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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9925.txt b/9925.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ed30723 --- /dev/null +++ b/9925.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9527 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Black Jack, by Max Brand + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Black Jack + +Author: Max Brand + +Posting Date: December 22, 2011 [EBook #9925] +Release Date: February, 2006 +First Posted: October 31, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLACK JACK *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Richard Prairie, and Project +Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + + +BLACK JACK + +Max Brand + +1922 + + + + + + + +CHAPTER 1 + + +It was characteristic of the two that when the uproar broke out Vance +Cornish raised his eyes, but went on lighting his pipe. Then his sister +Elizabeth 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 as +peaceful as ever with its storm-shaken houses staggering away down the +street. + +A boy was stirring up the dust of the street, enjoying its heat with his +bare toes, and the same old man was bunched in his chair in front of the +store. During the two days Elizabeth had been in town on her cattle- +buying trip, she had never see him alter his position. But she was +accustomed to the West, and this advent of sleep in the town did not +satisfy her. A drowsy town, like a drowsy-looking cow-puncher, might be +capable 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 yelled +down the street in a wailing chorus cut short by the rapid chattering of +revolvers. Vance ran to the window. Just below the hotel the street made +an 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. A +rider plunged into view now, his horse leaning far in to take the sharp +angle, and the dust skidding out and away from his sliding hoofs. The +rider 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 the +reins hanging over the horns of his saddle. His hands were occupied by a +pair of revolvers, and he was turned in the saddle. + +The head of the pursuing crowd lurched around the elbow-turn; fire spat +twice from the mouth of each gun. Two men dropped, one rolling over and +over in the dust, and the other sitting down and clasping his leg in a +ludicrous fashion. But the crowd was checked and fell back. + +By this time the racing horse of the fugitive had carried him close to +the hotel, and now he faced the front, a handsome fellow with long black +hair blowing about his face. He wore a black silk shirt which accentuated +the pallor of his face and the flaring crimson of his bandanna. And he +laughed 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, and +among them a different and more sinister sound like the striking of two +great hammers face on face, so that there was a cold ring of metal after +the explosion--at least one man had brought a rifle to bear. Now, as the +wild rider darted past the hotel, his hat was jerked from his head by an +invisible hand. He whirled again in the saddle and his guns raised. As he +turned, Elizabeth Cornish saw something glint across the street. It was +the gleam of light on the barrel of a rifle that was thrust out through +the window of the store. + +That long line of light wobbled, steadied, and fire jetted from the mouth +of 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 the +cantle. He was flung rolling in the dust, his arms flying weirdly. The +rifle disappeared from the window and a boy's set face looked out. But +before the limp body of the fugitive had stopped rolling, Elizabeth +Cornish dropped into a chair, sick of face. Her brother turned his back +on the mob that closed over the dead man and looked at Elizabeth in +alarm. + +It was not the first time he had seen the result of a gunplay, and for +that matter it was not the first time for Elizabeth. Her emotion upset +him more than the roar of a hundred guns. He managed to bring her a glass +of water, but she brushed it away so that half of the contents spilled on +the 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 his +neck. But--what in the world! Did you know the fellow?" + +He blinked at her, his amazement growing. The capable hands of Elizabeth +were pressed to her breast, and out of the thirty-five years of +spinsterhood which had starved her face he became aware of eyes young and +dark, and full of spirit; by no means the keen, quiet eyes of Elizabeth +Cornish. + +"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 she +had seen, no matter how long she lived. Subconsciously she was fighting +to keep the street voices out of her mind. They were saying things she +did not wish to hear, things she would not hear. Finally, she recovered +enough to stand up and shut the window. That brought her a terrible +temptation 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 remained +obscurely in the bottom of her vision, and made her think of something +she had seen in the woods--a colony of ants around a dead beetle. +Presently the door opened and Vance came back. He still seemed very +worried, but she forced herself to smile at him, and at once his concern +disappeared; it was plain that he had been troubled about her and not in +the slightest by the fate of the strange rider. She kept on smiling, but +for the first time in her life she really looked at Vance without +sisterly 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 twice +at Vance in a crowd. She knew suddenly that her brother was simply a +well-mannered mediocrity. + +"Thank the Lord you're yourself again, Elizabeth," her brother said first +of all. "I thought for a moment--I don't know what!" + +"Just the shock, Vance," she said. Ordinarily she was well-nigh brutally +frank. Now she found it easy to lie and keep on smiling. "It was such a +horrible thing to see!" + +"I suppose so. Caught you off balance. But I never knew you to lose your +grip 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 unevenness +had come into her voice. + +"Oh, dead as a doornail, Elizabeth. Very neat shot. Youngster that +dropped him; boy named Joe Minter. Six thousand dollars for Joe. Nice +little 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. The +celebrated 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 out +when he was sixteen, they say, and he's been raising the devil ever +since. You should have seen them pick him up--as if he were asleep, and +not dead. What a body! Lithe as a panther. No larger than I am, but they +say he was a giant with