boys. It's the kid that dropped old Minter. It's the kid that beatfoxy Joe Minter to the draw. It's young Hollis. Why, you damned blindmen, look at his face! It's the son of Black Jack. It's Black Jackhimself come back to us!"

Joe Pollard had let his hand fall away from his gun. He gaped at Terry asthough he were seeing a ghost. He came a long pace nearer and let hisarms fall on the table, where they supported his weight. 

"Black Jack, " he kept whispering. "Black Jack! God above, are you BlackJack's son?"

And the bewildered Terry answered:

"I'm his son. Whatever you think, and be damned to you all! I'm his sonand I'm proud of it. Now get your gun!"

But Joe Pollard became a great catapult that shot across the table andlanded beside Terry. Two vast hands swallowed the hands of the youngerman and crushed them to numbness. 

"Proud of it? God a'mighty, boy, why wouldn't you be? Black Jack's son!Pete, thank God you come in time!"

"In time to save your head for you, Joe. "

"I believe it, " said the big man humbly. "I b'lieve he would of cleanedup on me. Maybe on all of us. Black Jack would of come close to doing it. But you come in time, Pete. And I'll never forget it. "

While he spoke, he was still wringing the hands of Terry. Now he draggedthe stunned Terry around the table and forced him down in his own huge, padded armchair, his sign of power. But it was only to drag him up fromthe chair again. 

"Lemme look at you! Black Jack's boy! As like Black Jack as ever I seen, too. But a shade taller. Eh, Pete? A shade taller. And a shade heavier inthe shoulders. But you got the look. I might of knowed you by the look inyour eyes. Hey, Slim, damn your good-for-nothing hide, drag Johnny herepronto by the back of the neck!"

Johnny, the Chinaman, appeared, blinking at the lights. Joe Pollardclapped him on the shoulder with staggering force. 

"Johnny, you see!" a broad gesture to Terry. "Old friend. Just find out. Velly old friend. Like pretty much a whole damned lot. Get down in thecellar, you yaller old sinner, and get out the oldest bourbon I gotthere. You savvy? Pretty damned pronto--hurry up--quick--old keg. Gitout!"

Johnny was literally hurled out of the room toward the kitchen, trailinga crackle of strange-sounding but unmistakable profanity behind him. AndJoe Pollard, perching his bulk on the edge of the table, introduced Terryto the boys again, for Oregon had come back with word that Kate would beout soon. 

"Here's Denver Pete. You know him already, and he's worth his weight inany man's company. Here's Slim Dugan, that could scent a big coinshipment a thousand miles away. Phil Marvin ain't any slouch at stallinga gent with a fat wallet and leading him up to be plucked. Marty Cardiffain't half so tame as he looks, and he's the best trailer that eversquinted at a buzzard in the sky; he knows this whole country like abook. And Oregon Charlie is the best all-around man you ever seen, fromrailroads to stages. And me--I'm sort of a handyman. Well, Black Jack, your old man himself never got a finer crew together than this, eh?"

Denver Pete had waited until his big friend finished. Then he remarkedquietly: "All very pretty, partner, but Terry figures he walks thestraight and narrow path. Savvy?"

"Just a kid's fool hunch!" snorted Joe Pollard. "Didn't your dad show methe ropes? Wasn't it him that taught me all I ever knew? Sure it was, andI'm going to do the same for you, Terry. Damn my eyes if I ain't! Andhere I been sitting, trimming you! Son, take back the coin. I was sureplaying a cheap game--and I apologize, man to man. "

But Terry shook his head. 

"You won it, " he said quietly. "And you'll keep it. "

"Won nothing. I can call every coin I throw. I was stealing, notgambling. I was gold-digging! Take back the stuff!"

"If I was fool enough to lose it that way, it'll stay lost, " answeredTerry. 

"But I won't keep it, son. "

"Then give it away. But not to me. "

"Black Jack--" began Pollard. 

But he received a signal from Denver Pete and abruptly changed thesubject. 

"Let it go, then. They's plenty of loose coin rolling about this day. Ifyou got a thin purse today, I'll make it fat for you in a week. But thinkof me stumbling on to you!"

It was the first time that Terry had a fair opportunity to speak, and hemade the best of it. 

"It's very pleasant to meet you--on this basis, " he said. "But as fortaking up--er--road life--"

The lifted hand of Joe Pollard made it impossible for him to complete hissentence. 

"I know. You got scruples, son. Sure you got 'em. I used to have 'em, too, till your old man got 'em out of my head. "

Terry winced. But Joe Pollard rambled on, ignorant that he had struck ablow in the dark: "When I met up with the original Black Jack, I wasslavin' my life away with a pick trying to turn ordinary quartz into paydirt. Making a fool of myself, that's what I was doing. Along comes BlackJack. He needed a man. He picks me up and takes me along with him. Itried to talk Bible talk. He showed me where I was a fool. 

"'All you got to do, ' he says to me, 'is to make sure that you ain'tstealing from an honest man. And they's about one gent in three withmoney that's come by it honest, in this part of the world. The rest isjust plain thieves, but they been clever enough to cover it up. Pick onthat crew, Pollard, and squeeze 'em till they run money into your hand. I'll show you how to do it!'

"Well, it come pretty hard to me at first. I didn't see how it was done. But he showed me. He'd send a scout around to a mining camp. If they wasa crooked wheel in the gambling house that was making a lot of coin, Black Jack would slide in some night, stick up the works, and clean outwith the loot. If they was some dirty dog that had jumped a claim and wasmaking a pile of coin out of it, Black Jack would drop out of the skyonto him and take the gold. "

Terry listened, fascinated. He was having the workings of his father'smind re-created for him and spread plainly before his eyes. And there wasa certain terror and also a certain attractiveness about what hediscovered. 

"It sounds, maybe, like an easy thing to do, to just stick on the trailof them that you know are worse crooks than you. But it ain't. I've triedit. I've seen Black Jack pass up ten thousand like it was nothing, because the gent that had it come by it honest. But I can't do it, speaking in general. But I'll tell you more about the old man. "

"Thank you, " said Terry, "but--"

"And when you're with us--"

"You see, " said Terry firmly, "I plan to do the work you asked me to do--kill what you wanted killed on the range. And when I've worked off themoney I owe you--"

Before he could complete his sentence, a door opened on the far side ofthe room, and Kate Pollard entered again. She had risen from her bed insome haste to answer the summons of her father. Her bright hair pouredacross her shoulders, a heavy, greenish-blue dressing gown was drawnabout her and held close with one hand at her breast. She came slowlytoward them. And she seemed to Terry to have changed. There was less ofthe masculine about her than there had been earlier in the evening. Herwalk was slow, her eyes were wide as though she had no idea what mightawait her, and the light glinted white on the untanned portion of herthroat, and on her arm where the loose sleeve of the dressing gown fellback from it. 

"Kate, " said her father, "I had to get you up to tell you the big news--biggest news you ever heard of! Girl, who've I always told you was thegreatest gent that ever come into my life?"

"Jack Hollis--Black Jack, " she said, without hesitation. "According to_your_ way of thinking, Dad!"

Plainly her own conclusions might be very different. 

"According to anybody's way of thinking, as long as they was thinkingright. And d'you know who we've got here with us now? Could you guess itin a thousand years? Why, the kid that come tonight. Black Jack as sureas if he was a picture out of a book, and me a blind fool that didn'tknow him. Kate, here's the second Black Jack. Terry Hollis. Give him yourhand agin and say you're glad to have him for his dad's sake and for hisown! Kate, he's done a man's job already. It's him that dropped old foxyMinter!"

The last of these words faded out of the hearing of Terry. He felt thelowered eyes of the girl rise and fall gravely on his face, and herglance rested there a long moment with a new and solemn questioning. Thenher hand went slowly out to him, a cold hand that barely touched his withits fingertips and then dropped away. 

But what Terry felt was that it was the same glance she had turned to himwhen she stood leaning against the post earlier that evening. There was apity in it, and a sort of despair which he could not understand. 

And without saying a word she turned her back on them and went out of theroom as slowly as she had come into it. 

CHAPTER 26

"It don't mean nothing, " Pollard hastened to assure Terry. "It don't meana thing in the world except that she's a fool girl. The queerest, orneriest, kindest, strangest, wildest thing in the shape of calico thatever come into these parts since her mother died before her. But the moreyou see of her, the more you'll value her. She can ride like a man--nowear out to her--and she's got the courage of a man. Besides which shecan sling a gun like it would do your heart good to see her! Don't takenothing she does to heart. She don't mean no harm. But she sure doestangle up a gent's ideas. Here I been living with her nigh onto twentyyears and I don't savvy her none yet. Eh, boys?"

"I'm not offended in the least, " said Terry quietly. 

And he was not, but he was more interested than he had ever been beforeby man, woman, or child. And for the past few seconds his mind had beenfollowing her through the door behind which she had disappeared. 

"And if I were to see more of her, no doubt--" He broke off with: "ButI'm not apt to see much more of any of you, Mr. Pollard. If I can't stayhere and work off that three-hundred-dollar debt--"

"Work, hell! No son of Black Jack Hollis can work for me. But he can livewith me as a partner, son, and he can have everything I got, half andhalf, and the bigger half to him if he asks for it. That's straight!"

Terry raised a protesting hand. Yet he was touched--intimately touched. He had tried hard to fit in his place among the honest people of themountains by hard and patient work. They would have none of him. His ownkind turned him out. And among these men--men who had no law, as he hadevery reason to believe--he was instantly taken in and made one of them. 

"But no more talk tonight, " said Pollard. "I can see you're played out. I'll show you the room. "

He caught a lantern from the wall as he spoke and began to lead the wayup the stairs to the balcony. He pointed out the advantages of the houseas he spoke. 

"Not half bad--this house, eh?" he said proudly. "And who d'you thinkplanned it? Your old man, kid. It was Black Jack Hollis himself that doneit! He was took off sudden before he'd had a chance to work it out andbuild it. But I used his ideas in this the same's I've done in otherthings. His idea was a house like a ship. 

"They build a ship in compartments, eh? Ship hits a rock, water comes in. But it only fills one compartment, and the old ship still floats. Samewith this house. You seen them walls. And the walls on the outside ain'tthe only thing. Every partition is the same thing, pretty near; and agent could stand behind these doors safe as if he was a mile away from agun. Why? Because they's a nice little lining of the best steel you everseen in the middle of 'em. 

"Cost a lot. Sure. But look at us now. Suppose a posse was to rush thehouse. They bust into the kitchen side. Where are they? Just the same asif they hadn't got in at all. I bolt the doors from the inside of the bigroom, and they're shut out agin. Or suppose they take the big room? Thena couple of us slide out on this balcony and spray 'em with lead. Thishouse ain't going to be took till the last room is filled full of thesheriff's men!"

He paused on the balcony and looked proudly over the big, baronial roombelow them. It seemed huger than ever from this viewpoint, and the menbelow them were dwarfed. The light of the lanterns did not extend all theway across it, but fell in pools here and there, gleaming faintly on themen below. 

"But doesn't it make people suspicious to have a fort like this built onthe hill?" asked Terry. 

"Of course. If they knew. But they don't know, son, and they ain't goingto find out the lining of this house till they try it out with lead. "

He brought Terry into one of the bedrooms and lighted a lamp. As theflare steadied in the big circular oil burner and the light spread, Terrymade out a surprisingly comfortable apartment. There was not a bunk, buta civilized bed, beside which was a huge, tawny mountain-lion skinsoftening the floor. The window was curtained in some pleasant bluestuff, and there were a few spots of color on the wall--only calendars, some of them, but helping to give a livable impression for the place. 

"Kate's work, " grinned Pollard proudly. "She's been fixing these rooms upall out of her own head. Never got no ideas out of me. Anything you mightlack, son?"

Terry told him he would be very comfortable, and the big man wrung hishand again as he bade him good night. 

"The best work that Denver ever done was bringing you to me, " hedeclared. "Which you'll find it out before I'm through. I'm going to giveyou a home!" And he strode away before Terry could answer. 

The rather rare consciousness of having done a good deed swelled in theheart of Joe Pollard on his way down from the balcony. When he reachedthe floor below, he found that the four men had gone to bed and leftDenver alone, drawn back from the light into a shadowy corner, where hewas flanked by the gleam of a bottle of whisky on the one side and ashimmering glass on the other. Although Pollard was the nominal leader, he was in secret awe of the yegg. For Denver was an "in-and-outer. "Sometimes he joined them in the West; sometimes he "worked" an Easternterritory. He came and went as he pleased, and was more or less a law tohimself. Moreover, he had certain qualities of silence and brooding thatusually disturbed the leader. They troubled him now as he approached thesquat, shapeless figure in the corner chair. 

"What you think of him?" said Denver. 

"A good kid and a clean-cut kid, " decided Joe Pollard judicially. "Maybehe ain't another Black Jack, but he's tolerable cool for a youngster. Stood up and looked me in the eye like a man when I had him cornered awhile back. Good thing for him you come out when you did!"

"A good thing for you, Joe, " replied Denver Pete. "He'd of turned youinto fertilizer, bo!"

"Maybe; maybe not. Maybe they's some things I could teach him about gun-slinging, Pete. "

"Maybe; maybe not, " parodied Denver. "You've learned a good deal aboutguns, Joe--quite a bit. But there's some things about gun fighting thatnobody can learn. It's got to be born into 'em. Remember how Black Jackused to slide out his gat?"

"Yep. There was a man!"

"And Minter, too. There's a born gunman. "

"Sure. We all know Uncle Joe--damn his soul!"

"But the kid beat Uncle Joe fair and square from an even break--and beathim bad. Made his draw, held it so's Joe could partway catch up with him, and then drilled him clean!"

Pollard scratched his chin. 

"I'd believe that if I seen it, " he declared. 

"Pal, it wasn't Terry that done the talking; it was Gainor. He's seen agood deal of gunplay, and said that Terry's was the coolest he everwatched. "

"All right for that part of it, " said Joe Pollard. "Suppose he's fast--but can I use him? I like him well enough; I'll give him a good deal; butis he going to mean charity all the time he hangs out with me?"

"Maybe; maybe not, " chuckled Denver again. "Use him the way he can beused, and he'll be the best bargain you ever turned. Black Jack startedyou in business; Black Jack the Second will make you rich if you handlehim right--and ruin you if you make a slip. "

"How come? He talks this 'honesty' talk pretty strong. "

"Gimme a chance to talk, " said Denver contemptuously. "Takes a gentthat's used to reading the secrets of a safe to read the secrets of agent's head. And I've read the secret of young Black Jack Hollis. He's apile of dry powder, Joe. Throw in the spark and he'll explode so damnedloud they'll hear him go off all over the country. "

"How?"

"First, you got to keep him here. "

"How?"

Joe Pollard sat back with the air of one who will be convinced through nomental effort of his own. But Denver was equal to the demand. 

"I'm going to show you. He thinks he owes you three hundred. "

"That's foolish. I cheated the kid out of it. I'll give it back to himand all the rest I won. "

Denver paused and studied the other as one amazed by such stupidity. 

"Pal, did you ever try, in the old days, to _give_ anything to the oldBlack Jack?"

"H'm. Well, he sure hated charity. But this ain't charity. "

"It ain't in your eyes. It is in Terry's. If you insist, he'll get sore. No, Joe. Let him think he owes you that money. Let him start in workingit off for you--honest work. You ain't got any ranch work. Well, set himto cutting down trees, or anything. That'll help to hold him. If he makessome gambling play--and he's got the born gambler in him--you got onelast thing that'll be apt to keep him here. "

"What's that?"

"Kate. "

Pollard stirred in his chair. 

"How d'you mean that?" he asked gruffly. 

"I mean what I said, " retorted Denver. "I watched young Black Jacklooking at her. He had his heart in his eyes, the kid did. He likes her, in spite of the frosty mitt she handed him. Oh, he's falling for her, pal--and he'll keep on falling. Just slip the word to Kate to kid himalong. Will you? And after we got him glued to the place here, we'llfigure out the way to turn Terry into a copy of his dad. We'll figure outhow to shoot the spark into the powder, and then stand clear for theexplosion. "

Denver came silently and swiftly out of the chair, his pudgy hand spreadon the table and his eyes gleaming close to the face of Pollard. 

"Joe, " he said softly, "if that kid goes wrong, he'll be as much as hisfather ever was--and maybe more. He'll rake in the money like it wasdirt. How do I know? Because I've talked to him. I've watched him andtrailed him. He's trying hard to go straight. He's failed twice; thethird time he'll bust and throw in with us. And if he does, he'll cleanup the coin--and we'll get our share. Why ain't you made more moneyyourself, Joe? You got as many men as Black Jack ever had. It's becauseyou ain't got the fire in you. Neither have I. We're nothing but toolsready for another man to use the way Black Jack used us. Nurse this kidalong a little while, and he'll show us how to pry open the places wherethe real coin is cached away. And he'll lead us in and out with no dangerto us and all the real risk on his own head. That's his way--that was hisdad's way before him. "

Pollard nodded slowly. "Maybe you're right. "

"I know I am. He's a gold mine, this kid is. But we got to buy him withsomething more than gold. And I know what that something is. I'm going toshow him that the good, lawabiding citizens have made up their minds thathe's no good; that they're all ag'in' him; and when he finds that out, he'll go wild. They ain't no doubt of it. He'll show his teeth! And whenhe shows his teeth, he'll taste blood--they ain't no doubt of it. "

"Going to make him--kill?" asked Pollard very softly. 

"Why not? He'll do it sooner or later anyway. It's in his blood. "

"I suppose it is. "

"I got an idea. There's a young gent in town named Larrimer, ain'tthere?"

"Sure. A rough kid, too. It was him that killed Kennedy last spring. "

"And he's proud of his reputation?"

"Sure. He'd go a hundred miles to have a fight with a gent with a goodname for gunplay. "

"Then hark to me sing, Joe! Send Terry into town to get something foryou. I'll drop in ahead of him and find Larrimer, and tell Larrimer thatBlack Jack's son is around--the man that dropped Sheriff Minter. ThenI'll bring 'em together and give 'em a running start. "

"And risk Terry getting his head blown off?"

"If he can't beat Larrimer, he's no use to us; if he kills Larrimer, it'sgood riddance. The kid is going to get bumped off sometime, anyway. He'sbad--all the way through. "

Pollard looked with a sort of wonder on his companion. 

"You're a nice, kind sort of a gent, ain't you, Denver?"

"I'm a moneymaker, " asserted Denver coldly. "And, just now, Terry Hollisis my gold mine. Watch me work him!"

CHAPTER 27

It was some time before Terry could sleep, though it was now very late. When he put out the light and slipped into the bed, the darkness broughta bright flood of memories of the day before him. It seemed to him thathalf a lifetime had been crowded into the brief hours since he was firedon the ranch that morning. Behind everything stirred the ugly face ofDenver as a sort of controlling nemesis. It seemed to him that the chunkylittle man had been pulling the wires all the time while he, TerryHollis, danced in response. Not a flattering thought. 

Nervously, Terry got out of bed and went to the window. The night wascool, cut crisp rather than chilling. His eye went over the velvetblackness of the mountain slope above him to the ragged line of thecrest--then a dizzy plunge to the brightness of the stars beyond. Thevery sense of distance was soothing; it washed the gloom and the troublesaway from him. He breathed deep of the fragrance of the pines and thenwent back to his bed. 

He had hardly taken his place in it when the sleep began to well up overhis brain--waves of shadows running out of corners of his mind. And thensuddenly he was wide awake, alert. 

Someone had opened the door. There had been no sound; merely a change inthe air currents of the room, but there was also the sense of anotherpresence so clearly that Terry almost imagined he could hear thebreathing. 

He was beginning to shrug the thought away and smile at his ownnervousness, when he heard that unmistakable sound of a foot pressing thefloor. And then he remembered that he had left his gun belt far from thebed. In a burning moment that lesson was printed in his mind, and wouldnever be forgotten. Slowly as possible and without sound, he drew up hisfeet little by little, spread his arms gently on either side of him, andmade himself tense for the effort. Whoever it was that entered, theymight be taken by surprise. He dared not lift his head to look; and hewas on the verge of leaping up and at the approaching noise, when awhisper came to him softly: "Black Jack!"

The soft voice, the name itself, thrilled him. He sat erect in the bedand made out, dimly, the form of Kate Pollard in the blackness. She wouldhave been quite invisible, save that the square of the window was almostexactly behind her. He made out the faint whiteness of the hand whichheld her dressing robe at the breast. 

She did not start back, though she showed that she was startled by thesuddenness of his movement by growing the faintest shade taller andlifting her head a little. Terry watched her, bewildered. 

"I been waiting to see you, " said Kate. "I want to--I mean--to--talk toyou. "

He could think of nothing except to blurt with sublime stupidity: "It'sgood of you. Won't you sit down?"

The girl brought him to his senses with a sharp "Easy! Don't talk out. Doyou know what'd happen if Dad found me here?"

"I--" began Terry. 

But she helped him smoothly to the logical conclusion. "He'd blow yourhead off, Black Jack; and he'd do it--pronto. If you are going to talk, talk soft--like me. "

She sat down on the side of the bed so gently that there was no creaking. They peered at each other through the darkness for a time. 

She was not whispering, but her voice was pitched almost as low, and hewondered at the variety of expression she was able to pack in the smallrange of that murmur. "I suppose I'm a fool for coming. But I was born tolove chances. Born for it!" She lifted her head and laughed. 

It amazed Terry to hear the shaken flow of her breath and catch theglinting outline of her face. He found himself leaning forward a little;and he began to wish for a light, though perhaps it was an unconsciouswish. 

"First, " she said, "what d'you know about Dad--and Denver Pete?"

"Practically nothing. "

She was silent for a moment, and he saw her hand go up and prop her chinwhile she considered what she could say next. 

"They's so much to tell, " she confessed, "that I can't put it short. I'lltell you this much, Black Jack--"

"That isn't my name, if you please. "

"It'll be your name if you stay around these parts with Dad very long, "she replied, with an odd emphasis. "But where you been raised, Terry? Andwhat you been doing with yourself?"

He felt that this giving of the first name was a tribute, in some subtlemanner. It enabled him, for instance, to call her Kate, and he decidedwith a thrill that he would do so at the first opportunity. He revertedto her question. 

"I suppose, " he admitted gloomily, "that I've been raised to do prettymuch as I please--and the money I've spent has been given to me. "

The girl shook her head with conviction. 

"It ain't possible, " she declared. 

"Why not?"

"No son of Black Jack would live off somebody's charity. "

He felt the blood tingle in his cheeks, and a real anger against herrose. Yet he found himself explaining humbly. 

"You see, I was taken when I wasn't old enough to decide for myself. Iwas only a baby. And I was raised to depend upon Elizabeth Cornish. I--Ididn't even know the name of my father until a few days ago. "

The girl gasped. "You didn't know your father--not your own father?" Shelaughed again scornfully. "Terry, I ain't green enough to believe that!"

He fell into a dignified silence, and presently the girl leaned closer, as though she were peering to make out his face. Indeed, it was nowpossible to dimly make out objects in the room. The window was filledwith an increasing brightness, and presently a shaft of pale light beganto slide across the floor, little by little. The moon had pushed up abovethe crest of the mountain. 

"Did that make you mad?" queried the girl. "Why?"

"You seemed to doubt what I said, " he remarked stiffly. 

"Why not? You ain't under oath, or anything, are you?"

Then she laughed again. "You're a queer one all the way through. ThisElizabeth Cornish--got anything to do with the Cornish ranch?"

"I presume she owns it, very largely. "

The girl nodded. "You talk like a book. You must of studied a terriblepile. "

"Not so much, really. "

"H'm, " said the girl, and seemed to reserve judgment. 

Then she asked with a return of her former sharpness: "How come yougambled today at Pedro's?"

"I don't know. It seemed the thing to do--to kill time, you know. "

"Kill time! At Pedro's? Well--you _are_ green, Terry!"

"I suppose I am, Kate. "

He made a little pause before her name, and when he spoke it, in spite ofhimself, his voice changed, became softer. The girl straightenedsomewhat, and the light was now increased to such a point that he couldmake out that she was frowning at him through the dimness. 

"First, you been adopted, then you been raised on a great big place witheverything you want, mostly, and now you're out--playing at Pedro's. Howcome, Terry?"

"I was sent away, " said Terry faintly, as all the pain of that farewellcame flooding back over him. 

"Why?"

"I shot a man. "

"Ah!" said Kate. "You shot a man?" It seemed to silence her. "Why, Terry?"

"He had killed my father, " he explained, more softly than ever. 

"I know. It was Minter. And they turned you out for that?"

There was a trembling intake of her breath. He could catch the sparkle ofher eyes, and knew that she had flown into one of her sudden, fierypassions. And it warmed his heart to hear her. 

"I'd like to know what kind of people they are, anyway! I'd like to meetup with that Elizabeth Cornish, the--"

"She's the finest woman that ever breathed, " said Terry simply. 

"You say that, " she pondered slowly, "after she sent you away?"

"She did only what she thought was right. She's a little hard, but veryjust, Kate. "

She was shaking her head; the hair had become a dull and wonderful goldin the faint moonshine. 

"I dunno what kind of a man you are, Terry. I didn't ever know a mancould stick by--folks--after they'd been hurt by 'em. I couldn't do it. Iain't got much Bible stuff in me, Terry. Why, when somebody does me awrong, I hate 'em--I hate 'em! And I never forgive 'em till I get back at'em. " She sighed. "But you're different, I guess. I begin to figure thatyou're pretty white, Terry Hollis. "

There was something so direct about her talk that he could not answer. Itseemed to him that there was in her a cross between a boy and a man--thesimplicity of a child and the straightforward strength of a grown man, and all this tempered and made strangely delightful by her own uniquepersonality. 

"But I guessed it the first time I looked at you, " she was murmuring. "Iguessed that you was different from the rest. "

She had her elbow on her knee now, and, with her chin cupped in thegraceful hand, she leaned toward him and studied him. 

"When they're clean-cut on the outside, they're spoiled on the inside. They're crooks, hard ones, out for themselves, never giving a rap aboutthe next gent in line. But mostly they ain't even clean on the outside, and you can see what they are the first time you look at 'em. 

"Oh, I've liked some of the boys now and then; but I had to make myselflike 'em. But you're different. I seen that when you started talking. Youdidn't sulk; and you didn't look proud like you wanted to show us whatyou could do; and you didn't boast none. I kept wondering at you while Iwas at the piano. And--you made an awful hit with me, Terry. "

Again he was too staggered to reply. And before he could gather his wits, the girl went on:

"Now, is they any real reason why you shouldn't get out of here tomorrowmorning?"

It was a blow of quite another sort. 

"But why should I go?"

She grew very solemn, with a trace of sadness in her voice. 

"I'll tell you why, Terry. Because if you stay around here too long, they'll make you what you don't want to be--another Black Jack. Don't yousee that that's why they like you? Because you're his son, and becausethey want you to be another like him. Not that I have anything againsthim. I guess he was a fine fellow in his way. " She paused and stareddirectly at him in a way he found hard to bear. "He must of been! Butthat isn't the sort of a man you want to make out of yourself. I know. You're trying to go straight. Well, Terry, nobody that ever stepped couldstay straight long when they had around 'em Denver Pete and--my father. "She said the last with a sob of grief. He tried to protest, but she wavedhim away. 

"I know. And it's true. He'd do anything for me, except change himself. Believe me, Terry, you got to get out of here--pronto. Is they anythingto hold you here?"

"A great deal. Three hundred dollars I owe your father. "

She considered him again with that mute shake of the head. Then: "Do youmean it? I see you do. I don't suppose it does any good for me to tellyou that he cheated you out of that money?"

"If I was fool enough to lose it that way, I won't take it back. "

"I knew that, too--I guessed it. Oh, Terry, I know a pile more about theinside of your head than you'd ever guess! Well, I knew that--and I comewith the money so's you can pay back Dad in the morning. Here it is--andthey's just a mite more to help you on your way. "

She laid the little handful of gold on the table beside the bed and rose. 

"Don't go, " said Terry, when he could speak. "Don't go, Kate! I'm notthat low. I can't take your money!"

She stood by the bed and stamped lightly. "Are you going to be a foolabout this, too?"

"Your father offered to give me back all the money I'd won. I can't doit, Kate. "

He could see her grow angry, beautifully angry. 

"Is they no difference between Kate Pollard and Joe Pollard?"

Something leaped into his throat. He wanted to tell her in a thousandways just how vast that difference was. 

"Man, you'd make a saint swear, and I ain't a saint by some miles. Youtake that money and pay Dad, and get on your way. This ain't no place foryou, Terry Hollis. "

"I--" he began. 

She broke in: "Don't say it. You'll have me mad in a minute. Don't sayit. "

"I have to. I can't take money from you. "

"Then take a loan. "

He shook his head. 

"Ain't I good enough to even loan you money?" she cried fiercely. 

The shaft of moonlight had poured past her feet; she stood in a pool ofit. 

"Good enough?" said Terry. "Good enough?" Something that had beenaccumulating in him now swelled to bursting, flooded from his heart tohis throat. He hardly knew his own voice, it was so transformed withsudden emotion. 

"There's more good in you than in any man or woman I've ever known. "

"Terry, are you trying to make me feel foolish?"

"I mean it--and it's true. You're kinder, more gentle--"

"Gentle? Me? Oh, Terry!"

But she sat down on the bed, and she listened to him with her faceraised, as though music were falling on her, a thing barely heard at aperilous distance. 

"They've told you other things, but they don't know. I know, Kate. Themoment I saw you I knew, and it stopped my heart for a beat--the knowingof it. That you're beautiful--and true as steel; that you're worthy ofhonor--and that I honor you with all my heart. That I love your kindness, your frankness, your beautiful willingness to help people, Kate. I'velived with a woman who taught me what was true. You've taught me what'sglorious and worth living for. Do you understand, Kate?"

And no answer; but a change in her face that stopped him. 

"I shouldn't of come, " she whispered at length, "and I--I shouldn't havelet you--talk the way you've done. But, oh, Terry--when you come toforget what you've said--don't forget it all the way--keep some of thethings--tucked away in you--somewhere--"

She rose from the bed and slipped across the white brilliance of theshaft of moonlight. It made a red-gold fire of her hair. Then sheflickered into the shadow. Then she was swallowed by the darkness. 

CHAPTER 28

There was no Kate at breakfast the next morning. She had left the houseat dawn with her horse. 

"May be night before she comes back, " said her father. "No telling howfar she'll go. May be tomorrow before she shows up. "

It made Terry thoughtful for reasons which he himself did not understand. He had a peculiar desire to climb into the saddle on El Sangre and trailher across the hills. But he was very quickly brought to the reality thatif he chose to make himself a laboring man and work out the three hundreddollars he would not take back from Joe Pollard, the big man was nowdisposed to make him live up to his word. 

He was sent out with an ax and ordered to attack a stout grove of thepines for firewood. But he quickly resigned himself to the work. Whatevergloom he felt disappeared with the first stroke that sunk the edge deepinto the soft wood. The next stroke broke out a great chip, and aresinous, fresh smell came up to him. 

He made quick work of the first tree, working the morning chill out ofhis body, and as he warmed to his labor, the long muscles of arms andshoulders limbering, the blows fell in a shower. The sturdy pines fellone by one, and he stripped them of branches with long, sweeping blows ofthe ax, shearing off several at a stroke. He was not an expert axman, buthe knew enough about that cunning craft to make his blows tell, and acontinual desire to sing welled up in him. 

Once, to breathe after the heavy labor, he stepped to the edge of thelittle grove. The sun was sparkling in the tops of the trees; the valleydropped far away below him. He felt as one who stands on the top of theworld. There was flash and gleam of red; there stood El Sangre in thecorral below him; the stallion raised his head and whinnied in reply tothe master's whistle. 

A great, sweet peace dropped on the heart of Terry Hollis. Now he felt hewas at home. He went back to his work. 

But in the midmorning Joe Pollard came to him and grunted at the swathTerry had driven into the heart of the lodgepole pines. 

"I wanted junk for the fire, " he protested; "not enough to build a house. But I got a little errand for you in town, Terry. You can give El Sangrea stretching down the road?"

"Of course. "

It gave Terry a little prickling feeling of resentment to be orderedabout. But he swallowed the resentment. After all, this was labor of hisown choosing, though he could not but wonder a little, because JoePollard no longer pressed him to take back the money he had lost. And hereverted to the talk of Kate the night before. That three hundred dollarswas now an anchor holding him to the service of her father. And heremembered, with a touch of dismay, that it might take a year of ordinarywages to save three hundred dollars. Or more than a year. 

It was impossible to be downhearted long, however. The morning was asfresh as a rose, and the four men came out of the house with Pollard tosee El Sangre dancing under the saddle. Terry received the commission fora box of shotgun cartridges and the money to pay for them. 

"And the change, " said Pollard liberally, "don't worry me none. Steparound and make yourself to home in town. About coming back--well, when Isend a man into town, I figure on him making a day of it. S'long, Terry!"

"Hey, " called Slim, "is El Sangre gun-shy?"

"I suppose so. "

The stallion quivered with eagerness to be off. 

"Here's to try him. "

The gun flashed into Slim's hand and boomed. El Sangre bolted straightinto the air and landed on legs of jack-rabbit qualities that flung himsidewise. The hand and voice of Terry quieted him, while the others stoodaround grinning with delight at the fun and at the beautifulhorsemanship. 

"But what'll he do if you pull a gun yourself?" asked Joe Pollard, showing a sudden concern. 

"He'll stand for it--long enough, " said Terry. "Try him!"

There was a devil in Slim that morning. He snatched up a shining bit ofquartz and hurled it--straight at El Sangre! There was no warning--just ajerk of the arm and the stone came flashing. 

"Try your gun--on that!"

The words were torn off short. The heavy gun had twitched into the handof Terry, exploded, and the gleaming quartz puffed into a shower ofbright particles that danced toward the earth. El Sangre flew into aparoxysm of educated bucking of the most advanced school. The steadyvoice of Terry Hollis brought him at last to a quivering stop. The riderwas stiff in the saddle, his mouth a white, straight line. 

He shoved his revolver deliberately back into the holster. 

The four men had drawn together, still muttering with wonder. Luck mayhave had something to do with the success of that snapshot, but it wassuch a feat of marksmanship as would be remembered and talked about. 

"Dugan!" said Terry huskily. 

Slim lunged forward, but he was ill at ease. 

"Well, kid?"

"It seemed to me, " said Terry, "that you threw that stone at El Sangre. Ihope I'm wrong?"

"Maybe, " growled Slim. He flashed a glance at his companions, not at alleager to push this quarrel forward to a conclusion in spite of his knownprowess. He had been a little irritated by the adulation which had beenshown to the son of Black Jack the night before. He was still moreirritated by the display of fine riding. For horsemanship and clevergunplay were the two main feathers in the cap of Slim Dugan. He hadthrown the stone simply to test the qualities of this new member of thegang; the snapshot had stunned him. So he glanced at his companions. Ifthey smiled, it meant that they took the matter lightly. But they werenot smiling; they met his glance with expressions of uniform gravity. Totorment a nervous horse is something which does not fit with the ways ofthe men of the mountain desert, even at their roughest. Besides, therewas an edgy irritability about Slim Dugan which had more than once wonhim black looks. They wanted to see him tested now by a foeman who seemedworthy of his mettle. And Slim saw that common desire in his flickeringside glance. He turned a cold eye on Terry. 

"Maybe, " he repeated. "But maybe I meant to see what you could do with agun. "

"I thought so, " said Terry through his teeth. "Steady, boy!"

El Sangre became a rock for firmness. There was not a quiver in one ofhis long, racing muscles. It was a fine tribute to the power of therider. 

"I thought you might be trying out my gun, " repeated Terry. "Are youentirely satisfied?"