his hands." + +He was lighting his cigarette as he said this, and consequently he did +not see her eyes close tightly. A moment later she was able to make her +expression 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 do +something for her." + +"You can't," replied her brother, with unnecessary brutality. "Because +she's dead. A little after the youngster was born. I believe Black Jack +broke 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 the +mountain saloons, and then a knife in the back." + +The meager body of Elizabeth stiffened. She was finding it less easy to +maintain 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 raise +him like a thief--he'll be a thief. And the thief's son can be raised to +an honest manhood. I know it!" + +She was seeing Black Jack, as he had raced down the street with the black +hair blowing about his face. Of such stuff, she felt, the knights of +another age had been made. Vance was raising a forefinger in an +authoritative way he had. + +"My dear, before that baby is twenty-five--that was his father's +age--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 had +enough 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, barren +bosom, and then her brother found himself silenced. At the same time he +was a little irritated, for there was an imputation in her speech that +she had been carrying the burden which his own shoulders should have +supported. Which was so true that he could not answer, and therefore he +cast 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 a +rather vicious pleasure in calling her bluff, but to his amazement she +did not call him back. He opened the door slowly. Still she did not +speak. 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, a +little more blocky of cheek, but he remained astonishingly young. At +forty-nine the lumpish promise of his youth was quite gone. He was in a +trim and solid middle age. His hair was thinned above the forehead, but +it gave him more dignity. On the whole, he left an impression of a man +who has done things and who will do more before he is through. + +He shifted his feet from the top of the porch railing and shrugged +himself deeper into his chair. It was marvelous how comfortable Vance +could make himself. He had one great power--the ability to sit still +through any given interval. Now he let his eye drift quietly over the +Cornish ranch. It lay entirely within one grasp of the vision, spilling +across the valley from Sleep Mountain, on the lower bosom of which the +house stood, to Mount Discovery on the north. Not that the glance of +Vance Cornish lurched across this bold distance. His gaze wandered as +slowly as a free buzzes across a clover field, not knowing on which +blossom 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 the +Blue Mountains of the north, half a dozen miles across and ten long of +grazing 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 dense +yellow-green thickets on the upper mountain slopes. And so north and +north the eye of Vance Cornish wandered and climbed until it rested on +the 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 for +the ownership of one man. Vance Cornish, on the porch of the house, felt +like 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 and +Elizabeth, thickly plastered with debts. The son would have sold the +place for what they could clear. He went East to hunt for education and +pleasure; his sister remained and fought the great battle by herself. She +consecrated 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 she +been a tithe younger and her brother a mature man, it would have been +different. As it was, she felt herself placed in a maternal position with +Vance. She sent him away to school, rolled up her sleeves and started to +order chaos. In place of husband, children--love and the fruits of love-- +she accepted the ranch. The dam between the rapids and the waterfall was +the child of her brain; the plowed fields of the central part of the +valley 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 his +interest. He chose to learn his business lessons on Wall Street. +Elizabeth paid the bills, but she checked the sums against his interest +in the ranch. And so it went on. Vance would come out to the ranch at +intervals and show a brief, feverish interest, plan a new set of +irrigation canals, or a sawmill, or a better road out over the Blue +Mountains. But he dropped such work half-done and went away. + +Elizabeth said nothing. She kept on paying his bills, and she kept on +cutting down his interest in the old Cornish ranch, until at the present +time he had only a finger-tip hold. Root and branch, the valley and all +that was in it belonged to Elizabeth Cornish. She was proud of her +possession, though she seldom talked of her pride. Nevertheless, Vance +knew, 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, why +should he care in whose name the ranch remained so long as his bills were +paid? He had not worked, but in recompense he had remained young. +Elizabeth had labored all her youth away. At forty-nine he was ready to +begin the most important part of his career. At sixty his sister was a +withered old ghost of a woman. + +He fell into a pleasant reverie. When Elizabeth died, he would set in +some tennis courts beside the house, buy some blooded horses, cut the +road wide and deep to let the world come up Bear Creek Valley, and retire +to the life of a country gentleman. + +His sister's voice cut into his musing. She had two tones. One might be +called her social register. It was smooth, gentle--the low-pitched and +controlled voice of a gentlewoman. The other voice was hard and sharp. It +could drive hard and cold across a desk, and bring businessmen to an +understanding that here was a mind, not a woman. + +At present she used her latter tone. Vance Cornish came into a shivering +consciousness 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 see +that 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 that +in the past half-dozen years his best smiles often failed to mellow her +expression. 