He leaned a little in the saddle. Slim moistened his lips. It was a hardquestion to answer. The man in the saddle had become a quivering bundleof nerves; Slim could see the twitching of the lips, and he knew what itmeant. Instinctively he fingered one of the broad bright buttons of hisshirt. A man who could hit a glittering thrown stone would undoubtedly beable to hit that stationary button. The thought had elements in it thatwere decidedly unpleasant. But he had gone too far. He dared not recedenow if he wished to hold up his head again among his fellows--and fear ofdeath had never yet controlled the actions of Slim Dugan. 

"I dunno, " he remarked carelessly. "I'm a sort of curious gent. It takesmore than one lucky shot to make me see the light. "

The lips of Terry worked a moment. The companions of Slim Dugan scatteredof one accord to either side. There was no doubting the gravity of thecrisis which had so suddenly sprung up. As for Joe Pollard, he stood inthe doorway in the direct line projected from Terry to Slim and beyond. There was very little sentiment in the body of Joe Pollard. Slim hadalways been a disturbing factor in the gang. Why not? He bit his lipsthoughtfully. 

"Dugan, " said Terry at length, "curiosity is a very fine quality, and Iadmire a man who has it. Greatly. Now, you may notice that my gun is inthe holster again. Suppose you try me again and see how fast I can get itout of the leather--and hit a target. "

The challenge was entirely direct. There was a perceptible tightening inthe muscles of the men. They were nerving themselves to hear the crack ofa gun at any instant. Slim Dugan, gathering his nerve power, fenced for amoment more of time. His narrowing eyes were centering on one spot onTerry's body--the spot at which he would attempt to drive his bullet, andhe chose the pocket of Terry's shirt. It steadied him, gave him his oldself-confidence to have found that target. His hand and his brain grewsteady, and the thrill of the fighter's love of battle entered him. 

"What sort of a target d'you want?" he asked. 

"I'm not particular, " said Hollis. "Anything will do for me--even abutton!"

It jarred home to Slim--the very thought he had had a moment before. Hefelt his certainty waver, slip from him. Then the voice of Pollard boomedout at them:

"Keep them guns in their houses! You hear me talk? The first man thatmakes a move I'm going to drill! Slim, get back into the house. Terry, you damn meateater, git on down that hill!"

Terry did not move, but Slim Dugan stirred uneasily, turned, and said:"It's up to you, chief. But I'll see this through sooner or later!"

And not until then did Terry turn his horse and go down the hill withouta backward look. 

CHAPTER 29

There had been a profound reason behind the sudden turning of TerryHollis's horse and his riding down the hill. For as he sat the saddle, quivering, he felt rising in him an all-controlling impulse that was newto him, a fierce and sudden passion. 

It was joyous, free, terrible in its force--that wish to slay. Theemotion had grown, held back by the very force of a mental thread ofreason, until, at the very moment when the thread was about to fray andsnap, and he would be flung into sudden action, the booming voice of JoePollard had cleared his mind as an acid clears a cloudy precipitate. Hesaw himself for the first time in several moments, and what he saw madehim shudder. 

And still in fear of himself he swung El Sangre and put him down theslope recklessly. Never in his life had he ridden as he rode in thosefirst five minutes down the pitch of the hill. He gave El Sangre his headto pick his own way, and he confined his efforts to urging the greatstallion along. The blood-bay went like the wind, passing up-juttingboulders with a swish of gravel knocked from his plunging hoofs againstthe rock. 

Even in Terry's passion of self-dread he dimly appreciated the prowess ofthe horse, and when they shot onto the level going of the valley road, hecalled El Sangre out of the mad gallop and back to the natural pace, agait as swinging and smooth as running water--yet still the road pouredbeneath them at the speed of an ordinary gallop. It was music to TerryHollis, that matchless gait. He leaned and murmured to the pricking earswith that soft, gentle voice which horses love. The glorious head of ElSangre went up a little, his tail flaunted somewhat more proudly; fromthe quiver of his nostrils to the ringing beat of his black hoofs hebespoke his confidence that he bore the king of men on his back. 

And the pride of the great horse brought back some of Terry's own waningself-confidence. His father had been up in him as he faced Slim Dugan, heknew. Once more he had escaped from the commission of a crime. But forhow long would he succeed in dodging that imp of the perverse whichhaunted him?

It was like the temptation of a drug--to strike just once, and thereafterto be raised above himself, take to himself the power of evil which isgreater than the power of good. The blow he struck at the sheriff hadmerely served to launch him on his way. To strike down was not now whathe wanted, but to kill! To feel that once he had accomplished the destinyof some strong man, to turn a creature of mind and soul, ambition andhope, at a single stroke into so many pounds of flesh, useless, done for. What could be more glorious? What could be more terrible? And the desireto strike, as he had looked into the sneering face of Slim Dugan, hadbeen almost overmastering. 

Sooner or later he would strike that blow. Sooner or later he wouldcommit the great and controlling crime. And the rest of his life would bea continual evasion of the law. 

If they would only take him into their midst, the good and the law-abiding men of the mountains! If they would only accept him by word ordeed and give him a chance to prove that he was honest! Even then thebattle would be hard, against temptation; but they were too smugly surethat his downfall was certain. Twice they had rejected him without cause. How long would it be before they actually raised their hands against him?How long would it be before they violently put him in the class of hisfather?

Grinding his teeth, he swore that if that time ever came when they tookhis destiny into their own hands, he would make it a day to be marked inred all through the mountains!

The cool, fresh wind against his face blew the sullen anger away. Andwhen he came close to the town, he was his old self. 

A man on a tall gray, with the legs of speed and plenty of girth at thecinches, where girth means lung power, twisted out of a side trail andswung past El Sangre at a fast gallop. The blood-bay snorted and camehard against the bit in a desire to follow. On the range, when he led hiswild band, no horse had ever passed El Sangre and hardly the voice of themaster could keep him back now. Terry loosed him. He did not break into agallop, but fled down the road like an arrow, and the gray came back tohim slowly and surely until the rider twisted around and swore insurprise. 

He touched his mount with the spurs; there was a fresh start from thegray, a lunge that kicked a little spurt of dust into the nostrils of ElSangre. He snorted it out. Terry released his head completely, and now, as though in scorn refusing to break into his sweeping gallop, El Sangreflung himself ahead to the full of his natural pace. 

And the gray came back steadily. The town was shoving up at them at theend of the road more and more clearly. The rider of the gray began tocurse. He was leaning forward, jockeying his horse, but still El Sangrehurled himself forward powerfully, smoothly. They passed the first shantyon the outskirts of the town with the red head of the stallion at the hipof the other. Before they straightened into the main street, El Sangrehad shoved his nose past the outstretched head of the gray. Then theother rider jerked back on his reins with a resounding oath. Terryimitated; one call to El Sangre brought him back to a gentle amble. 

"Going to sell this damned skate, " declared the stranger, a lean-facedman of middle age with big, patient, kindly eyes. "If he can't makeanother hoss break out of a pace, he ain't worth keeping! But I'll tell aman that you got quite a hoss there, partner!"

"Not bad, " admitted Terry modestly. "And the gray has pretty good points, it seems to me. "

They drew the horses back to a walk. 

"Ought to have. Been breeding for him fifteen years--and here I get himbeat by a hoss that don't break out of a pace. "

He swore again, but less violently and with less disappointment. He wasbeginning to run his eyes appreciatively over the superb lines of ElSangre. There were horses and horses, and he began to see that this wasone in a thousand--or more. 

"What's the strain in that stallion?" he asked. 

"Mustang, " answered Terry. 

"Mustang? Man, man, he's close to sixteen hands!"

"Nearer fifteen three. Yes, he stands pretty high. Might call him a freakmustang, I guess. He reverts to the old source stock. "

"I've heard something about that, " nodded the other. "Once in ageneration they say a mustang turns up somewhere on the range that breedsback to the old Arab. And that red hoss is sure one of 'em. "

They dismounted at the hotel, the common hitching rack for the town, andthe elder man held out his hand. 

"I'm Jack Baldwin. "

"Terry'll do for me, Mr. Baldwin. Glad to know you. "

Baldwin considered his companion with a slight narrowing of the eyes. Distinctly this "Terry" was not the type to be wandering about thecountry known by his first name alone. There were reasons and reasons whymen chose to conceal their family names in the mountains, however, andnot all of them were bad. He decided to reserve judgment. Particularlysince he noted a touch of similarity between the high head and theglorious lines of El Sangre and the young pride and strength of Terryhimself. There was something reassuringly clean and frank about bothhorse and rider, and it pleased Baldwin. 

They made their purchases together in the store. 

"Where might you be working?" asked Baldwin. 

"For Joe Pollard. "

"Him?" There was a lifting of the eyebrows of Jack Baldwin. "What line?"

"Cutting wood, just now. "

Baldwin shook his head. 

"How Pollard uses so much help is more'n I can see. He's got a range backof the hills, I know, and some cattle on it; but he's sure a waster ofgood labor. Take me, now. I need a hand right bad to help me with thecows. "

"I'm more or less under contract with Pollard, " said Terry. He added:"You talk as if Pollard might be a queer sort. "

Baldwin seemed to be disarmed by this frankness. 

"Ain't you noticed anything queer up there? No? Well, maybe Pollard isall right. He's sort of a newcomer around here. That big house of hisain't more'n four or five years old. But most usually a man buys land andcattle around here before he builds him a big house. Well--Pollard is anopen-handed cuss, I'll say that for him, and maybe they ain't anything inthe talk that goes around. "

What that talk was Terry attempted to discover, but he could not. JackBaldwin was a cautious gossip. 

Since they had finished buying, the storekeeper perched on the edge ofhis selling counter and began to pass the time of the day. It began withthe usual preliminaries, invariable in the mountains. 

"What's the news out your way?"

"Nothing much to talk about. How's things with you and your family?"

"Fair to middlin' and better. Patty had the croup and we sat up twonights firing up the croup kettle. Now he's better, but he still coughsterrible bad. "

And so on until all family affairs had been exhausted. This is aformality. One must not rush to the heart of his news or he will mortallyoffend the sensitive Westerner. 

This is the approved method. The storekeeper exemplified it, and havingtalked about nothing for ten minutes, quietly remarked that youngLarrimer was out hunting a scalp, had been drinking most of the morning, and was now about the town boasting of what he intended to do. 

"And what's more, he's apt to do it. "

"Larrimer is a no-good young skunk, " said Baldwin, with deliberate heat. "It's sure a crime when a boy that ain't got enough brains to fill apeanut shell can run over men just because he's spent his life learninghow to handle firearms. He'll meet up with his finish one of these days. "

"Maybe he will, maybe he won't, " said the storekeeper, and spat withprecision and remarkable power through the window beside him. "That'swhat they been saying for the last two years. Dawson come right down hereto get him; but it was Dawson that was got. And Kennedy was called a goodman with a gun--but Larrimer beat him to the draw and filled him plumbfull of lead. "

"I know, " growled Baldwin. "Kept on shooting after Kennedy was down andhad the gun shot out of his hand and was helpless. And yet they call thatself-defense. "

"We can't afford to be too particular about shootings, " said thestorekeeper. "Speaking personal, I figure that a shooting now and thenlets the blood of the youngsters and gives 'em a new start. Kind of liketo see it. "

"But who's Larrimer after now?"

"A wild-goose chase, most likely. He says he's heard that the son of oldBlack Jack is around these parts, and that he's going to bury theoutlaw's son after he's salted him away with lead. "

"Black Jack's son! Is he around town?"

The tone sent a chill through Terry; it contained a breathless horrorfrom which there was no appeal. In the eye of Jack Baldwin, fair-mindedman though he was, Black Jack's son was judged and condemned as worthlessbefore his case had been heard. 

"I dunno, " said the storekeeper; "but if Larrimer put one of Black Jack'sbreed under the ground, I'd call him some use to the town. "

Jack Baldwin was agreeing fervently when the storekeeper made a violentsignal. 

"There's Larrimer now, and he looks all fired up. "

Terry turned and saw a tall fellow standing in the doorway. He had beenprepared for a youth; he saw before him a hardened man of thirty andmore, gaunt-faced, bristling with the rough beard of some five or sixdays' growth, a thin, cruel, hawklike face. 

CHAPTER 30

A moment later, from the side door which led from the store into the mainbody of the hotel, stepped the chunky form of Denver Pete, quick andlight of foot as ever. He went straight to the counter and asked formatches, and as the storekeeper, still keeping half an eye upon theformidable figure of Larrimer, turned for the matches, Denver spokesoftly from the side of his mouth to Terry--only in the lockstep line ofthe prison do they learn to talk in this manner--gauging the carryingpower of the whisper with nice accuracy. 

"That bird's after you. Crazy with booze in the head, but steady in thehand. One of two things. Clear out right now, or else say the word andI'll stay and help you get rid of him. "

For the first time in his life fear swept over Terry--fear of himselfcompared with which the qualm he had felt after turning from Slim Duganthat morning had been nothing. For the second time in one day he wasbeing tempted, and the certainty came to him that he would kill Larrimer. And what made that certainty more sure was the appearance of his nemesis, Denver Pete, in this crisis. As though, with sure scent for evil, Denverhad come to be present and watch the launching of Terry into a career ofcrime. But it was not the public that Terry feared. It was himself. Hismoral determination was a dam which blocked fierce currents in him thatwere struggling to get free. And a bullet fired at Larrimer would be thething that burst the dam and let the flood waters of self-will free. Thereafter what stood in his path would be crushed and swept aside. 

He said to Denver: "This is my affair, not yours. Stand away, Denver. Andpray for me. "

A strange request. It shattered even the indomitable self-control ofDenver and left him gaping. 

Larrimer, having completed his survey of the dim interior of the store, stalked down upon them. He saw Terry for the first time, paused, and hisbloodshot little eyes ran up and down the body of the stranger. He turnedto the storekeeper, but still half of his attention was fixed upon Terry. 

"Bill, " he said, "you seen anything of a spavined, long-horned, no-goodskunk named Hollis around town today?"

And Terry could see him wait, quivering, half in hopes that the strangerwould show some anger at this denunciation. 

"Ain't seen nobody by that name, " said Bill mildly. "Maybe you're chasinga wild goose? Who told you they was a gent named Hollis around?"

"Black Jack's son, " insisted Larrimer. "Wild-goose chase, hell! I wastold he was around by a gent named--"

"These ain't the kind of matches I want!" cried Denver Pete, with astrangely loud-voiced wrath. "I don't want painted wood. How can a gentwhittle one of these damned matches down to toothpick size? Gimme plainwood, will you?"

The storekeeper, wondering, made the exchange. Drunken Larrimer had rovedon, forgetful of his unfinished sentence. For the very purpose of keepingthat sentence unfinished, Denver Pete remained on the scene, edgingtoward the outskirts. Now was to come, in a single moment, both thetemptation and the test of Terry Hollis, and well Denver knew that ifLarrimer fell with a bullet in his body there would be an end of TerryHollis in the world and the birth of a new soul--the true son of BlackJack!

"It's him that plugged Sheriff Minter, " went on Larrimer. "I hear tell ashow he got the sheriff from behind and plugged him. This town ain't aplace for a man-killing houn' dog like young Black Jack, and I'm here tolet him know it!"

The torrent of abuse died out in a crackle of curses. Terry Hollis stoodas one stunned. Yet his hand stayed free of his gun. 

"Suppose we go on to the hotel and eat?" he asked Jack Baldwin softly. "No use staying and letting that fellow deafen us with his oaths, isthere?"

"Better than a circus, " declared Baldwin. "Wouldn't miss it. Since oldman Harkness died, I ain't heard cussing to match up with Larrimer's. Didn't know that he had that much brains. "

It seemed that the fates were surely against Terry this day. Yet still hedetermined to dodge the issue. He started toward the door, taking carenot to walk hastily enough to draw suspicion on him because of hiswithdrawal, but to the heated brain of Larrimer all things weresuspicious. His long arm darted out as Terry passed him; he jerked thesmaller man violently back. 

"Wait a minute. I don't know you, kid. Maybe you got the information Iwant?"

"I'm afraid not. "

Terry blinked. It seemed to him that if he looked again at that vicious, contracted face, his gun would slip into his hand of its own volition. 

"Who are you?"

"A stranger in these parts, " said Terry slowly, and he looked down at thefloor. 

He heard a murmur from the men at the other end of the room. He knew thatsmall, buzzing sound. They were wondering at the calmness with which he"took water. "

"So's Hollis a stranger in these parts, " said Larrimer, facing his victimmore fully. "What I want to know is about the gent that owns the red hossin front of the store. Ever hear of him?"

Terry was silent. By a vast effort he was able to shake his head. It washard, bitterly hard, but every good influence that had ever come into hislife now stood beside him and fought with and for him--Elizabeth Cornish, the long and fictitious line of his Colby ancestors, Kate Pollard withher clear-seeing eyes. He saw her last of all. When the men were scorninghim for the way he had avoided this battle, she, at least, wouldunderstand, and her understanding would be a mercy. 

"Hollis is somewhere around, " declared Larrimer, drawing back and bitinghis lip. "I know it, damn well. His hoss is standing out yonder. I knowwhat'll fetch him. I'll shoot that hoss of his, and that'll bring him--ifyoung Black Jack is half the man they say he is! I ain't out to shootcowards--I want men!"

He strode to the door. 

"Don't do it!" shouted Bill, the storekeeper. 

"Shut up!" snapped Baldwin. "I know something. Shut up!"

That fierce, low voice reached the ear of Terry, and he understood thatit meant Baldwin had judged him as the whole world judged him. After all, what difference did it make whether he killed or not? He was alreadydamned as a slayer of men by the name of his father before him. 

Larrimer had turned with a roar. 

"What d'you mean by stopping me, Bill? What in hell d'you mean by it?"

With the brightness of the door behind him, his bearded face was wolfish. 

"Nothing, " quavered Bill, this torrent of danger pouring about him. "Except--that it ain't very popular around here--shooting hosses, Larrimer. "

"Damn you and your ideas, " said Larrimer. "I'm going to go my own way. Iknow what's best. "

He reached the door, his hand went back to the butt of his revolver. 

And then it snapped in Terry, that last restraint which had been at thebreaking-point all this time. He felt a warmth run through him--thewarmth of strength and the cold of a mysterious and evil happiness. 

"Wait, Larrimer!"

The big man whirled as though he had heard a gun; there was a ring in thevoice of Terry like the ring down the barrel of a shotgun after it hasbeen cocked. 

"You agin?" barked Larrimer. 

"Me again. Larrimer, don't shoot the horse. "

"Why not?"

"For the sake of your soul, my friend. "

"Boys, ain't this funny? This gent is a sky-pilot, maybe?" He made a longstride back. 

"Stop where you are!" cried Terry. 

He stood like a soldier with his heels together, straight, trembling. AndLarrimer stopped as though a blow had checked him. 

"I may be your sky-pilot, Larrimer. But listen to sense. Do you reallymean you'd shoot that red horse in front of the hotel?"

"Ain't you heard me say it?"

"Then the Lord pity you, Larrimer!"

Ordinarily Larrimer's gun would have been out long before, but the changefrom this man's humility of the moment before, his almost cringingmeekness, to his present defiance was so startling that Larrimer wasmomentarily at sea. 

"Damn my eyes, " he remarked furiously, "this is funny, this is. Are youpreaching at me, kid? What d'you mean by that? Eh?"

"I'll tell you why. Face me squarely, will you? Your head up, and yourhands ready. "

In spite of his rage and wonder, Larrimer instinctively obeyed, for thewords came snapping out like military commands. 

"Now I'll tell you. You manhunting cur, I'm going to send you to hellwith your sins on your head. I'm going to kill you, Larrimer!"

It was so unexpected, so totally startling, that Larrimer blinked, raisedhis head, and laughed. 

But the son of Black Jack tore away all thought of laughter. 

"Larrimer, I'm Terry Hollis. Get your gun!"

The wide mouth of Larrimer writhed silently from mirth to astonishment, and then sinister rage. And though he was in the shadow against the door, Terry saw the slow gleam in the face of the tall man--then his handwhipped for the gun. It came cleanly out. There was no flap to hisholster, and the sight had been filed away to give more oiled and perfectfreedom to the draw. Years of patient practice had taught his muscles toreflex in this one motion with a speed that baffled the eye. Fast aslight that draw seemed to those who watched, and the draw of Terry Hollisappeared to hang in midair. His hand wavered, then clutched suddenly, andthey saw a flash of metal, not the actual motion of drawing the gun. Justthat gleam of the barrel at his hip, hardly clear of the holster, andthen in the dimness of the big room a spurt of flame and the boom of thegun. 

There was a clangor of metal at the farthest end of the room. Larrimer'sgun had rattled on the boards, unfired. He tossed up his great gaunt armsas though he were appealing for help, leaped into the air, and fellheavily, with a force that vibrated the floor where Terry stood. 

There was one heartbeat of silence. 

Then Terry shoved the gun slowly back into his holster and walked to thebody of Larrimer. 

To these things Bill, the storekeeper, and Jack Baldwin, the rancher, afterward swore. That young Black Jack leaned a little over the corpseand then straightened and touched the fallen hand with the toe of hisboot. Then he turned upon them a perfectly calm, unemotional look. 

"I seem to have been elected to do the scavenger work in this town, " hesaid. "But I'm going to leave it to you gentlemen to take the carrionaway. Shorty, I'm going back to the house. Are you ready to ride thatway?"

When they went to the body of Larrimer afterward, they found a neat, circular splotch of purple exactly placed between the eyes. 

CHAPTER 31

The first thing the people in Pollard's big house knew of the return ofthe two was a voice singing faintly and far off in the stable--they couldhear it because the door to the big living room was opened. And KatePollard, who had been sitting idly at the piano, stood up suddenly andlooked around her. It did not interrupt the crap game of the four at oneside of the room, where they kneeled in a close circle. But it broughtbig Pollard himself to the door in time to meet Denver Pete as the latterhurried in. 

When Denver was excited he talked very nearly as softly as he walked. Andhis voice tonight was like a contented humming. 

"It worked, " was all he said aside to Pollard as he came through thedoor. They exchanged silent grips of the hands. Then Kate drew down onthem; as if a mysterious; signal had been passed to them by the subduedentrance of Denver, the four rose at the side of the room. 

It was Pollard who forced him to talk. 

"What happened?"

"A pretty little party, " said Denver. His purring voice was so soft thatto hear him the others instantly drew close. Kate Pollard stood suddenlybefore him. 

"Terry Hollis has done something, " she said. "Denver, what has he done?"

"Him? Nothing much. To put it in his own words, he's just playedscavenger for the town--and he's done it in a way they won't beforgetting for a good long day. 

"Denver!"

"Well? No need of acting up, Kate. "

"Who was it?"

"Ever meet young Larrimer?"

She shuddered. "Yes. A--beast of a man. "

"Sure. Worse'n a beast, maybe. Well, he's carrion now, to use Terry'swords again. "

"Wait a minute, " cut in big blond Phil Marvin. Don't spoil the story forTerry. But did he really do for Larrimer? Larrimer was a neat one with agun--no good otherwise. "

"Did he do for Larrimer?" echoed Denver in his purring voice. "Oh, man, man! Did he do for Larrimer? And I ain't spoiling his story. He won'ttalk about it. Wouldn't open his face about it all the way home. A prettyneat play, boys. Larrimer was looking for a rep, and he wanted to make iton Black Jack's son. Came tearing in. 

"At first Terry tried to sidestep him. Made me weak inside for a minutebecause I thought he was going to take water. Then he got riled a bit andthen--whang! It was all over. Not a body shot. No, boys, nothing clumsyand amateurish like that, because a man may live to empty his gun at youafter he's been shot through the body. This young Hollis, pals, just upsand drills Larrimer clean between the eyes. If you'd measured it off witha ruler, you couldn't have hit exact center any better'n he done. Then hewalks up and stirs Larrimer with his toe to make sure he was dead. Coolas hell. "

"You lie!" cried the girl suddenly. 

They whirled at her, and found her standing and flaming at them. 

"You hear me say it, Kate, " said Denver, losing a little of his calm. 

"He wasn't as cool as that--after killing a man. He wasn't. "

"All right, honey. Don't you hear him singing out there in the stable?Does that sound as if he was cut up much?"

"Then you've made him a murderer--you, Denver, and you, Dad. Oh, ifthey's a hell, you're going to travel there for this! Both of you!"

"As if we had anything to do with it!" exclaimed Denver innocently. "Besides, it wasn't murder. It was plain self-defense. Nothing but that. Three witnesses to swear to it. But, my, my--you should hear that townrave. They thought nobody could beat Larrimer. "

The girl slipped back into her chair again and sat with her chin in herhand, brooding. It was all impossible--it could not be. Yet there wasDenver telling his story, and far away the clear baritone of Terry Hollissinging as he cared for El Sangre. 

She waited to make sure, waited to see his face and hear him speak closeat hand. Presently the singing rang out more clearly. He had stepped outof the barn. 

Oh, I am a friar of orders gray, Through hill and valley I take my way. My long bead roll I merrily chant;Wherever I wander no money I want!

And as the last word rang through the room, Terry Hollis stood in thedoorway, with his saddle and bridle hanging over one strong arm and hisgun and gun belt in the other hand. And his voice came cheerily to themin greeting. It was impossible--more impossible than ever. 

He crossed the room, hung up his saddle, and found her sitting near. Whatshould he say? How would his color change? In what way could he face herwith that stain in his soul?

And this was what Terry said to her: "I'm going to teach El Sangre to letyou ride him, Kate. By the Lord, I wish you'd been with us going down thehill this morning!"

No shame, no downward head, no remorse. And he was subtly and strangelychanged. She could not put the difference into words. But his eye seemedlarger and brighter--it was no longer possible for her to look deeplyinto it, as she had done so easily the night before. And there were otherdifferences. 

He held his head in a more lordly fashion. About every movement there wasa singular ease and precision. He walked with a lighter step and with acatlike softness almost as odd as that of Denver. His step had been lightbefore, but it was not like this. But through him and about him there wasan air of uneasy, alert happiness--as of one who steals a few perfectmoments, knowing that they will not be many. A great pity welled in her, and a great anger. It was the anger which showed. 

"Terry Hollis, what have you done? You're lookin' me in the eye, but youought to be hangin' your head. You've done murder! Murder! Murder!"

She let the three words ring through the room like three blows, cuttingthe talk to silence. And all save Terry seemed moved. 

He was laughing down at her--actually laughing, and there was no doubt asto the sincerity of that mirth. His presence drew her and repelled her;she became afraid for the first time in her life. 

"A little formality with a gun, " he said calmly. "A dog got in my way, Kate--a mad dog. I shot the beast to keep it from doing harm. "

"Ah, Terry, I know everything. I've heard Denver tell it. I know it was aman, Terry. "

He insisted carelessly. "By the Lord, Kate, only a dog--and a mad dog atthat. Perhaps there was the body of a man, but there was the soul of adog inside the skin. Tut! it isn't worth talking about. "

She drew away from him. "Terry, God pity you. I pity you, " she went onhurriedly and faintly. "But you ain't the same any more, Terry. I--I'malmost afraid of you!"

He tried laughingly to stop her, and in a sudden burst of hystericalterror she fled from him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him comeafter her, light as a shadow. And the shadow leaped between her and thedoor; the force of her rush drove her into his arms. 

In the distance she could hear the others laughing--they understood sucha game as this, and enjoyed it with all their hearts. Ah, the fools!

He held her lightly, his fingertips under her elbows. For all thedelicacy of that touch, she knew that if she attempted to flee, the gripwould be iron. He would hold her where she was until he was throughtalking to her. 

"Don't you see what I've done?" he was saying rapidly. "You wanted todrive me out last night. You said I didn't fit--that I didn't belong uphere. Well, Kate, I started out today to make myself fit to belong tothis company of fine fellows. "

He laughed a little; if it were not real mirth, at least there was afierce quality of joy in his voice. 

"You see, I decided that if I went away I'd be lonely. Particularly, I'dbe lonely as the devil, Kate, for you!"

"You've murdered to make yourself one--of us?"

"Tush, Kate. You exaggerate entirely. Do you know what I've really done?Why, I've wakened; I've come to my senses. After all, there was no otherplace for me to go. I tried the world of good, ordinary working people. Iasked them to let me come in and prove my right to be one of them. Theydischarged me when I worked honestly on the range. They sent theirprofessional gunmen and bullies after me. And then--I reached the limitof my endurance, Kate, and I struck back. And the mockery of it all isthis--that though they have struck me repeatedly and I have endured it, I--having struck back a single time--am barred from among them forever. Let it be so!"

"Hush, Terry. I--I'm going to think of ways!"

"You couldn't. Last night--yes. Today I'm a man--and I'm free. Andfreedom is the sweetest thing in the world. There's no place else for meto go. This is my world. You're my queen. I've won my spurs; I'll usethem in your service, Kate. "

"Stop, Terry!"

"By the Lord, I will, though! I'm happy--don't you see? And I'm going tobe happier. I'm going to work my way along until I can tell you--that Ilove you, Kate--that you're the daintiest body of fire and beauty andtemper and gentleness and wisdom and fun that was ever crowned with thename of a woman. And--"

But under the rapid fire of his words there was a touch of hardness--mockery, perhaps. She drew back, and he stepped instantly aside. She wentby him through the door with bowed head. And Terry, closing it after her, heard the first sob. 

CHAPTER 32

It was as if a gate which had hitherto been closed against him in thePollard house were now opened. They no longer held back from Terry, butadmitted him freely to their counsels. But the first person to whom hespoke was Slim Dugan. There was a certain nervousness about Slim thisevening, and a certain shame. For he felt that in the morning, to anextent, he had backed down from the quarrel with young Black Jack. Thekilling of Larrimer now made that reticence of the morning even morepointed than it had been before. With all these things taken intoconsideration, Slim Dugan was in the mood to fight and die; for he feltthat his honor was concerned. A single slighting remark to Terry, asingle sneering side glance, would have been a signal for gunplay. Andeveryone knew it. 

The moment there was silence the son of Black Jack went straight to SlimDugan. 

"Slim, " he said, just loud enough for everyone to hear, "a fellow isn'thimself before noon. I've been thinking over that little trouble we hadthis morning, and I've made up my mind that if there were any fault itwas mine for taking a joke too seriously. At any rate, if it's agreeableto you, Slim, I'd like to shake hands and call everything square. But ifthere's going to be any ill will, let's have it out right now. "

Slim Dugan wrung the hand of Terry without hesitation. 

"If you put it that way, " he said cordially, "I don't mind saying that Iwas damned wrong to heave that stone at the hoss. And I apologize, Terry. "

And so everything was forgotten. Indeed, where there had been enmitybefore, there was now friendship. And there was a breath of relief drawnby every member of the gang. The peacemaking tendency of Hollis had moreeffect on the others than a dozen killings. They already granted that hewas formidable. They now saw that he was highly desirable also. 

Dinner that night was a friendly affair, except that Kate stayed in herroom with a headache. Johnny the Chinaman smuggled a tray to her. OregonCharlie went to the heart of matters with one of his rare speeches:

"You hear me talk, Hollis. She's mad because you've stepped off. She'llget over it all right. "

Oregon Charlie had a right to talk. It was an open secret that he hadloved Kate faithfully ever since he joined the gang. But apparently TerryHollis cared little about the moods of the girl. He was the center offestivities that evening until an interruption from the outside formed adiversion. It came in the form of a hard rider; the mutter of his hoofsswept to the door, and Phil Marvin, having examined the stranger from theshuttered loophole beside the entrance, opened the door to him at once. 

"It's Sandy, " he fired over his shoulder in explanation. 

A weary-looking fellow came into the room, swinging his hat to knock thedust off it, and loosening the bandanna at his throat. The drooping, palemustache explained his name. Two words were spoken, and no more. 

"News?" said Pollard. 

"News, " grunted Sandy, and took a place at the table. 

Terry had noted before that there were always one or two extra placeslaid; he had always liked the suggestion of hospitality, but he wasrather in doubt about this guest. He ate with marvellous expedition, keeping his lean face close to the table and bolting his food like ahungry dog. Presently he drained his coffee cup, arranged his mustachewith painful care, and seemed prepared to talk. 

"First thing, " he said now--and utter silence spread around the table ashe began to talk--"first thing is that McGuire is coming. I seen him onthe trail, cut to the left and took the short way. He ought to be lopingin almost any minute. "

Terry saw the others looking straight at Pollard; the leader wasthoughtful for a moment. 

"Is he coming with a gang, Sandy?"

"Nope--alone. "

"He was always a nervy cuss. Someday--"

He left the sentence unfinished. Denver had risen noiselessly. 

"I'm going to beat it for my bunk, " he announced. "Let me know when thesheriff is gone. "

"Sit where you are, Denver. McGuire ain't going to lay hands on you. "

"Sure he ain't, " agreed Denver. "But I ain't partial to having guys layeyes on me, neither. Some of you can go out and beat up trouble. I liketo stay put. "

And he glided out of the room with no more noise than a sliding shadow. He had hardly disappeared when a heavy hand beat at the door. 

"That's McGuire, " announced Pollard. "Let him in, Phil. " So saying, hetwitched his gun out of the holster, spun the cylinder, and dropped itback. 

"Don't try nothing till you see me put my hand into my beard, boys. Hedon't mean much so long as he's come alone. "

Marvin drew back the door. Terry saw a man with shoulders of martialsquareness enter. And there was a touch of the military in his brisk stepand the curt nod he sent at Marvin as he passed the latter. He had nottaken off his sombrero. It cast a heavy shadow across the upper part ofhis worn, sad face. 

"Evening, sheriff, " came from Pollard, and a muttered chorus from theothers repeated the greeting. The sheriff cast his glance over them likea schoolteacher about to deliver a lecture. 

"Evening, boys. "

"Sit down, McGuire. "

"I'm only staying a minute. I'll talk standing. " It was a declaration ofwar. 

"I guess this is the first time I been up here, Pollard?"

"The very first, sheriff. "

"Well, if I been kind of neglectful, it ain't that I'm not interested inyou-all a heap!"

He brought it out with a faint smile; there was no response to thatmirth. 

"Matter of fact, I been keeping my eye on you fellows right along. Now, Iain't up here to do no accusing. I'm up here to talk to you man to man. They's been a good many queer things happen. None of 'em in my county, mind you, or I might have done some talking to you before now. But they'sbeen a lot of queer things happen right around in the mountains; and someof 'em has traced back kind of close to Joe Pollard's house as a startingpoint. I ain't going to go any further. If I'm wrong, they ain't any harmdone; if I'm right, you know what I mean. But I tell you this, boys--we're a long-sufferin' lot around these parts, but they's some thingsthat we don't stand for, and one of 'em that riles us particular much iswhen a gent that lays out to be a regular hardworking rancher--even if heain't got much of a ranch to talk about and work about--takes mankillersunder their wings. It ain't regular, and it ain't popular around theseparts. I guess you know what I mean. "

Terry expected Pollard to jump to his feet. But there was no suchresponse. The other men stared down at the table, their lips working. Pollard alone met the eye of the sheriff. 

The sheriff changed the direction of his glance. Instantly, it fell onTerry and stayed there. 

"You're the man I mean; you're Terry Hollis, Black Jack's son?"

Terry imitated the others and did not reply. 

"Oh, they ain't any use beating about the bush. You got Black Jack'sblood in you. That's plain. I remember your old man well enough. "

Terry rose slowly from his chair. 

"I think I'm not disputing that, sheriff. As a matter of fact, I'm veryproud of my father. "

"I think you are, " said the sheriff gravely. "I think you are--damnedproud of him. So proud you might even figure on imitating what he done inthe old days. "

"Perhaps, " said Terry. The imp of the perverse was up in him now, urginghim on. 

"Step soft, sheriff, " cried Pollard suddenly, as though he sensed acrisis of which the others were unaware. "Terry, keep hold on yourself!"

The sheriff waved the cautionary advice away. 