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 against +him. For she went on: "Which leads to what I have to say. You're going +back 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 clean +up on the last bunch of Herefords." + +When she folded her hands, she was most dangerous, he knew. And now the +bony fingers linked and she shrugged the shawl more closely around her +shoulders. + +"We're partners, aren't we?" smiled Vance. + +"Partners, yes. You have one share and I have a thousand. But--you don't +want 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 put +up for them except your last shreds of property. That's why I say you'll +have 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 if +he became serious, deadly serious for ten consecutive minutes with his +sister, he would be ruined. He kept on with his semi-jovial tone. + +"There are two arts, Elizabeth. One is making money and the other is +spending it. You've mastered one and I've mastered the other. Which +balances 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 the +dark green leaves. The breeze rolled across the trees in a long, rippling +flash of light. But Elizabeth did not look down. Her glance was fixed on +the changeless snow of Mount Discovery's summit. + +"As long as you have something to spend, spending is a very important +art, Vance. But when the purse is empty, it's a bit useless, it seems to +me." + +"Well, then, I'll have to mortgage my future. As a matter of fact, I +suppose I could borrow what I want on my prospects." + +A veritable Indian yell, instantly taken up and prolonged by a chorus of +similar shouts, cut off the last of his words. Round the corner of the +house shot a blood-bay stallion, red as the red of iron under the +blacksmith's hammer, with a long, black tail snapping and flaunting +behind him, his ears flattened, his beautiful vicious head outstretched +in an effort to tug the reins out of the hands of the rider. Failing in +that effort, he leaped into the air like a steeplechaser and pitched down +upon stiffened forelegs. + +The shock rippled through the body of the rider and came to his head with +a snap that jerked his chin down against his breast. The stallion rocked +back on his hind legs, whirled, and then flung himself deliberately on +his back. A sufficiently cunning maneuver--first stunning the enemy with +a blow and then crushing him before his senses returned. But he landed on +nothing save hard gravel. The rider had whipped out of the saddle and +stood 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 thing +to watch. As he brought his forequarters off the earth, he lunged at the +rider with open mouth. A sidestep that would have done credit to a +pugilist sent the youngster swerving past that danger. He leaped to the +saddle 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, according +to the gallantry of the fight. + +The bay was in the air more than he was on the ground, eleven or twelve +hundred pounds of might, writhing, snapping, bolting, halting, sunfishing +with devilish cunning, dropping out of the air on one stiff foreleg with +an accompanying sway to one side that gave the rider the effect of a +cudgel blow at the back of the head and then a whip-snap to part the +vertebrae. Whirling on his hind legs, and again flinging himself +desperately on the ground, only to fail, come to his feet with the +clinging burden once more maddeningly in place, and go again through a +maze of fence-rowing and sun-fishing until suddenly he straightened out +and bolted down the slope like a runaway locomotive on a downgrade. A +terrifying spectacle, but the rider sat erect, with one arm raised high +above his head in triumph, and his yell trailing off behind him. From a +running gait the stallion fell into a smooth pace--a true wild pacer, his +hoofs beating the ground with the force and speed of pistons and hurling +himself forward with incredible strides. Horse and rider lurched out of +sight 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 hands +like 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 wildcat +out of the saddle? He clings as if he had claws. But--where did he get +that red devil?" + +"Terence ran him down--in the mountains--somewhere," she answered, +speaking as one who had only half heard the question. "Two months of +constant trailing to do it, I think. But oh, you're right! The horse is a +devil! And sometimes I think--" + +She stopped, shuddering. Vance had returned to the ranch only the day +before after a long absence. More and more, after he had been away, he +found it difficult to get in touch with things on the ranch. Once he had +been 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, "why +don't you forbid these pranks?" + +She looked at him as if in surprise. + +"Forbid Terry?" she echoed, and then smiled. Decidedly this was her first +tone, a soft tone that came from deep in her throat. Instinctively Vance +contrasted it with the way she had spoken to him. But it was always this +way when Terry was mentioned. For the first time he saw it clearly. It +was amazing how blind he had been. "Forbid Terence? Vance, that devil of +a horse is part of his life. He was on a hunting trip when he saw Le +Sangre--" + +"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 a +hilltop against the sky. And he literally went mad. Actually, he struck +out on foot with his rifle and lived in the country and never stopped +walking until he wore down Le Sangre somehow and brought him back +hobbled--just skin and bones, and Terence not much more. Now Le Sangre is +himself again, and he and Terence have a fight--like that--every day. I +dream 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 horse +out 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. "And +I've learned to bear pain." + +He swallowed. Also, he was beginning to grow irritated. He had never +before had a talk with Elizabeth that contained so many reefs that +threatened shipwreck. He returned to the gist of their conversation +rather too bluntly. + +"But to continue, Elizabeth, any banker would lend me money on my +prospects." + +"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's +a 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. Your +prospects begin with my death, of course." + +He had no answer, but bit his lip nervously and wished the ordeal would +come to an end. + +"Vance," she went on, "I'm glad to have this talk with you. It's +something you have to know. Of course I'll see that during my life or my +death you'll be provided for. But as for your main prospects, do you know +where they are?" + +"Well?" + +She was needlessly brutal about it, but as she had told him, her +education 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 was +erect. Her step was still full of spring and decision, as she led the way +into the house. It was a big, solid, two-story building which the +mightiest wind could not shake. Henry Cornish had merely founded the +house, just as he had founded the ranch; the main portion of the work had +been done by his