"My nerves are tolerable good, Pollard, " he said coldly. "The kid ain'tscaring me none. And now hark to me, Black Jack. You've got away with twogents already--two that's known, I mean. Minter was one and Larrimer wastwo. Both times it was a square break. But I know your kind like a book. You're going to step over the line pretty damn pronto, and when you do, I'm going to get you, friend, as sure as the sky is blue! You ain't goingto do what your dad done before you. I'll tell you why. In the old daysthe law was a joke. But it's tolerable strong now. You hear me talk--getout of these here parts and stay out. We don't want none of your kind. "

There was a flinching of the men about the table. They had seen thetigerish suddenness with which Terry's temper could flare--they hadreceived an object lesson that morning. But to their amazement heremained perfectly cool under fire. He sauntered a little closer to thesheriff. 

"I'll tell you, McGuire, " he said gently. "Your great mistake is intalking too much. You've had a good deal of success, my friend. So muchthat your head is turned. You're quite confident that no one will invadeyour special territory; and you keep your sympathy for neighboringcounties. You pity the sheriffs around you. Now listen to me. You'vebranded me as a criminal in advance. And I'm not going to disappoint you. I'm going to try to live up to your high hopes. And what I do will bedone right in your county, my friend. I'm going to make the sheriffs pity_you_, McGuire. I'm going to make your life a small bit of hell. I'mgoing to keep you busy. And now--get out! And before you judge the nextman that crosses your path, wait for the advice of twelve good men andtrue. You need advice, McGuire. You need it to beat hell! Start on yourway!"

His calmness was shaken a little toward the end of this speech and hisvoice, at the close, rang sharply at McGuire. The latter considered himfrom beneath frowning brows for a moment and then, without another word, without a glance to the others and a syllable of adieu, turned and walkedslowly, thoughtfully, out of the room. Terry walked back to his place. Ashe sat down, he noticed that every eye was upon him, worried. 

"I'm sorry that I've had to do so much talking, " he said. "And Iparticularly apologize to you, Pollard. But I'm tired of being hounded. As a matter of fact, I'm now going to try to play the part of the houndmyself. Action, boys; action is what we must have, and action right inthis county under the nose of the complacent McGuire!"

CHAPTER 33

There was no exuberant joy to meet this suggestion. McGuire had, as amatter of fact, made his territory practically crime-proof for so longthat men had lost interest in planning adventures within the sphere ofhis authority. It seemed to the four men of Pollard's gang a peculiarfolly to cast a challenge in the teeth of the formidable sheriff himself. Even Pollard was shaken and looked to Denver. But that worthy, who hadreturned from the door where he was stationed during the presence of thesheriff, remained in his place smiling down at his hands. He, for one, seemed oddly pleased. 

In the meantime Sandy was setting forth his second and particularlyinteresting news item. 

"You-all know Lewison?" he asked. 

"The sour old grouch, " affirmed Phil Marvin. "Sure, we know him. "

"I know him, too, " said Sandy. "I worked for the tenderfoot that heskinned out of the ranch. And then I worked for Lewison. If they'sanything good about Lewison, you'd need a spyglass to find it, and thenit wouldn't be fit to see. His wife couldn't live with him; he drove hisson off and turned him into a drunk; and he's lived his life for hiscoin. "

"Which he ain't got much to show for it, " remarked Marvin. "He lives likea starved dog. "

"And that's just why he's got the coin, " said Sandy. "He lives on whatwould make a dog sick and his whole life he's been saving every cent he'smade. He gives his wife one dress every three years till she died. That'show tight he is. But he's sure got the money. Told everybody his kid runoff with all his savings. That's a lie. His kid didn't have the guts orthe sense to steal even what was coming to him for the work he done forthe old miser. Matter of fact, he's got enough coin saved--all gold--tobreak the back of a mule. That's a fact! Never did no investing, butturned everything he made into gold and put it away. "

"How do you know?" This from Denver. 

"How does a buzzard smell a dead cow?" said Sandy inelegantly. "I ain'tgoing to tell you how I smell out the facts about money. Wouldn't be anyuse to you if you knew the trick. The facts is these: he sold his ranch. You know that?"

"Sure, we know that. "

"And you know he wouldn't take nothing but gold coin paid down at thehouse?"

"That so?"

"It sure is! Now the point's this. He had all his gold in his own privatesafe at home. "

Denver groaned. 

"I know, Denver, " nodded Sandy. "Easy pickings for you; but I didn't findall this out till the other day. Never even knew he had a safe in hishouse. Not till he has 'em bring out a truck from town and he ships thesafe and everything in it to the bank. You see, he sold out his own placeand he's going to another that he bought down the river. Well, boys, here's the dodge. That safe of his is in the bank tonight, guarded by oldLewison himself and two gunmen he's hired for the job. Tomorrow he startsout down the river with the safe on a big wagon, and he'll have half adozen guards along with him. Boys, they's going to be forty thousanddollars in that safe! And the minute she gets out of the county--becauseold McGuire will guard it to the boundary line--we can lay back in thehills and--"

"You done enough planning, Sandy, " broke in Joe Pollard. "You've smelledout the loot. Leave it to us to get it. Did you say forty thousand?"

And on every face around the table Terry saw the same hunger and the sameyellow glint of the eyes. It would be a big haul, one of the biggest, ifnot the very biggest, Pollard had ever attempted. 

Of the talk that followed, Terry heard little, because he was payingscant attention. He saw Joe Pollard lie back in his chair with squintedeyes and run over a swift description of the country through which thetrail of the money would lead. The leader knew every inch of themountains, it seemed. His memory was better than a map; in it was jotteddown every fallen log, every boulder, it seemed. And when his mind wasfixed on the best spot for the holdup, he sketched his plan briefly. 

To this man and to that, parts were assigned in brief. There would bemore to say in the morning about the details. And every man offeredsuggestions. On only one point were they agreed. This was a sum of moneyfor which they could well afford to spill blood. For such a prize as thisthey could well risk making the countryside so hot for themselves thatthey would have to leave Pollard's house and establish headquarterselsewhere. Two shares to Pollard and one to each of his men, includingSandy, would make the total loot some four thousand dollars and more perman. And in the event that someone fell in the attempt, which was morethan probable, the share for the rest would be raised to ten thousand forPollard and five thousand for each of the rest. Terry saw cold glancespass the rounds, and more than one dwelt upon him. He was the last tojoin; if there were to be a death in this affair, he would be the leastmissed of all. 

A sharp order from Pollard terminated the conference and sent his men tobed, with Pollard setting the example. But Terry lingered behind andcalled back Denver. 

"There is one point, " he said when they were alone, "that it seems to methe chief has overlooked. "

"Talk up, kid, " grinned Denver Pete. "I seen you was thinking. It suredoes me good to hear you talk. What's on your mind? Where was Joe wrong?"

"Not wrong, perhaps. But he overlooked this fact: tonight the safe isguarded by three men only; tomorrow it will be guarded by six. "

Denver stared, and then blinked. 

"You mean, try the safe right in town, inside the old bank? Son, youdon't know the gents in this town. They sleep with a gat under every headand ears that hear a pin drop in the next room--right while they'resnoring. They dream about fighting and they wake up ready to shoot. "

Terry smiled at this outburst. 

"How long has it been since there was a raid on McGuire's town?"

"Dunno. Don't remember anybody being that foolish"

"Then it's been so long that it'll give us a chance. It's been so longthat the three men on guard tonight will be half asleep. "

"I dunno but you're right. Why didn't you speak up in company? I'll callthe chief and--"

"Wait, " said Terry, laying a hand on the round, hard-muscled shoulder ofthe yegg. "I had a purpose in waiting. Seven men are too many to takeinto a town. "

"Eh?"

"Two men might surprise three. But seven men are more apt to besurprised. "

"Two ag'in' three ain't such bad odds, pal. But--the first gun that pops, we'll have the whole town on our backs. "

"Then we'll have to do it without shooting. You understand, Denver?"

Denver scratched his head. Plainly he was uneasy; plainly, also, he wasmore and more fascinated by the idea. 

"You and me to turn the trick alone?" he whispered out of the side of hismouth in a peculiar, confidentially guilty way that was his when he wasexcited. "Kid, I begin to hear the old Black Jack talk in you! I begin tohear him talk! I knew it would come!"

CHAPTER 34

An hour's ride brought them to the environs of the little town. But itwas already nearly the middle of night and the village was black;whatever life waked at that hour had been drawn into the vortex ofPedro's. And Pedro's was a place of silence. Terry and Denver skirteddown the back of the town and saw the broad windows of Pedro's, againstwhich passed a moving silhouette now and again, but never a voice floatedout to them. 

Otherwise the town was dead. They rode until they were at the otherextremity of the main street. Here, according to Denver, was the bankwhich had never in its entire history been the scene of an attemptedraid. They threw the reins of their horses after drawing almostperilously close. 

"Because if we get what we want, " said Terry, "it will be too heavy tocarry far. "

And Denver agreed, though they had come so close that from the back ofthe bank it must have been possible to make out the outlines of thehorses. The bank itself was a broad, dumpy building with adobe walls, whose corners had been washed and rounded by time to shapelessness. Thewalls angled in as they rose; the roof was flat. As for the position, itcould not have been worse. A dwelling abutted on either side of the bank. The second stories of those dwellings commanded the roof of the bank; andthe front and back porches commanded the front and back entrances of thebuilding. 

The moment they had dismounted, Terry and Denver stood a whilemotionless. There was no doubt, even before they approached nearer, aboutthe activity and watchfulness of the guards who took care of the newdeposit in the bank. Across the back wall of the building drifted ashadowy outline--a guard marching steadily back and forth and keepingsentry watch. 

"A stiff job, son, " muttered Denver. "I told you these birds wouldn'tsleep with more'n one eye; and they's a few that's got 'em both open. "

But there was no wavering in Terry. The black stillness of the night; thesoundless, slowly moving figure across the wall of the building; thehush, the stars, and the sense of something to be done stimulated him, filled him with a giddy happiness such as he had never known before. Crime? It was no crime to Terry Hollis, but a great and delightful game. 

Suddenly he regretted the very presence of Denver Pete. He wanted to bealone with this adventure, match his cunning and his strength againstwhoever guarded the money of old Lewison, the miser. 

"Stay here, " he whispered in the ear of Denver. "Keep quiet. I'm going toslip over there and see what's what. Be patient. It may take a longtime. "

Denver nodded. 

"Better let me come along. In case--"

"Your job is opening that safe; my job is to get you to it in safety andget you away again with the stuff. " Denver shrugged his shoulders. It wasmuch in the method of famous old Black Jack himself. There were so manyfeatures of similarity between the methods of the boy and his father thatit seemed to Denver that the ghost of the former man had stepped into thebody of his son. 

In the meantime Terry faded into the dark. His plan of approach wasperfectly simple. The house to the right of the bank was painted blue. Against that dark background no figure stood out clearly. Instead ofcreeping close to the ground to get past the guard at the rear of thebuilding, he chose his time when the watcher had turned from the nearestend of his beat and was walking in the opposite direction. The momentthat happened, Terry strode forward as lightly and rapidly as possible. 

Luckily the ground was quite firm. It had once been planted with grass, and though the grass had died, its roots remained densely enough to forma firm matting, and there was no telltale crunching of the sandunderfoot. Even so, some slight sound made the guard pause abruptly inthe middle of his walk and whirl toward Terry. Instead of attempting tohide by dropping down to the ground, it came to Terry that the leastmotion in the dark would serve to make him visible. He simply halted atthe same moment that the guard halted and trusted to the dark backgroundof the house which was now beside him to make him invisible. Apparentlyhe was justified. After a moment the guard turned and resumed his pacing, and Terry slipped on into the narrow walk between the bank and theadjoining house on the right. 

He had hoped for a side window. There was no sign of one. Nothing but thesheer, sloping adobe wall, probably of great thickness, and burned to thedensity of soft stone. So he came to the front of the building, and sodoing, almost ran into a second guard, who paced down the front of thebank just as the first kept watch over the rear entrance. Terry flattenedhimself against the side wall and held his breath. But the guard had seennothing and, turning again at the end of his beat, went back in theopposite direction, a tall, gaunt man--so much Terry could make out evenin the dark, and his heel fell with the heaviness of age. Perhaps thiswas Lewison himself. 

The moment he was turned, Terry peered around the corner at the front ofthe building. There were two windows, one close to his corner and one onthe farther side of the door. Both were lighted, but the farther one sodimly that it was apparent the light came from one source, and thatsource directly behind the window nearest Terry. He ventured one long, stealthy pace, and peered into the window. 

As he had suspected, the interior of the bank was one large room. Half ofit was fenced off with steel bars that terminated in spikes at the top asthough, ludicrously, they were meant to keep one from climbing over. Behind this steel fencing were the safes of the bank. Outside the fenceat a table, with a lamp between them, two men were playing cards. And thelamplight glinted on the rusty old safe which stood a little at one side. 

Certainly old Lewison was guarding his money well. The hopes of Terrydisappeared, and as Lewison was now approaching the far end of his beat, Terry glided back into the walk between the buildings and crouched there. He needed time and thought sadly. 

As far as he could make out, the only two approaches to the bank, frontand rear, were thoroughly guarded. Not only that, but once inside thebank, one would encounter the main obstacle, which consisted of twoheavily armed men sitting in readiness at the table. If there were anysolution to the problem, it must be found in another examination of theroom. 

Again the tall old man reached the end of his beat nearest Terry, turnedwith military precision and went back. Terry slipped out and wasinstantly at the window again. All was as before. One of the guards hadlaid down his cards to light a cigarette, and dense clouds of smokefloated above his head. That partial obscurity annoyed Terry. It seemedas if the luck were playing directly against him. However, the smokebegan to clear rapidly. When it had mounted almost beyond the strongestinner circle of the lantern light, it rose with a sudden impetus, asthough drawn up by an electric fan. Terry wondered at it, and squintedtoward the ceiling, but the ceiling was lost in shadow. 

He returned to his harborage between the two buildings for a freshsession of thought. And then his idea came to him. Only one thing couldhave sucked that straight upward so rapidly, and that was either a fan--which was ridiculous--or else a draught of air passing through anopening in the ceiling. 

Unquestionably that was the case. Two windows, small as they were, wouldnever serve adequately to ventilate the big single room of the bank. Nodoubt there was a skylight in the roof of the building and anotheraperture in the floor of the loft. 

At least that was the supposition upon which he must act, or else not actat all. He went back as he had come, passed the rear guard easily, andfound Denver unmoved beside the heads Of the horses. 

"Denver, " he said, "we've got to get to the roof of that bank, and theonly way we can reach it is through the skylight. "

"Skylight?" echoed Denver. "Didn't know there was one. " "There has tobe, " said Terry, with surety. "Can you force a door in one of thosehouses so we can get to the second story of one of 'em and drop to theroof?"

"Force nothing, " whispered Denver. "They don't know what locks on doorsmean around here. "

And he was right. 

They circled in a broad detour and slipped onto the back porch of theblue house; the guard at the rear of the bank was whistling softly as hewalked. 

"Instead of watchdogs they keep doors with rusty hinges, " said Denver ashe turned the knob, and the door gave an inch inward. "And I dunno whichis worst. But watch this, bo!"

And he began to push the door slowly inward. There was never a slackeningor an increase in the speed with which his hand travelled. It took him afull five minutes to open the door a foot and a half. They slippedinside, but Denver called Terry back as the latter began to feel his wayacross the kitchen. 

"Wait till I close this door. "

"But why?" whispered Terry. 

"Might make a draught--might wake up one of these birds. And there youare. That's the one rule of politeness for a burglar, Terry. Close thedoors after you!"

And the door was closed with fully as much caution and slowness as hadbeen used when it was opened. Then Denver took the lead again. He wentacross the kitchen as though he could see in the dark, and then among thetangle of chairs in the dining room beyond. Terry followed in his wake, taking care to step, as nearly as possible, in the same places. But forall that, Denver continually turned in an agony of anger and whisperedcurses at the noisy clumsiness of his companion--yet to Terry it seemedas though both of them were not making a sound. 

The stairs to the second story presented a difficult climb. Denver showedhim how to walk close to the wall, for there the weight of their bodieswould act with less leverage on the boards and there would be far lesschance of causing squeaks. Even then the ascent was not noiseless. Thedry air had warped the timber sadly, and there was a continual processionof murmurs underfoot as they stole to the top of the stairs. 

To Terry, his senses growing superhumanly acute as they entered more andmore into the heart of their danger, it seemed that those whispers of thestairs might serve to waken a hundred men out of sound sleep; in realitythey were barely audible. 

In the hall a fresh danger met them. A lamp hung from the ceiling, theflame turned down for the night. And by that uneasy light Terry made outthe face of Denver, white, strained, eager, and the little bright eyesforever glinting back and forth. He passed a side mirror and his own facewas dimly visible. It brought him erect with a squeak of the flooringthat made Denver whirl and shake his fist. 

For what Terry had seen was the same expression that had been on the faceof his companion--the same animal alertness, the same hungry eagerness. But the fierce gesture of Denver brought him back to the work at hand. 

There were three rooms on the side of the hall nearest the bank. Andevery door was closed. Denver tried the nearest door first, and theopening was done with the same caution and slowness which had marked theopening of the back door of the house. He did not even put his headthrough the opening, but presently the door was closed and Denverreturned. 

"Two, " he whispered. 

He could only have told by hearing the sounds of two breathing; Terrywondered quietly. The man seemed possessed of abnormal senses. It wasstrange to see that bulky, burly, awkward body become now a sensitiveorganism, possessed of a dangerous grace in the darkness. 

The second door was opened in the same manner. Then the third, and in themidst of the last operation a man coughed. Instinctively Terry reachedfor the handle of his gun, but Denver went on gradually closing the dooras if nothing had happened. He came back to Terry. 

"Every room got sleepers in it, " he said. "And the middle room has got aman who's awake. We'll have to beat it. "

"We'll stay where we are, " said Terry calmly, "for thirty minutes--byguess. That'll give him time to go asleep. Then we'll go through one ofthose rooms and drop to the roof of the bank. "

The yegg cursed softly. "Are you trying to hang me?" he gasped. 

"Sit down, " said Terry. "It's easier to wait that way. "

And they sat cross-legged on the floor of the hall. Once the springs of abed creaked as someone turned in it heavily. Once there was a voice--oneof the sleepers must have spoken without waking. Those two noises, and nomore, and yet they remained for what seemed two hours to Terry, but whathe knew could not be more than twenty minutes. 

"Now, " he said to Denver, "we start. "

"Through one of them rooms and out the windows--without waking anybodyup?"

"You can do it. And I'll do it because I have to. Go on. "

He heard the teeth of Denver grit, as though the yegg were being drivenon into this madcap venture merely by a pride which would not allow himto show less courage--even rash courage--than his companion. 

The door opened--Denver went inside and was soaked up--a shadow amongshadows. Terry followed and stepped instantly into the presence of thesleeper. He could tell it plainly. There was no sound of breathing, though no doubt that was plain to the keen ear of Denver--but it wassomething more than sound or sight. It was like feeling a soul--thatimpalpable presence in the night. A ghostly and a thrilling thing toTerry Hollis. 

Now, against the window on the farther side of the room, he made out thedim outline of Denver's chunky shoulders and shapeless hat. Luckily thewindow was open to its full height. Presently Terry stood beside Denverand they looked down. The roof of the bank was only some four feet belowthem, but it was also a full three feet in distance from the side of thehouse. Terry motioned the yegg back and began to slip through the window. It was a long and painful process, for at any moment a button might catchor his gun scrape--and the least whisper would ruin everything. Atlength, he hung from his arms at full length. Glancing down, he faintlysaw Lewison turn at the end of his beat. Why did not the fool look up?

With that thought he drew up his feet, secured a firm purchase against theside of the house, raised himself by the ledge, and then flung himselfout into the air with the united effort of arms and legs. 

He let himself go loose and relaxed in the air, shot down, and felt theroof take his weight lightly, landing on his toes. He had not only madethe leap, but he had landed a full foot and a half in from the edge ofthe roof. 

Compared with the darkness of the interior of the house, everything onthe outside was remarkably light now. He could see Denver at the windowshaking his head. Then the professional slipped over the sill withpracticed ease, dangled at arm's length, and flung himself out with aquick thrust of his feet against the wall. 

The result was that while his feet were flung away far enough and tospare, the body of Denver inclined forward. He seemed bound to strike theroof with his feet and then drop head first into the alley below. Terryset his teeth with a groan, but as he did so, Denver whirled in the airlike a cat. His body straightened, his feet barely secured a toehold onthe edge of the roof. The strong arm of Terry jerked him in to safety. 

For a moment they stood close together, Denver panting. 

He was saying over and over again: "Never again. I ain't any acrobat, Black Jack!"

That name came easily on his lips now. 

Once on the roof it was simple enough to find what they wanted. There wasa broad skylight of dark green glass propped up a foot or more above thelevel of the rest of the flat roof. Beside it Terry dropped upon hisknees and pushed his head under the glass. All below was pitchy-black, but he distinctly caught the odor of Durham tobacco smoke. 

CHAPTER 35

That scent of smoke was a clear proof that there was an open way throughthe loft to the room of the bank below them. But would the opening belarge enough to admit the body of a man? Only exploring could show that. He sat back on the roof and put on the mask with which the all-thoughtfulDenver had provided him. A door banged somewhere far down the street, loudly. Someone might be making a hurried and disgusted exit fromPedro's. He looked quietly around him. After his immersion in the thickdarkness of the house, the outer night seemed clear and the stars burnedlow through the thin mountain air. Denver's face was black under theshadow of his hat. 

"How are you, kid--shaky?" he whispered. 

Shaky? It surprised Terry to feel that he had forgotten about fear. Hehad been wrapped in a happiness keener than anything he had known before. Yet the scheme was far from accomplished. The real danger was barelybeginning. Listening keenly, he could hear the sand crunch underfoot ofthe watcher who paced in front of the building; one of the cardplayerslaughed from the room below--a faint, distant sound. 

"Don't worry about me, " he told Denver, and, securing a strong fingerholdon the edge of the ledge, he dropped his full length into the darknessunder the skylight. 

His tiptoes grazed the floor beneath, and letting his fingers slide offtheir purchase, he lowered himself with painful care so that his heelsmight not jar on the flooring. Then he held his breath--but there was nocreaking of the loft floor. 

That made the adventure more possible. An ill-laid floor would have setup a ruinous screeching as he moved, however carefully, across it. Now hewhispered up to Denver. The latter instantly slid down and Terry caughtthe solid bulk of the man under the armpits and lowered him carefully. 

"A rotten rathole, " snarled Denver to his companion in that inimitable, guarded whisper. "How we ever coming back this way--in a hurry?"

It thrilled Terry to hear that appeal--an indirect surrendering of theleadership to him. Again he led the way, stealing toward a ghost of lightthat issued upward from the center of the floor. Presently he could lookdown through it. 

It was an ample square, a full three feet across. Below, and a littlemore than a pace to the side, was the table of the cardplayers. As nearlyas he could measure, through the misleading wisps and drifts of cigarettesmoke, the distance to the floor was not more than ten feet--an easy dropfor a man hanging by his fingers. 

Denver came to his side, silent as a snake. 

"Listen, " whispered Terry, cupping a hand around his lips and leaningclose to the ear of Denver so that the least thread of sound would besufficient. "I'm going to cover those two from this place. When I havethem covered, you slip through the opening and drop to the floor. Don'tstand still, but softfoot it over to the wall. Then cover them with yourgun while I come down. The idea is this. Outside that window there's asecond guard walking up and down. He can look through and see the tablewhere they're playing, but he can't see the safe against the wall. Aslong as he sees those two sitting there playing their cards, he'll besure that everything is all right. Well, Denver, he's going to keep onseeing them sitting at their game--but in the meantime you're going tomake your preparations for blowing the safe. Can you do it? Is your nerveup to it?"

Even the indomitable Denver paused before answering. The chances ofsuccess in this novel game were about one in ten. Only shame to beoutbraved by his younger companion and pupil made him nod and mutter hisassent. 

That mutter, strangely, was loud enough to reach to the room below. Terrysaw one of the men look up sharply, and at the same moment he pulled hisgun and shoved it far enough through the gap for the light to catch onits barrel. 

"Sit tight!" he ordered them in a cutting whisper. "Not a move, myfriends!"

There was a convulsive movement toward a gun on the part of the firstman, but the gesture was frozen midway; the second man looked up, gaping, ludicrous in astonishment. But Terry was in no mood to see theridiculous. 

"Look down again!" he ordered brusquely. "Keep on with that game. And themoment one of you goes for a gun--the minute one of you makes a sign or asound to reach the man in front of the house, I drill you both. Is thatclear?"

The neck of the man who was nearest to him swelled as though he werelifting a great weight with his head; no doubt he was battling withshrewd temptations to spring to one side and drive a bullet at therobbers above him. But prudence conquered. He began to deal, laying outthe cards with mechanical, stiff motions. 

"Now, " said Terry to Denver. 

Denver was through the opening in a flash and dropped to the floor belowwith a thud. Then he leaped away toward the wall out of sight of Terry. Suddenly a loud, nasal voice spoke through one of the front windows:

"What was that, boys?"

Terry caught his breath. He dared not whisper advice to those men at thetable for fear his voice might carry to the guard who was apparentlyleaning at the window outside. But the dealer jerked his head for aninstant toward the direction in which Denver had disappeared. Evidentlythe yegg was silently communicating imperious instructions, for presentlythe dealer said, in a voice natural enough: "Nothing happened, Lewison. Ijust moved my chair; that was all, I figure. "

"I dunno, " growled Lewison. "I been waiting for something to happen forso long that I begin to hear things and suspect things where they ain'tnothing at all. "

And, still mumbling, his voice passed away. 

Terry followed Denver's example, dropping through the opening; but, morecautious, he relaxed his leg muscles, so that he landed in a bunchedheap, without sound, and instantly joined Denver on the farther side ofthe room. Lewison's gaunt outline swept past the window at the samemoment. 

He found that he had estimated viewpoints accurately enough. From onlythe right-hand window could Lewison see into the interior of the room andmake out his two guards at the table. And it was only by actually leaningthrough the window that he would be able to see the safe beside whichTerry and Denver stood. 

"Start!" said Terry, and Denver deftly laid out a little kit and twosmall packages. With incredible speed he began to make his molding ofsoft soap around the crack of the safe door. Terry turned his back on hiscompanion and gave his undivided attention to the two at the table. 

Their faces were odd studies in suppressed shame and rage. The muscleswere taut; their hands shook with the cards. 

"You seem kind of glum, boys!" broke in the voice of Lewison at thewindow. 

Terry flattened himself against the wall and jerked up his gun--a warningflash which seemed to be reflected by the glint in the eyes of the red-headed man facing him. The latter turned slowly to the window. 

"Oh, we're all right, " he drawled. "Kind of getting wearying, thiswatch. "

"Mind you, " crackled the uncertain voice of Lewison, "five dollars if youkeep on the job till morning. No, six dollars, boys!"

He brought out the last words in the ringing voice of one making agenerous sacrifice, and Terry smiled behind his mask. Lewison passed onagain. Forcing all his nerve power into the faculty of listening, Terrycould tell by the crunching of the sand how the owner of the safe wentfar from the window and turned again toward it. 

"Start talking, " he commanded softly of the men at the table. 

"About what?" answered the red-haired man through his teeth. "About what, damn you!"

"Tell a joke, " ordered Terry. 

The other scowled down at his hand of cards--and then obeyed. 

"Ever hear about how Rooney--"

The voice was hard at the beginning; then, in spite of the levelled gunwhich covered him, the red-haired man became absorbed in the interest ofthe tale. He began to labor to win a smile from his companion. That wouldbe something worthwhile--something to tell about afterward; how he madePat laugh while a pair of bandits stood in a corner with guns on them!

In his heart Terry admired that red-haired man's nerve. The next timeLewison passed the window, he darted out and swiftly went the rounds ofthe table, relieving each man of his weapon. He returned to his place. Pat had broken into hearty laughter. 

"That's it!" cried Lewison, passing the window again. "Laughin' keeps agent awake. That's the stuff, Red!" A time of silence came, with only thefaint noises of Denver at his rapid work. 

"Suppose they was to rush the bank, even?" said Lewison on his next trippast the window. 

"Who's they?" asked Red, and looked steadily into the mouth of Terry'sgun. 

"Why, them that wants my money. Money that I slaved and worked for all mylife! Oh, I know they's a lot of crooked thieves that would like to layhands on it. But I'm going to fool 'em, Red. Never lost a cent of moneyin all my born days, and I ain't going to form the habit this late inlife. I got too much to live for!"

And he went on his way muttering. 

"Ready!" said Denver. 

"Red, " whispered Terry, "how's the money put into the safe?"

The big, red-haired fellow fought him silently with his eyes. 

"I dunno!"

"Red, " said Terry swiftly, "you and your friend are a dead weight on usjust now. And there's one quick, convenient way of getting rid of you. Talk out, my friend. Tell us how that money is stowed. "

Red flushed, the veins in the center of his forehead swelling under arush of blood to the head. He was silent. 

It was Pat who weakened, shuddering. 

"Stowed in canvas sacks, boys. And some paper money. "

The news of the greenbacks was welcome, for a large sum of gold would bean elephant's burden to them in their flight. 

"Wait, " Terry directed Denver. The latter kneeled by his fuse untilLewison passed far down the end of his beat. Terry stepped to the doorand dropped the bolt. 

"Now!" he commanded. 

He had planned his work carefully. The loose strips of cords which Denverhad put into his pocket--"nothing so handy as strong twine, " he hadsaid--were already drawn out. And the minute he had given the signal, hesprang for the men at the table, backed them into a corner, and tiedtheir hands behind their backs. 

The fuse was sputtering. 

"Put out the light!" whispered Denver. It was done--a leap and a puff ofbreath, and then Terry had joined the huddled group of men at the fartherend of the room. 

"Hey!" called Lewison. "What's happened to the light? What the hell--"

His voice boomed out loudly at them as he thrust his head through thewindow into the darkness. He caught sight of the red, flickering end ofthe fuse. 

His voice, grown shrill and sharp, was chopped off by the explosion. Itwas a noise such as Terry had never heard before--like a tremendouslycondensed and powerful puff of wind. There was not a sharp jar, but hefelt an invisible pressure against his body, taking his breath. The soundof the explosion was dull, muffled, thick. The door of the safe crushedinto the flooring. 

Terry had nerved himself for two points of attack--Lewison from the frontof the building, and the guard at the rear. But Lewison did not yell forhelp. He had been dangerously close to the explosion and the shock to hisnerves, perhaps some dislodged missile, had flung him senseless on thesand outside the bank. 

But from the rear of the building came a dull shout; then the door besidewhich Terry stood was dragged open--he struck with all his weight, driving his fist fairly into the face of the man, and feeling theknuckles cut through flesh and lodge against the cheekbone. The guardwent down in the middle of a cry and did not stir. Terry leaned to shakehis arm--the man was thoroughly stunned. He paused only to scoop up thefallen revolver which the fellow had been carrying, and fling it into thenight. Then he turned back into the dark bank, with Red and Pat cursingin frightened unison as they cowered against the wall behind him. 

The air was thick with an ill-smelling smoke, like that of a partiallysnuffed candle. Then he saw a circle of light spring out from theelectric lantern of Denver and fall on the partially wrecked safe. And itglinted on yellow. One of the sacks had been slit and the contents wererunning out onto the floor like golden water. 

Over it stooped the shadow of Denver, and Terry was instantly beside him. They were limp little sacks, marvellously ponderous, and the chill of themetal struck through the canvas to the hand. The searchlight flickeredhere and there--it found the little drawer which was wrenched open andDenver's stubby hand came out, choked with greenbacks. 

"Now away!" snarled Denver. And his voice shook and quaked; it remindedTerry of the whine of a dog half-starved and come upon meat--a savage, subdued sound. 

There was another sound from the street where old Lewison was coming tohis senses--a gasping, sound, and then a choked cry: "Help!"

His senses and his voice seemed to return to him with a rush. His shrieksplit through the darkness of the room like a ray of light probing tofind the guilty: "Thieves! Help!"

The yell gave strength to Terry. He caught some of the burden that wasstaggering Denver into his own arms and floundered through the rear doorinto the blessed openness of the night. His left arm carried the crushingburden of the canvas sacks--in his right hand was the gun--but no formshowed behind him. 

But there were voices beginning. The yells of Lewison had struck outechoes up and down the street. Terry could hear shouts begin insidehouses in answer, and bark out with sudden clearness as a door or awindow was opened. 

They reached the horses, dumped the precious burdens into the saddlebags, and mounted. 

"Which way?" gasped Denver. 

A light flickered in the bank; half a dozen men spilled out of the backdoor, cursing and shouting. 

"Walk your horse, " said Terry. "Walk it--you fool!"

Denver had let his horse break into a trot. He drew it back to a walk atthis hushed command. 

"They won't see us unless we start at a hard gallop, " continued Terry. "They won't watch for slowly moving objects now. Besides, it'll be tenminutes before the sheriff has a posse organized. And that's the onlything we have to fear. "

CHAPTER 36

They drifted past the town, quickening to a soft trot after a moment, andthen to a faster trot--El Sangre was gliding along at a steady pace. 

"Not back to the house!" said Denver with an oath, when they straightenedback to the house of Pollard. "That's the first place McGuire will look, after what you said to him the other night. "

"That's where I want him to look, " answered Terry, "and that's wherehe'll find me. Pollard will hide the coin and we'll get one of the boysto take our sweaty horses over the hills. We can tell McGuire that thetwo horses have been put out to pasture, if he asks. But he mustn't findhot horses in the stable. Certainly McGuire will strike for the house. But what will he find?"

He laughed joyously. 

Suddenly the voice of Denver cut in softly, insinuatingly. 

"You dope it that he'll cut for the house of Pollard? So do I. Now, kid, why not go another direction--and keep on going? What right have Pollardand the others to cut in on this coin? You and me, kid, can--"

"I don't hear you, Denver, " interrupted Terry. "I don't hear you. Wewouldn't have known where to find the stuff if it hadn't been forPollard's friend Sandy. They get their share--but you can have my part, Denver. I'm not doing this for money; it's only an object lesson to thatfat-headed sheriff. I'd pay twice this price for the sake of the littletalk I'm going to have with him later on tonight. "

"All right--Black Jack, " muttered Denver. For it seemed to him that thevoice of the lost leader had spoken. "Play the fool, then, kid. But--let's feed these skates the spur! The town's boiling!"

Indeed, there was a dull roar behind them. 

"No danger, " chuckled Terry. "McGuire knows perfectly well that I've donethis. And because he knows that, and he knows that I know it, he'llstrike in the opposite direction to Pollard's house. He'll never dreamthat I would go right back to Pollard and sit down under the famous noseof McGuire!"

The dawn was brightening over the mountains above them, and the skylinewas ragged with forest. A free country for free men--like the old BlackJack and the new. A short life, perhaps, but a full one. 

The coming of the day showed Denver's face weary and drawn. Those momentsin the bank, surrounded by danger, had been nerve-racking even to hisexperience. But to him it was a business, and to Terry it was a game. Hefelt a qualm of pity for Lewison--but, after all, the man was a wolf, selfish, accumulating money to no purpose, useless to the world. Heshrugged the thought of Lewison away. 

It was close to sunrise when they reached the house, and having put upthe horses, staggered in and called to Johnny to bring them coffee; hewas already rattling at the kitchen stove. Then, with a shout, theybrought Pollard himself stumbling down from the balcony rubbing the sleepout of his eyes. They threw the money down before him. 

He was stupefied, and then his big lion's voice went booming with thecall for his men. Terry did not wait; he stretched himself with a greatyawn and made for his bed, and passed Phil Marvin and the others hurryingdownstairs to answer the summons. Kate Pollard came also. She paused ashe went by her and he saw her eyes go down to his dusty boots, with theleather polished where the stirrup had chafed, then flashed back to hisface. 