daughter. And as they passed through, her stern old eye +rested peacefully on the deep, shadowy vistas, and her foot fell with +just pride on the splendid rising sweep of the staircase. They passed +into the roomy vault of the upper hall and went down to the end. She took +out a big key from her pocket and fitted it into the lock; then Vance +dropped 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 practically +unentered 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 from +the solemn old room and the brown, varnished woodwork which he +remembered. Cream-tinted paint now made the walls cool and fresh. The +solemn engravings no longer hung above the bookcases. And the bookcases +themselves had been replaced with built-in shelves pleasantly filled with +rich bindings, black and red and deep yellow-browns. A tall cabinet stood +open at one side filled with rifles and shotguns of every description, +and another cabinet was loaded with fishing apparatus. The stiff-backed +chairs had given place to comfortable monsters of easy lines. Vance +Cornish, as one in a dream, peered here and there. + +"God bless us!" he kept repeating. "God bless us! But where's there a +trace of Father?" + +"I left it out," said Elizabeth huskily, "because this room is meant +for--but let's go back. Do you remember that day twenty-four years ago +when 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 and +called 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 with +the secret, Vance. But you remember we argued about it, and you said that +blood would out; that the boy would turn out wrong; that before he was +twenty-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 baby +in my arms, it became a matter of theory, plus, and chiefly plus. I kept +remembering what you had said, and I was afraid. That was why I worked up +the Colby idea." + +"That's easy to see." + +"It wasn't so easy to do. But I heard of the last of an old Virginia +family who had died of consumption in Arizona. I traced his family. He +was the last of it. Then it was easy to arrange a little story: Terence +Colby had married a girl in Arizona, died shortly after; the girl died +also, and I took the baby. Nobody can disprove what I say. There's not a +living soul who knows that Terence is the son of Jack Hollis--except you +and me." + +"How about the woman I got the baby from?" + +"I bought her silence until fifteen years ago. Then she died, and now +Terry is convinced that he is the last representative of the Colby +family." + +She laughed with excitement and beckoned him out of the room and into +another--Terry's room, farther down the hall. She pointed to a large +photograph 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 old +family 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 his +hands on about the Colbys. Discovered the year they landed in Virginia; +how they fought in the Revolution; how they fought and died in the Civil +War. Oh, he knows every landmark in the history of 'his' family. Of +course, I encouraged him." + +"I know," chuckled Vance. "Whenever he gets in a pinch, I've heard you +say: 'Terry, what should a Colby do?'" + +"And," cut in Elizabeth, "you must admit that it has worked. There isn't +a prouder, gentler, cleaner-minded boy in the world than Terry. Not +blood. It's the blood of Jack Hollis. But it's what he thinks himself to +be 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 know +how 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 is +one 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 I +know." + +"A very hard blow, eh," said Vance, "if he were robbed of the Colby +illusion and had Black Jack put in its place as a cold fact? But of +course we'll never tell him." + +Her color was never high. Now it became gray. Only her eyes remained +burning, vivid, young, blazing out through the mask of age. + +"Remember you said his blood would tell before he was twenty-five; that +the blood of Black Jack would come to the surface; that he would have +shot a man?" + +"Still harping on that, Elizabeth? What if he does?" + +"I'd disown him, throw him out penniless on the world, never see him +again." + +"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 simply +a theory gone wrong. You'll cut him out of your life as if he were an +algebraic 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 on +the night of his twenty-fifth birthday, I'm going to take him into my +father's room and turn it over to him." + +He had listened to her patiently, a little wearied by her unusual flow of +words. Now he came out of his apathy with a jerk. He laid his hand on +Elizabeth's shoulder and turned her so that the light shone full in her +face. Then he studied her. + +"What do you mean by that, Elizabeth?" + +"Vance," she said steadily, but with a touch of pity in her voice, "I +have waited for a score of years, hoping that you'd settle down and try +to 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 leave +you an annuity, Vance, that will take care of you in comfort; but I leave +everything else to Terry Colby. That's why I've changed the room. The +moment it grows dark ten days from today, I'm going to take Terry by the +hand 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 new +man looked down at her. The firm flesh of his face became loose. His +whole body was flabby. She had the feeling that if she pushed against his +chest with the weight of her arm, he would topple to the floor. That +weakness gradually passed. A peculiar strength of purpose grew in its +place. + +"Of course, this is a very shrewd game, Elizabeth. You want to wake me +up. You're using the spur to make me work. I don't blame you for using +the bluff, even if it's a rather cruel one. But, of course, it's +impossible 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 an +interloper, a foundling, the child of a murderer, a vagabond, had been +made the heir to his estate. But you aren't serious, Elizabeth; I +understand." + +He swallowed his pride, for panic grew in him in proportion to the length +of time she maintained her silence. + +"As a matter of fact, I don't blame you for giving me a scare, my dear +sister. I have been a shameless loafer. I'm going to reform and lift the +burden of business off your shoulders--let you rest the remainder of your +life." + +It was the worst thing he could have said. He realized it the moment he +had spoken. This forced, cowardly surrender was worse than brazen +defiance, and he saw her lip curl. An idler is apt to be like a sullen +child, except that in a grown man the child's sulky spite becomes a dark +malice, all-embracing. For the very reason that Vance knew he was +receiving what he deserved, and that this was the just reward for his +thriftless years of idleness, he began to hate Elizabeth with a cold, +quiet hatred. There is something stimulating about any great passion. Now +Vance felt his nerves soothed and calmed. His self-possession returned +with 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 the +result of your life labors in my hands--entirely foolish. I admit that +it'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 out +very well--in spite of his blood. I hope so. The Lord knows you've given +him every chance and the best start in the world. I wish him luck!" + +He reached out his hand, and her bloodless fingers closed strongly over +it. + +"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 out +of nothing, everything poured into his hands--and now within ten days of +his goal! Rather exciting, isn't it? Suppose he should stumble at the +very 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 might +fall--that he might do what I prophesied so long ago--shoot a man before +he's twenty-five?" + +She shrugged the supposition calmly away. + +"My faith in him is based as strongly as the rocks, Vance. But if he +fell, 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 he +shrugged 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 the +terrace from the river road on Le Sangre. And a changed horse he was. One +ear was forward as if he did not know what lay in store for him, but +would try to be on the alert. One ear flagged warily back. He went +slowly, lifting his feet with the care of a very weary horse. Yet, when +the wind fluttered a gust of whirling leaves beside him, he leaped aside +and stood with high head, staring, transformed in the instant into a +creature 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 about +his forehead, for his hat was pushed back after the manner of one who has +done a hard day's work and is ready to rest. He came close to the +veranda, 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, Uncle +Vance. A beauty, eh?" + +Elizabeth said nothing at all. But she rocked herself back and forth a +trifle in her chair as she nodded. She glanced over the terrace, hoping +that others might be there to see the triumph of her boy. Then she looked +back 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 other +work, 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. As +long as I wear spurs, he'll fight me till he gets his teeth in me or +splashes my skull to bits with his heels. Otherwise he'll keep on +fighting till he drops. But as soon as I take off the spurs and stop +tormenting 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 horse +stiffened with a shudder, and that forward look of a horse about to bolt +came 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, the +mind of Vance Cornish raced back to another picture--a man with long +black hair blowing about his face and a gun in either hand, sweeping +through a dusty street with shots barking behind him. It came suddenly as +a 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 long +life and happiness across the birthday dinner table." + +He marvelled at the ease with which he could make himself smile in her +face. + +"You noticed that--his gentleman's agreement with Le Sangre? I've made +him detest fighting with the idea that only brute beasts fight--men argue +and agree." + +"I've noticed that he never has trouble with the cow-punchers." + +"They've seen him box," chuckled Elizabeth. "Besides, Terry isn't the +sort that troublemakers like to pick on. He has an ugly look when he's +angry." + +"H'm," murmured Vance. "I've noticed that. But as long as he keeps to his +fists, he'll do no harm. But what is the reason for surrounding him with +guns, Elizabeth?" + +"A very good reason. He loves them, you know. Anything from a shotgun to +a derringer is a source of joy to Terence. And not a day goes by that he +doesn'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 gun +he must never enter a gun fight. The advantage would be too much on his +side against any ordinary man. That appeals to Terry's sense of fair +play. 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 the +late afternoon. Bear Creek ran dull and dark in the shadow, and Mount +Discovery was robed in blue to the very edge of its shining crown of +snow. In this dimmer, richer light the Cornish ranch had never seemed so +desirable to Vance. It was not a ranch; it was a little kingdom. And +Vance was the dispossessed heir. + +He knew that he was being watched, however, and all that evening he was +at his best. At the dinner table he guided the talk so that Terence Colby +was the lion of the conversation. Afterward, when he was packing his +things in his room for his journey of the next day, he was careful to +sing at the top of his voice. He reaped a reward for this cautious +acting, for the next morning, when he climbed into the buckboard that was +to take him down the Blue Mountain road and over to the railroad, his +sister 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 I +want you to be here when he steps into his own." + +In this he found enough to keep him thoughtful all the way to the +railroad while the buckskins grunted up the grade and then spun away down +the long slope beyond. It was one of those little ironies of fate that he +should 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 no +tenderness. Hereafter he would act his part as well as he could to +extract the last possible penny out of her. And in the meantime he must +concentrate on tripping up Terence Colby, alias Hollis. + +Vance saw nothing particularly vicious in this. He had been idle so long +that he rejoiced in a work which was within his mental range. It included +scheming, working always behind the scenes, pulling strings to make +others jump. And if he could trip Terry and actually make him shoot a man +on or before that birthday, he had no doubt that his sister would +actually throw the boy out of her house and out of her life. A woman who +could give twenty-four years to a theory would be capable of grim things +when the theory went wrong. + +It was early evening when he climbed off the train at Garrison City. He +had not visited the place since that cattle-buying trip of twenty-four +years ago that brought the son of Black Jack into the affairs of the +Cornish family. Garrison City had become a city. There were two solid +blocks of brick buildings next to the station, a network of paved +streets, and