"You, Terry!" she whispered. 

But he went by her with a wave of the hand. 

The girl went on down to the big room. They were gathered already, abright-eyed, hungry-faced crew of men. Gold was piled across the table infront of them. Slim Dugan had been ordered to go to the highest window ofthe house and keep watch for the coming of the expected posse. In themeantime the others counted the money, ranging it in bright littlestacks; and Denver told the tale. 

He took a little more credit to himself than was his due. But it was hispart to pay a tribute to Terry. For was it not he who had brought the sonof Black Jack among them?

"And of all the close squeezes I ever been in, " concluded Denver, "thatwas the closest. And of all the nervy, cold-eyed guys I ever see, BlackJack's kid takes the cake. Never a quiver all the time. And when hewhispered, them two guys at the table jumped. He meant business, and theyknew it. "

The girl listened. Her eye alone was not upon the money, but fixed faroff, at thin distance. 

"Thirty-five thousand gold, " announced Pollard, with a break ofexcitement in his voice, "and seventeen thousand three hundred andeighty-two in paper. Boys, the richest haul we ever made! And the coolestdeal all the way through. Which I say, Denver and Terry--Terryparticular--gets extra shares for what they done!"

And there was a chorus of hearty approval. The voice of Denver cut itshort. 

"Terry don't want none. No, boys, knock me dead if he does. Can you beatit? 'I did it to keep my word, ' he says, 'with the sheriff. You can havemy share, Denver. '

"And he sticks on it. It's a game with him, boys. He plays at it like abig kid!"

In the hush of astonishment, the eyes of Kate misted. Something in thatlast speech had stung her cruelly. Something had to be done, and quickly, to save young Terry Hollis. But what power could influence him?

It was that thought which brought her to the hope for a solution. A veryvague and faraway hope to which she clung and which unravelled slowly inher imagination. Before she left the kitchen, her plan was made, andimmediately after breakfast, she went to her room and dressed for a longjourney. 

"I'm going over the hills to visit the Stockton girls, " she told herfather. "Be gone a few days. "

His mind was too filled with hope for the future to understand her. Henodded idly, and she was gone. 

She roped the toughest mustang of her "string" in the corral, and tenminutes later she was jogging down the trail. Halfway down a confusedgroup of riders--some dozen in all--swarmed up out of the lower trail. Sheriff McGuire rode out on a sweating horse that told of fierce and longriding and stopped her. 

His salutation was brief; he plunged into the heart of his questions. Hadshe noticed anything unusual this morning? Which of the men had beenabsent from the house last night? Particularly, who went out with BlackJack's kid?

"Nobody left the house, " she said steadily. "Not a soul. "

And she kept a blank eye on the sheriff while he bit his lip and studiedher. 

"Kate, " he said at length, "I don't blame you for not talking. I don'tsuppose I would in your place. But your dad has about reached the end ofthe rope with us. If you got any influence, try to change him, because ifhe don't do it by his own will, he's going to be changed by force!"

And he rode on up the trail, followed by the silent string of riders ontheir grunting, tired horses. She gave them only a careless glance. JoePollard had baffled officers of the law before, and he would do it again. That was not her great concern on this day. 

Down the trail she sent her mustang again, and broke him out into a stiffgallop on the level ground below. She headed straight through the town, and found a large group collected in and around the bank building. Theyturned and looked after her, but no one spoke a greeting. Plainly thesheriff's suspicions were shared by others. 

She shook that shadow out of her head and devoted her entire attention tothe trail which roughened and grew narrow on the other side of the town. Far away across the mountains lay her goal--the Cornish ranch. 

CHAPTER 37

When she first glimpsed Bear Valley from the summits of the BlueMountains, it seemed to her a small paradise. And as she rode lower andlower among the hills, the impression gathered strength. So she came outonto the road and trotted her cow-pony slowly under the beautifulbranches of the silver spruce, and saw the bright tree shadows reflectedin Bear Creek. Surely here was a place of infinite quiet, made forhappiness. A peculiar ache and sense of emptiness entered her heart, andthe ghost of Terry Hollis galloped soundlessly beside her on flaming ElSangre through the shadow. It seemed to her that she could understand himmore easily. His had been a sheltered and pleasant life here, halfdreamy; and when he wakened into a world of stern reality and stern men, he was still playing at a game like a boy--as Denver Pete had said. 

She came out into view of the house. And again she paused. It was like apalace to Kate, that great white facade and the Doric columns of theveranda. She had always thought that the house of her father was a bigand stable house; compared with this, it was a shack, a lean-to, averitable hovel. And the confidence which had been hers during the hardride of two days across the mountains grew weaker. How could she talk tothe woman who owned such an establishment as this? How could she evengain access to her?

On a broad, level terrace below the house men were busy with plows andscrapers smoothing the ground; she circled around them, and brought herhorse to a stop before the veranda. Two men sat on it, one white-haired, hawk-faced, spreading a broad blueprint before the other; and this manwas middle-aged, with a sleek, young face. A very good-looking fellow, she thought. 

"Maybe you-all could tell me, " said Kate Pollard, lounging in the saddle, "where I'll find the lady that owns this here place?"

It seemed to her that the sleek-faced man flushed a little. 

"If you wish to talk to the owner, " he said crisply, and barely touchinghis hat to her, "I'll do your business. What is it? Cattle lost over theBlue Mountains again? No strays have come down into the valley. "

"I'm not here about cattle, " she answered curtly enough. "I'm here abouta man. "

"H'm, " said the other. "A man?" His attention quickened. "What man?"

"Terry Hollis. "

She could see him start. She could also see that he endeavored to concealit. And she did not know whether she liked or disliked that quick startand flush. There was something either of guilt or of surprise remarkablystrong in it. He rose from his chair, leaving the blueprint fluttering inthe hands of his companion alone. 

"I am Vance Cornish, " he told her. She could feel his eyes prying at heras though he were trying to get at her more accurately. "What's Hollisbeen up to now?"

He turned and explained carelessly to his companion: "That's the youngscapegrace I told you about, Waters. Been raising Cain again, I suppose. "He faced the girl again. 

"A good deal of it, " she answered. "Yes, he's been making quite a bit oftrouble. "

"I'm sorry for that, really, " said Vance. "But we are not responsible forhim. "

"I suppose you ain't, " said Kate Pollard slowly. "But I'd like to talk tothe lady of the house. "

"Very sorry, " and again he looked in his sharp way--like a fox, shethought--and then glanced away as though there were no interest in her orher topic. "Very sorry, but my sister is in--er--critically declininghealth. I'm afraid she cannot see you. "

This repulse made Kate thoughtful. She was not used to such bluff talkfrom men, however smooth or rough the exterior might be. And under thequiet of Vance she sensed an opposition like a stone wall. 

"I guess you ain't a friend of Terry's?"

"I'd hardly like to put it strongly one way or the other. I know the boy, if that's what you mean. "

"It ain't. " She considered him again. And again she was secretly pleasedto see him stir under the cool probe of her eyes. "How long did you livewith Terry?"

"He was with us twenty-four years. " He turned and explained casually toWaters. "He was taken in as a foundling, you know. Quite against myadvice. And then, at the end of the twenty-four years, the bad blood ofhis father came out, and he showed himself in his true colors. Fearfulwaste of time to us all--of course, we had to turn him out. "

"Of course, " nodded Waters sympathetically, and he looked wistfully downat his blueprint. 

"Twenty-four years you lived with Terry, " said the girl softly, "and youdon't like him, I see. "

Instantly and forever he was damned in her eyes. Anyone who could livetwenty-four years with Terry Hollis and not discover his fineness wasbeneath contempt. 

"I'll tell you, " she said. "I've _got_ to see Miss Elizabeth Cornish. "

"H'm!" said Vance. "I'm afraid not. But--just what have you to tell her?"

The girl smiled. 

"If I could tell you that, I wouldn't have to see her. "

He rubbed his chin with his knuckles, staring at the floor of theveranda, and now and then raising quick glances at her. Plainly he wassuspicious. Plainly, also, he was tempted in some manner. 

"Something he's done, eh? Some yarn about Terry?"

It was quite plain that this man actually wanted her to have somethingunpleasant to say about Terry. Instantly she suited herself to his mood;for he was the door through which she must pass to see Elizabeth Cornish. 

"Bad?" she said, hardening her expression as much as possible. "Well, badenough. A killing to begin with. "

There was a gleam in his eyes--a gleam of positive joy, she was sure, though he banished it at once and shook his head in deprecation. 

"Well, well! As bad as that? I suppose you may see my sister. For amoment. Just a moment. She is not well. I wish I could understand yourpurpose!"

The last was more to himself than to her. But she was already off herhorse. The man with the blueprint glared at her, and she passed acrossthe veranda and into the house, where Vance showed her up the big stairs. At the door of his sister's room he paused again and scrutinized. 

"A killing--by Jove!" he murmured to himself, and then knocked. 

A dull voice called from within, and he opened. Kate found herself in abig, solemn room, in one corner of which sat an old woman wrapped to thechin in a shawl. The face was thin and bleak, and the eyes that looked atKate were dull. 

"This girl--" said Vance. "By Jove, I haven't asked your name, I'mafraid. "

"Kate Pollard. "

"Miss Pollard has some news of Terry. I thought it might--interest you, Elizabeth. "

Kate saw the brief struggle on the face of the old woman. When it passed, her eyes were as dull as ever, but her voice had become husky. 

"I'm surprised, Vance. I thought you understood--his name is not to bespoken, if you please. "

"Of course not. Yet I thought--never mind. If you'll step downstairs withme, Miss Pollard, and tell me what--"

"Not a step, " answered the girl firmly, and she had not moved her eyesfrom the face of the elder woman. "Not a step with you. What I have tosay has got to be told to someone who loves Terry Hollis. I've found thatsomeone. I stick here till I've done talking. "

Vance Cornish gasped. But Elizabeth opened her eyes, and theybrightened--but coldly, it seemed to Kate. 

"I think I understand, " said Elizabeth Cornish gravely. "He has entangledthe interest of this poor girl--and sent her to plead for him. Is thatso? If it's money he wants, let her have what she asks for, Vance. But Ican't talk to her of the boy. "

"Very well, " said Vance, without enthusiasm. He stepped before her. "Willyou step this way, Miss Pollard?"

"Not a step, " she repeated, and deliberately sat down in a chair. "You'dbetter leave, " she told Vance. 

He considered her in open anger. "If you've come to make a scene, I'llhave to let you know that on account of my sister I cannot endure it. Really--" "I'm going to stay here, " she echoed, "until I've done talking. I've found the right person. I know that. Tell you what I want? Why, youhate Terry Hollis!"

"Hate--him?" murmured Elizabeth. 

"Nonsense!" cried Vance. 

"Look at his face, Miss Cornish, " said the girl. 

"Vance, by everything that's sacred, your eyes were positively shrinking. Do you hate--him?"

"My dear Elizabeth, if this unknown--"

"You'd better leave, " interrupted the girl. "Miss Cornish is going tohear me talk. "

Before he could answer, his sister said calmly: "I think I shall, Vance. I begin to be intrigued. "

"In the first place, " he blurted angrily, "it's something you shouldn'thear--some talk about a murder--"

Elizabeth sank back in her chair and closed her eyes. 

"Ah, coward!" cried Kate Pollard, now on her feet. 

"Vance, will you leave me for a moment?"

For a moment he was white with malice, staring at the girl, then suddenlysubmitting to the inevitable, turned on his heel and left the room. 

"Now, " said Elizabeth, sitting erect again, "what is it? Why do youinsist on talking to me of--him? And--what has he done?"

In spite of her calm, a quiver of emotion was behind the last words, andnothing of it escaped Kate Pollard. 

"I knew, " she said gently, "that _two_ people couldn't live with Terryfor twenty-four years and both hate him, as your brother does. I can tellyou very quickly why I'm here, Miss Cornish. "

"But first--what has he done?"

Kate hesitated. Under the iron self-control of the older woman she sawthe hungry heart, and it stirred her. Yet she was by no means sure of atriumph. She recognized the most formidable of all foes--pride. Afterall, she wanted to humble that pride. She felt that all the danger inwhich Terry Hollis now stood, both moral and physical, was indirectly theresult of this woman's attitude. And she struck her, deliberatelycruelly. 

"He's taken up with a gang of hard ones, Miss Cornish. That's one thing. "

The face of Elizabeth was like stone. 

"Professional--thieves, robbers!"

And still Elizabeth refused to wince. She forced a cold, polite smile ofattention. 

"He went into a town and killed the best fighter they had. "

And even this blow did not tell. 

"And then he defied the sheriff, went back to the town, and broke into abank and stole fifty thousand dollars. "

The smile wavered and went out, but still the dull eyes of Elizabeth weresteady enough. Though perhaps that dullness was from pain. And Kate, waiting eagerly, was chagrined to see that she had not broken through toany softness of emotion. One sign of grief and trembling was all shewanted before she made her appeal; but there was no weakness in ElizabethCornish, it seemed. 

"You see I am listening, " she said gravely and almost gently. "Although Iam really not well. And I hardly see the point of this long recital ofcrimes. It was because I foresaw what he would become that I sent himaway. "

"Miss Cornish, why'd you take him in in the first place?"

"It's a long story, " said Elizabeth. 

"I'm a pretty good listener, " said Kate. 

Elizabeth Cornish looked away, as though she hesitated to touch on thesubject, or as though it were too unimportant to be referred to atlength. 

"In brief, I saw from a hotel window Black Jack, his father, shot down inthe street; heard about the infant son he left, and adopted the child--ona bet with my brother. To see if blood would tell or if I could make hima fine man. "

She paused. 

"My brother won the bet!"

And her smile was a wonderful thing, so perfectly did it mask her pain. 

"And, of course, I sent Terry away. I have forgotten him, really. Just abad experiment. "

Kate Pollard flushed. 

"You'll never forget him, " she said firmly. "You think of him every day!"

The elder woman started and looked sharply at her visitor. Then shedismissed the idea with a shrug. 

"That's absurd. Why should I think of him?"

There is a spirit of prophecy in most women, old or young; and especiallythey have a way of looking through the flesh of their kind and seeing theheart. Kate Pollard came a little closer to her hostess. 

"You saw Black Jack die in the street, " she queried, "fighting for hislife?"

Elizabeth dreamed into the vague distance. 

"Riding down the street with his hair blowing--long black hair, youknow, " she reminisced. "And holding the crowd back as one would hold backa crowd of curs. Then--he was shot from the side by a man in concealment. That was how he fell!"

"I knew, " murmured the girl, nodding. "Miss Cornish, I know now why youtook in Terry. "

"Ah?"

"Not because of a bet--but because you--you loved Black Jack Hollis!"

It brought an indrawn gasp from Elizabeth. Rather of horror thansurprise. But the girl went on steadily:

"I know. You saw him with his hair blowing, fighting his way--he rodeinto your heart. I know, I tell you! Maybe you've never guessed it allthese years. But has a single day gone when you haven't thought of thepicture?"

The scornful, indignant denial died on the lips of Elizabeth Cornish. Shestared at Kate as though she were seeing a ghost. 

"Not one day!" cried Kate. "And so you took in Terry, and you raised himand loved him--not for a bet, but because he was Black Jack's son!"

Elizabeth Cornish had grown paler than before. "I mustn't listen to suchtalk, " she said. 

"Ah, " cried the girl, "don't you see that I have a right to talk? BecauseI love him also, and I know that you love him, too. "

Elizabeth Cornish came to her feet, and there was a faint flush in hercheeks. 

"You love Terry? Ah, I see. And he has sent you!"

"He'd die sooner than send me to you. "

"And yet--you came?"

"Don't you see?" pleaded Kate. "He's in a corner. He's about to go--bad!"

"Miss Pollard, how do you know these things?"

"Because I'm the daughter of the leader of the gang!"

She said it without shame, proudly. 

"I've tried to keep him from the life he intends leading, " said Kate. "Ican't turn him. He laughs at me. I'm nothing to him, you see? And heloves the new life. He loves the freedom. Besides, he thinks that there'sno hope. That he has to be what his father was before him. Do you knowwhy he thinks that? Because you turned him out. You thought he would turnbad. And he respects you. He still turns to you. Ah, if you could hearhim speak of you! He loves you still!"

Elizabeth Cornish dropped back into her chair, grown suddenly weak, andKate fell on her knees beside her. 

"Don't you see, " she said softly, "that no strength can turn Terry backnow? He's done nothing wrong. He shot down the man who killed his father. He has killed another man who was a professional bully and mankiller. Andhe's broken into a bank and taken money from a man who deserved to loseit--a wolf of a man everybody hates. He's done nothing really wrong yet, but he will before long. Just because he's stronger than other men. Andhe doesn't know his strength. And he's fine, Miss Cornish. Isn't healways gentle and--"

"Hush!" said Elizabeth Cornish. 

"He's just a boy; you can't bend him with strength, but you can win himwith love. "

"What, " gasped Elizabeth, "do you want me to do?"

"Bring him back. Bring him back, Miss Cornish!"

Elizabeth Cornish was trembling. 

"But I--if you can't influence him, how can I? You with your beautiful--you are very beautiful, dear child. Ah, very lovely!"

She barely touched the bright hair. 

"He doesn't even think of me, " said the girl sadly. "But I have no shame. I have let you know everything. It isn't for me. It's for Terry, MissCornish. And you'll come? You'll come as quickly as you can? You'll cometo my father's house? You'll ask Terry to come back? One word will do it!And I'll hurry back and--keep him there till you come. God give mestrength! I'll keep him till you come!"

Outside the door, his ear pressed to the crack, Vance Cornish did notwait to hear more. He knew the answer of Elizabeth before she spoke. Andall his high-built schemes he saw topple about his ears. Grief had beenbreaking the heart of his sister, he knew. Grief had been bringing herclose to the grave. With Terry back, she would regain ten years of life. With Terry back, the old life would begin again. 