no less than three hotels. It was so new to the eye and so +obviously full of the "booster" spirit that he was appalled at the idea +of prying through this modern shell and getting back to the heart and the +memory of the old days of the town. + +At the restaurant he forced himself upon a grave-looking gentleman across +the 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 hotel +shook his head with positive antagonism. + +"Of course, Garrison City has its past," he admitted, "but we are living +it down, and have succeeded pretty well. I think I've heard of a ruffian +of the last generation named Jack Hollis; but I don't know anything, and +I don't care to know anything, about him. But if you're interested in +Garrison City, I'd like to show you a little plot of ground in a place +that is going to be the center of the--" + +Vance Cornish made his mind a blank, let the smooth current of words slip +off his memory as from an oiled surface, and gave up Garrison City as a +hopeless job. Nevertheless, it was the hotel proprietor who dropped a +valuable hint. + +"If you're interested in the early legends, why don't you go to the State +Capitol? They have every magazine and every book that so much as mentions +any place in the state." So Vance Cornish went to the capitol and entered +the 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 something +in 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 the +account of an eyewitness of any of those stirring holdups or train +robberies. + +And then he began on the old files of magazines. And still nothing. He +was about to give up with four days of patient labor wasted when he +struck 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 had +discovered the beauty of the deserts of the Southwest. But there was +more--much more. It told how, in his wandering across the desert, he had +hunted for something more than raw-colored sands and purple mesas +blooming in the distance. + +He had searched for a human being to fit into the picture and give the +softening touch of life. But he never found the face for which he had +been looking. And then luck came and tapped him on the shoulder. A lone +rider 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 was +the face for which he had been searching. He told how they fried bacon +and ate it together; he told of the soft voice and the winning smile of +the rider; he told of his eyes, unspeakably soft and unspeakably bold, +and the agile, nervous hands, forever shifting and moving in the +firelight. + +The next morning he had asked his visitor to sit for a picture, and his +request had been granted. All day he labored at the canvas, and by night +the work was far enough along for him to dismiss his visitor. So the +stranger asked for a small brush with black paint on it, and in the +corner of the canvas drew in the words "Yours, Black Jack." Then he rode +into the night. + +Black Jack! Lawrence Montgomery had made up his pack and struck straight +back for the nearest town. There he asked for tidings of a certain Black +Jack, and there he got what he wanted in heaps. Everyone knew Black +Jack--too well! There followed a brief summary of the history of the +desperado and his countless crimes, unspeakable tales of cunning and +courage and merciless vengeance taken. + +Vance Cornish turned the last page of the article, and there was the +reproduction of the painting. He held his breath when he saw it. The +outlaw sat on his horse with his head raised and turned, and it was the +very replica of Terence Colby as the boy had waved to them from the back +of Le Sangre. More than a family, sketchy resemblance--far more. + +There was the same large, dark eye; the same smile, half proud and half +joyous; the same imperious lift of the head; the same bold carving of the +features. There were differences, to be sure. The nose of Black Jack had +been more cruelly arched, for instance, and his cheekbones were higher +and more pronounced. But in spite of the dissimilarities the resemblance +was more than striking. It might have stood for an actual portrait of +Terence Colby masquerading in long hair. + +When the full meaning of this photograph had sunk into his mind, Vance +Cornish closed his eyes. "Eureka!" he whispered to himself. + +There was something more to be done. But it was very simple. It merely +consisted in covertly cutting out the pages of the article in question. +Then, carefully, for fear of loss, he jotted down the name and date of +the magazine, folded his stolen pages, and fitted them snugly into his +breast 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 said +that he was in the position of a man with a dangerous charge for a gun +and 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 in +Craterville. Five days out of the ten before the twenty-fifth birthday of +Terence had elapsed, and Vance was still far from his goal, but he felt +that 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 into +existence for no reason that can be discovered, and cling to life +generations after they should have died. But Craterville held one thing +of which Vance Cornish was in great need, and that was Sheriff Joe +Minter, familiarly called Uncle Joe. His reason for wanting the sheriff +was perfectly simple. Uncle Joe Minter was the man who killed Black Jack +Hollis. + +He had been a boy of eighteen then, shooting with a rifle across a window +sill. That shot had formed his life. He was now forty-two and he had +spent the interval as the professional enemy of criminals in the +mountains. For the glory which came from the killing of Black Jack had +been sweet to the youthful palate of Minter, and he had cultivated his +taste. He became the most dreaded manhunter in those districts where +manhunting was most common. He had been sheriff at Craterville for a +dozen years now, and still his supremacy was not even questioned. + +Vance Cornish was lucky to find the sheriff in town presiding at the head +of 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 of +black hair framed a long, stern face, the angles of which had been made +by years. But there was no sign of weakness. He had grown dry, not +flabby. His mouth was a thin, straight line, and his fighting chin jutted +out in profile. + +He rose from his place to greet Vance Cornish. Indeed, the sheriff acted +the part of master of ceremonies at the hotel, having a sort of silent +understanding with the widow who owned the place. It was said that the +sheriff would marry the woman sooner or later, he so loved to talk at her +table. 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. He +arranged a chair for Vance at his right, and presently the talk rose +above the murmur to which it had been depressed by the arrival of this +important stranger. The increasing noise made a background. It left Vance +alone with the sheriff. + +"And how do you find your work, sheriff?" asked Vance; for he knew that +Uncle Joe Minter's great weakness was his love of talk. Everyone in the +mountains knew it, for that matter. + +"Dull," complained Minter. "Men ain't what they used to be, or else the +law is a heap stronger." + +"The men who enforce the law are," said Vance. + +The sheriff absorbed this patent compliment with the blank eye of +satisfaction and rubbed his chin. + +"But they's been some talk of rustling, pretty recent. I'm waiting for it +to grow and get ripe. Then I'll bust it." + +He made an eloquent gesture which Vance followed. He was distinctly +pleased with the sheriff. For Minter was wonderfully preserved. His face +seemed five years younger than his age. His body seemed even younger-- +round, smooth, powerful muscles padding his shoulders and stirring down +the length of his big arms. And his hands had that peculiar light +restlessness of touch which Vance remembered to have seen--in the hands +of 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 since +the Cornishes moved in; and they ain't been any call for a gent in my +line 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 there +in 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 description +of the game in the hills around the ranch. That, he knew, would bring the +sheriff if anything would. But he mentioned the invitation no more. There +were particular reasons why he must not press it on the sheriff any more +than on others in Craterville. + +The next morning, before traintime, Vance went to the post office and +left the article on Black Jack addressed to Terence Colby at the Cornish +ranch. The addressing was done on a typewriter, which completely removed +any means of identifying the sender. Vance played with Providence in only +one way. He was so eager to strike his blow at the last possible moment +that he asked the postmaster to hold the letter for three days, which +would land it at the ranch on the morning of the birthday. Then he went +to the train. + +His self-respect was increasing by leaps and bounds. The game was still +not won, but, starring with absolutely nothing, in six days he had +planted a charge which might send Elizabeth's twenty-four years of labor +up in smoke. + +He got off the train at Preston, the station nearest the ranch, and took +a hired team up the road along Bear Creek Gorge. They debouched out of +the Blue Mountains into the valley of the ranch in the early evening, and +Vance found himself looking with new eyes on the little kingdom. He felt +the happiness, indeed, of one who has lost a great prize and then put +himself in a fair way of winning it back. + +They dipped into the valley road. Over the tops of the big silver spruces +he traced the outline of Sleep Mountain against the southern sky. Who but +Vance, or the dwellers in the valley, would be able to duly appreciate +such beauty? If there were any wrong in what he had done, this thought +consoled him: the ends justified the means. + +Now, as they drew closer, through the branches he made out glimpses of +the dim, white front of the big house on the hill. That big, cool house +with the kingdom spilled out at its feet, the farming lands, the pastures +of the hills, and the rich forest of the upper mountains. Certainty came +to Vance Cornish. He wanted the ranch so profoundly that the thought of +losing it became impossible. + + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +But while he had been working at a distance, things had been going on +apace at the ranch, a progress which had now gathered such impetus that +he found himself incapable of checking it. The blow fell immediately +after dinner that same evening. Terence excused himself early to retire +to the mysteries of a new pump-gun. Elizabeth and Vance took their coffee +into the library. + +The night had turned cool, with a sharp wind driving the chill through +every crack; so a few sticks were sending their flames crumbling against +the big back log. The lamp glowing in the corner was the only other +light, and when they drew their chairs close to the hearth, great tongues +of shadows leaped and fell on the wall behind them. Vance looked at his +sister with concern. There was a certain complacency about her this +evening that told him in advance that she had formed a new plan with +which 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 her +thin, homely face illuminated irregularly and by flashes. He kept +watching 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 she +turned 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 dropped +his chin in his hand, partly for comfort and partly to veil the sneer. If +she 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 of +it. But the preparation was merely like tensing one's muscles against a +fall. 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 become +of his six days of work? What would become of his cunning and his +forethought? All destroyed at a blow. For if she adopted the boy, the +very law would keep her from denying him afterward. For a moment it +seemed 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 into +that hollow, ringing sound. + +"Approve? It's a queer question to ask me. But let it go. I know I +couldn't change you." + +"I know that you have a right to advise," she said gently. "You are my +father'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 her +face. 