He straightened and staggered down the stairs like a drunken man, clinging to the banister. It was an old-faced man who came out onto theveranda, where Waters was chewing his cigar angrily. At sight of his hosthe started up. He was a keen man, was Waters. He could sense money athousand miles away. And it was this buzzard keenness which had broughthim to the Cornish ranch and made him Vance's right-hand man. There wasmuch money to be spent; Waters would direct and plan the spending, andhis commission would not be small. 

In the face of Vance he saw his own doom. 

"Waters, " said Vance Cornish, "everything is going up in smoke. Thatdamned girl--Waters, we're ruined. "

"Tush!" said Waters, smiling, though he had grown gray. "No one girl canruin two middle-aged men with our senses developed. Sit down, man, andwe'll figure a way out of this. "

CHAPTER 38

The fine gray head, the hawklike, aristocratic face, and the superiormanner of Waters procured him admission to many places where the ordinaryman was barred. It secured him admission on this day to the office ofSheriff McGuire, though McGuire had refused to see his best friends. 

A proof of the perturbed state of his mind was that he accepted theproffered fresh cigar of Waters without comment or thanks. His mentaltroubles made him crisp to the point of rudeness. 

"I'm a tolerable busy man, Mr. --Waters, I think they said your name was. Tell me what you want, and make it short, if you don't mind. "

"Not a bit, sir. I rarely waste many words. But I think on this occasionwe have a subject in common that will interest you. "

Waters had come on what he felt was more or less of a wild-goose chase. The great object was to keep young Hollis from coming in contact withElizabeth Cornish again. One such interview, as Vance Cornish had assuredhim, would restore the boy to the ranch, make him the heir to the estate, and turn Vance and his high ambitions out of doors. Also, the highcommission of Mr. Waters would cease. With no plan in mind, he had rushedto the point of contact, and hoped to find some scheme after he arrivedthere. As for Vance, the latter would promise money; otherwise he was ashaken wreck of a man and of no use. But with money, Mr. Waters felt thathe had the key to this world and he was not without hope. 

Three hours in the hotel of the town gave him many clues. Three hours ofcasual gossip on the veranda of the same hotel had placed him inpossession of about every fact, true or presumably true, that could belearned, and with the knowledge a plan sprang into his fertile brain. Theworn, worried face of the sheriff had been like water on a dry field; hefelt that the seed of his plan would immediately spring up and bearfruit. 

"And that thing we got in common?" said the sheriff tersely. 

"It's this--young Terry Hollis. "

He let that shot go home without a follow-up and was pleased to see thesheriff's forehead wrinkle with pain. 

"He's like a ghost hauntin' me, " declared McGuire, with an attemptedlaugh that failed flatly. "Every time I turn around, somebody throws thisHollis in my face. What is it now?"

"Do you mind if I run over the situation briefly, as I understand it?"

"Fire away!"

The sheriff settled back; he had forgotten his rush of business. 

"As I understand it, you, Mr. McGuire, have the reputation of keepingyour county clean of crime and scenes of violence. "

"Huh!" grunted the sheriff. 

"Everyone says, " went on Waters, "that no one except a man named Minterhas done such work in meeting the criminal element on their own ground. You have kept your county peaceful. I believe that is true?"

"Huh, " repeated McGuire. "Kind of soft-soapy, but it ain't all wrong. They ain't been much doing in these parts since I started to clean thingsup. "

"Until recently, " suggested Waters. 

The face of the sheriff darkened. "Well?" he asked aggressively. 

"And then two crimes in a row. First, a gun brawl in broad daylight--young Hollis shot a fellow named--er--"

"Larrimer, " snapped the sheriff viciously. "It was a square fight. Larrimer forced the scrap. "

"I suppose so. Nevertheless, it was a gunfight. And next, two men raidthe bank in the middle of your town, and in spite of you and of specialguards, blow the door off a safe and gut the safe of its contents. Am Iright?"

The sheriff merely scowled. 

"It ain't clear to me yet, " he declared, "how you and me get together onany topic we got in common. Looks sort of like we was just hearing oneold yarn over and over agin. "

"My dear sir, " smiled Waters, "you have not allowed me to come to thecrux of my story. Which is: that you and I have one great object incommon--to dispose of this Terry Hollis, for I take it for granted thatif you were to get rid of him the people who criticize now would donothing but cheer you. Am I right?"

"If I could get him, " sighed the sheriff. "Mr. Waters, gimme time andI'll get him, right enough. But the trouble with the gents around theseparts is that they been spoiled. I cleaned up all the bad ones so damnquick that they think I can do the same with every crook that comesalong. But this Hollis is a slick one, I tell you. He covers his tracks. Laughs in my face, and admits what he done, when he talks to me, like hedone the other day. But as far as evidence goes, I ain't got anything onhim--yet. But I'll get it!"

"And in the meantime, " said Waters brutally, "they say that you'regetting old. "

The sheriff became a brilliant purple. 

"Do they say that?" he muttered. "That's gratitude for you, Mr. Waters!After what I've done for 'em--they say I'm getting old just because Ican't get anything on this slippery kid right off!"

He changed from purple to gray. To fail now and lose his position meant aruined life. And Waters knew what was in his mind. 

"But if you got Terry Hollis, they'd be stronger behind you than ever. "

"Ah, wouldn't they, though? Tell me what a great gent I was quick as aflash. "

He sneered at the thought of public opinion. 

"And you see, " said Waters, "where I come in is that I have a plan forgetting this Hollis you desire so much. "

"You do?" He rose and grasped the arm of Waters. "You do?"

Waters nodded. 

"It's this way. I understand that he killed Larrimer, and Larrimer'solder brother is the one who is rousing public opinion against you. Am Iright?"

"The dog! Yes, you're right. "

"Then get Larrimer to send Terry Hollis an invitation to come down intotown and meet him face to face in a gun fight. I understand this Hollisis a daredevil sort and wouldn't refuse an invitation of that nature. He'd have to respond or else lose his growing reputation as a maneater. "

"Maneater? Why, Bud Larrimer wouldn't be more'n a mouthful for him. Surehe'd come to town. And he'd clean up quick. But Larrimer ain't foolenough to send such an invite. "

"You don't understand me, " persisted Waters patiently. "What I mean isthis. Larrimer sends the challenge, if you wish to call it that. He takesup a certain position. Say in a public place. You and your men, if youwish, are posted nearby, but out of view when young Hollis comes. WhenTerry Hollis arrives, the moment he touches a gun butt, you fill him fullof lead and accuse him of using unfair play against Larrimer. Any excusewill do. The public want an end of young Hollis. They won't be particularwith their questions. "

He found it difficult to meet the narrowed eyes of the sheriff. 

"What you want me to do, " said the sheriff, with slow effort, "is to seta trap, get Hollis into it, and then--murder him?"

"A brutal way of putting it, my dear fellow. "

"A true way, " said the sheriff. 

But he was thinking, and Waters waited. 

When he spoke, his voice was soft enough to blend with the sheriff'sthoughts without actually interrupting them. 

"You're not a youngster any more, sheriff, and if you lose out here, yourreputation is gone for good. You'll not have the time to rebuild it. Hereis a chance for you not only to stop the evil rumors, but to fortify yourpast record with a new bit of work that will make people talk of you. They don't really care how you do it. They won't split hairs aboutmethod. They want Hollis put out of the way. I say, cache yourself away. Let Hollis come to meet Larrimer in a private room. You can arrange itwith Larrimer yourself later on. You shoot from concealment the momentHollis shows his face. It can be said that Larrimer did the shooting, andbeat Hollis to the draw. The glory of it will bribe Larrimer. "

The sheriff shook his head. Waters leaned forward. 

"My friend, " he said. "I represent in this matter a wealthy man to whomthe removal of Terry Hollis will be worth money. Five thousand dollarscash, sheriff!"

The sheriff moistened his lips and his eyes grew wild. He had lived longand worked hard and saved little. Yet he shook his head. 

"Ten thousand dollars, " whispered Waters. "Cash!"

The sheriff groaned, rose, paced the room, and then slumped into a chair. 

"Tell Bud Larrimer I want to see him, " he said. The following letter, which was received at the house of Joe Pollard, was indeed a gem ofEnglish:

MR. TERRY BLACK JACK:

Sir, I got this to say. Since you done my brother dirt I bin looking fora chans to get even and I ain't seen any chanses coming my way so Imegoing to make one which I mean that Ile be waiting for you in town todayand if you don't come Ile let the boys know that you aint only an ornerymean skunk but your a yaller hearted dog also which I beg to remain

Yours very truly, Bud Larrimer. 

Terry Hollis read the letter and tossed it with laughter to Phil Marvin, who sat cross-legged on the floor mending a saddle, and Phil and the restof the boys shook their heads over it. 

"What I can't make out, " said Joe Pollard, voicing the sentiments of therest, "is how Bud Larrimer, that's as slow as a plow horse with a gun, could ever find the guts to challenge Terry Hollis to a fair fight. "

Kate Pollard rose anxiously with a suggestion. Today or tomorrow at thelatest she expected the arrival of Elizabeth Cornish, and so far it hadbeen easy to keep Terry at the house. The gang was gorged with the lootof the Lewison robbery, and Terry's appetite for excitement had beencloyed by that event also. This strange challenge from the older Larrimerwas the fly in the ointment. 

"It ain't hard to tell why he sent that challenge, " she declared. "He hassome sneaking plan up his sleeve, Dad. You know Bud Larrimer. He hasn'tthe nerve to fight a boy. How'll he ever manage to stand up to Terryunless he's got hidden backing?"

She herself did not know how accurately she was hitting off thesituation; but she was drawing it as black as possible to hold Terry fromaccepting the challenge. It was her father who doubted her suggestion. 

"It sounds queer, " he said, "but the gents of these parts don't make noambushes while McGuire is around. He's a clean shooter, is McGuire, andhe don't stand for no shady work with guns. "

Again Kate went to the attack. 

"But the sheriff would do anything to get Terry. You know that. And maybehe isn't so particular about how it's done. Dad, don't you let Terry makea step toward town! I _know_ something would happen! And even if theydidn't ambush him, he would be outlawed even if he won the fight. Nomatter how fair he may fight, they won't stand for two killings in soshort a time. You know that, Dad. They'd have a mob out here to lynchhim!"

"You're right, Kate, " nodded her father. "Terry, you better stay put. "

But Terry Hollis had risen and stretched himself to the full length ofhis height, and extended his long arms sleepily. Every muscle playedsmoothly up his arms and along his shoulders. He was fit for action fromthe top of his head to the soles of his feet. 

"Partners, " he announced gently, "no matter what Bud Larrimer has on hismind, I've got to go in and meet him. Maybe I can convince him withoutgun talk. I hope so. But it will have to be on the terms he wants. I'llsaddle up and lope into town. "

He started for the door. The other members of the Pollard gang looked atone another and shrugged their shoulders. Plainly the whole affair was abad mess. If Terry shot Larrimer, he would certainly be followed by alynching mob, because no self-respecting Western town could allow twomembers of its community to be dropped in quick succession by one man ofan otherwise questionable past. No matter how fair the gunplay, just asKate had said, the mob would rise. But on the other hand, how could Terryrefuse to respond to such an invitation without compromising hisreputation as a man without fear?

There was nothing to do but fight. 

But Kate ran to her father. "Dad, " she cried, "you got to stop him!"

He looked into her drawn face in astonishment. 

"Look here, honey, " he advised rather sternly. "Man-talk is man-talk, andman-ways are man-ways, and a girl like you can't understand. You keep outof this mess. It's bad enough without having your hand added. "

She saw there was nothing to be gained in this direction. She turned tothe rest of the men; they watched her with blank faces. Not a man therebut would have done much for the sake of a single smile. But how couldthey help?

Desperately she ran to the door, jerked it open, and followed Terry tothe stable. He had swung the saddle from its peg and slipped it over theback of El Sangre, and the great stallion turned to watch thisperennially interesting operation. 

"Terry, " she said, "I want ten words with you. "

"I know what you want to say, " he answered gently. "You want to make mestay away from town today. To tell you the truth, Kate, I hate to go in. I hate it like the devil. But what can I do? I have no grudge againstLarrimer. But if he wants to talk about his brother's death, why--goodLord, Kate, I have to go in and listen, don't I? I can't dodge thatresponsibility!"

"It's a trick, Terry. I swear it's a trick. I can feel it!" She droppedher hand nervously on the heavy revolver which she wore strapped at herhip, and fingered the gold chasing. Without her gun, ever since earlygirlhood, she had felt that her toilet was not complete. 

"It may be, " he nodded thoughtfully. "And I appreciate the advice, Kate--but what would you have me do?"

"Terry, " she said eagerly, "you know what this means. You've killed once. If you go into town today, it means either that you kill or get killed. And one thing is about as bad as the other. "

Again he nodded. She was surprised that he would admit so much, but therewere parts of his nature which, plainly, she had not yet reached to. 

"What difference does it make, Kate?" His voice fell into a profoundgloom. "What difference? I can't change myself. I'm what I am. It's inthe blood. I was born to this. I can't help it. I know that I'll lose inthe end. But while I live I'll be happy. A little while!"

She choked. But the sight of his drawing the cinches, the imminence ofhis departure, cleared her mind again. 

"Give me two minutes, " she begged. 

"Not one, " he answered. "Kate, you only make us both unhappy. Do yousuppose I wouldn't change if I could?"

He came to her and took her hands. 

"Honey, there are a thousand things I'd like to say to you, but beingwhat I am, I have no right to say them to you--never, or to any otherwoman! I'm born to be what I am. I tell you, Kate, the woman who raisedme, who was a mother to me, saw what I was going to be--and turned me outlike a dog! And I don't blame her. She was right!"

She grasped at the straw of hope. 

"Terry, that woman has changed her mind. You hear? She's livedheartbroken since she turned you out. And now she's coming for you to--tobeg you to come back to her! Terry, that's how much she's given up hopein you!"

But he drew back, his face growing dark. 

"You've been to see her, Kate? That's where you went when you were awaythose four days?"

She dared not answer. He was trembling with hurt pride and rage. 

"You went to her--she thought I sent you--that I've grown ashamed of myown father, and that I want to beg her to take me back? Is that what shethinks?"

He struck his hand across his forehead and groaned. 

"God! I'd rather die than have her think it for a minute. Kate, how couldyou do it? I'd have trusted you always to do the right thing and theproud thing--and here you've shamed me!"

He turned to the horse, and El Sangre stepped out of the stall and into ashaft of sunlight that burned on him like blood-red fire. And beside himyoung Terry Hollis, straight as a pine, and as strong--a glorious figure. It broke her heart to see him, knowing what was coming. 

"Terry, if you ride down yonder, you're going to a dog's death! I swearyou are, Terry!"

She stretched out her arms to him; but he turned to her with his hand onthe pommel, and his face was like iron. 

"I've made my choice. Will you stand aside, Kate?"

"You're set on going? Nothing will change you? But I tell you, I'm goingto change you! I'm only a girl. And I can't stop you with a girl'sweapons. I'll do it with a man's. Terry, take the saddle off that horse!And promise me you'll stay here till Elizabeth Cornish comes!"

"Elizabeth Cornish?" He laughed bitterly. "When she conies, I'll be ahundred miles away, and bound farther off. That's final. "

"You're wrong, " she cried hysterically. "You're going to stay here. Youmay throw away your share in yourself. But I have a share that I won'tthrow away. Terry, for the last time!"

He shook his head. 

She caught her breath with a sob. Someone was coming from the outside. She heard her father's deep-throated laughter. Whatever was done, shemust do it quickly. And he must be stopped!

The hand on the gun butt jerked up--the long gun flashed in her hand. 

"Kate!" cried Terry. "Good God, are you mad?"

"Yes, " she sobbed. "Mad! Will you stay?"

"What infernal nonsense--"

The gun boomed hollowly in the narrow passage between mow and wall. ElSangre reared, a red flash in the sunlight, and landed far away in theshadow, trembling. But Terry Hollis had spun halfway around, swung by theheavy, tearing impact of the big slug, and then sank to the floor, wherehe sat clasping his torn thigh with both hands, his shoulder and headsagging against the wall. 

Joe Pollard, rushing in with an outcry, found the gun lying sparkling inthe sunshine, and his daughter, hysterical and weeping, holding thewounded man in her arms. 

"What--in the name of--" he roared. 

"Accident, Joe, " gasped Terry. "Fooling with Kate's gun and trying a spinwith it. It went off--drilled me clean through the leg!"

That night, very late, in Joe Pollard's house, Terry Hollis lay on thebed with a dim light reaching to him from the hooded lamp in the cornerof the room. His arms were stretched out on each side and one hand heldthat of Kate, warm, soft, young, clasping his fingers feverishly andhappily. And on the other side was the firm, cool pressure of the hand ofAunt Elizabeth. 

His mind was in a haze. Vaguely he perceived the gleam of tears on theface of Elizabeth. And he had heard her say: "All the time I didn't know, Terry. I thought I was ashamed of the blood in you. But this girl openedmy eyes. She told me the truth. The reason I took you in was because Iloved that wild, fierce, gentle, terrible father of yours. If you havedone a little of what he did, what does it matter? Nothing to me! Oh, Terry, nothing in the world to me! Except that Kate brought me to mysenses in time--bless her--and now I have you back, dear boy!"

He remembered smiling faintly and happily at that. And he said before heslept: "It's a bit queer, isn't it, even two wise women can't show a manthat he's a fool? It takes a bullet to turn the trick!"

But when he went to sleep, his head turned a little from Elizabeth towardKate. 

And the women raised their heads and looked at one another with filmyeyes. They both understood what that feeble gesture meant. It told muchof the fine heart of Elizabeth--that she was able to smile at the girland forgive her for having stolen again what she had restored. 

It was the break-up of the Pollard gang, the sudden disaffection of theirnewest and most brilliant member. Joe himself was financed by ElizabethCornish and opened a small string of small-town hotels. 

"Which is just another angle of the road business, " he often said, "except that the law works with you and not agin you. "

But he never quite recovered from the restoration of the Lewison money onwhich Elizabeth and Terry both insisted. Neither did Denver Pete. He leftthem in disgust and was never heard of again in those parts. And healways thereafter referred to Terry as "a promising kid gone to waste. "