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, that +something might happen before that time. I've actually lain awake at +night and thought about it! And I want to forestall all chances. I want +to 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. And +with consummate bitterness of soul he submitted to his fate. + +"I suppose you're right. Call him down now and I'll be present when you +ask him to join the circle--the family circle of the Cornishes, you +know." + +He could not school all the bitterness out of his voice, but she seemed +too glad of his bare acquiescence to object to such trifles. She sent Wu +Chi to call Terence down to them. He had apparently been in his shirt +sleeves working at the gun. He came with his hands still faintly +glistening from their hasty washing, and with the coat which he had just +bundled into still rather bunched around his big shoulders. He came and +stood against the massive, rough-finished stones of the fireplace looking +down at Elizabeth. There had always been a sort of silent understanding +between him and Vance. They never exchanged more words and looks than +were absolutely necessary. Vance realized it more than ever as he looked +up to the tall athletic figure. And he realized also that since he had +last looked closely at Terence the latter had slipped out of boyhood and +into manhood. There was that indescribable something about the set of the +chin 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 a +little, his hand falling away from the stone against which he had been +leaning. But Vance looked more closely at his sister. He could see the +gleam of worship in her eyes. + +"And now I want you to be something more. I want you to be my boy in the +eyes of the law, so that when anything happens to me, your place won't be +threatened." + +He was straighter than ever. + +"I want to adopt you, Terence!" + +Somehow, in those few moments they had been gradually building to a +climax. It was prodigiously heightened now by the silence of the boy. The +throat of Vance tightened with excitement. + +"I will be your mother, in the eyes of the law," she was explaining +gently, 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 wondered +at it. But he wondered more at the stiff-standing form of Terence, and +his silence; until he saw the tender smile vanish from the face of +Elizabeth and alarm come into it. All at once Terence had dropped to one +knee before her and taken her hands. And now it was he who was talking +slowly, gently. + +"All my life you've given me things, Aunt Elizabeth. You've given me +everything. Home, happiness, love--everything that could be given. So +much that you could never be repaid, and all I can do is to love you, you +see, and honor you as if you were my mother, in fact. But there's just +one thing that can't be given. And that's a name!" + +He paused. Elizabeth was listening with a stricken face, and the heart of +Vance thundered with his excitement. Vaguely he felt that there was +something fine and clean and honorable in the heart of this youth which +was being laid bare; but about that he cared very little. He was getting +at facts and emotions which were valuable to him in the terms of dollars +and cents. + +"It makes me choke up," said Terence, "to have you offer me this great +thing. It's a fine name, Cornish. But you know that I can't do it. It +would be cowardly--a sort of rotten treason for me to change. It would be +wrong. I know it would be wrong. I'm a Colby, Aunt Elizabeth. Every time +that name is spoken, I feel it tingling down to my fingertips. I want to +stand straighter, live cleaner. When I looked at the old Colby place in +Virginia last year, it brought the tears to my eyes. I felt as if I were +a product of that soil. Every fine thing that has ever been done by a +Colby is a strength to me. I've studied them. And every now and then when +I come to some brave thing they've done, I wonder if I could do it. And +then I say to myself that I _must_ be able to do just such things or else +be a shame to my blood. + +"Change my name? Why, I've gone all my life thanking God that I come of a +race 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 do +some fine big thing one of these days. Think of it! I'm the last of a +race. I'm the end of it. The last of the Colbys! Why, when you think of +it, you see how I can't possibly change, don't you? If I lost that, I'd +lose the best half of myself and my self-respect! You understand, don't +you? Not that I slight the name of Cornish for an instant. But even if +names can be changed, blood can't be changed!" + +She turned her head. She met the gleaming eyes of Vance, and then let her +glance 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 a +dog. 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, past +control, 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 ever +heard Terry say. But it frightens me, Vance. It frightens me to know that +I've formed the character and the pride and the self-respect of that boy +on--a lie! Pray God that he never learns the truth!" + + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +There were not many guests. Elizabeth had chosen them carefully from +families which had known her father, Henry Cornish, when, in his +reckless, adventurous way, he had been laying the basis of the Cornish +fortune in the Rockies. Indeed, she was a little angry when she heard of +the 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 fully +into the spirit of the thing, and that his heart was in the right place +as far as this birthday party was concerned, and she could not do +otherwise than accept his explanation. + +Some of the bidden guests, however, came from a great distance, and as a +matter of course a few of them arrived the day before the celebration and +filled the quiet rooms of the old house with noise. Elizabeth accepted +them with resignation, and even pleasure, because they all had pleasant +things to say about her father and good wishes to express for the +destined heir, Terence Colby. It was carefully explained that this +selection of an heir had been made by both Elizabeth and Vance, which +removed all cause for remark. Vance himself regarded the guests with +distinct 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 family +precedents out here." + +It touched her shrewdly. More than once she had felt that Terry was on +the verge of becoming a complacent prig. So she countered with a sharp +thrust. + +"You have to remember that you're a Westerner born and bred, my dear. A +very Westerner yourself!" + +"Birth is an accident--birthplaces, I mean," smiled Terence. "It's the +blood 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 a +squirrel and was laughing down through the branches at a raw-boned cousin +on the ground beneath her. + +"And what of it?" said Elizabeth. "That girl is pretty enough to please +any man; and she's the type that makes a wife." + +Terry rubbed his chin with his knuckles thoughtfully. It was the one +family habit that he had contracted from Vance, much to the irritation of +the latter. + +"After all," said Terry, with complacency, "what are good looks with bad +grammar?" + +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 little +older, you'll get sense. If you want white hands and good grammar, how do +you expect to find a wife in the mountains?" + +Terry answered with unshaken, lordly calm. "I haven't thought about the +details. They don't matter. But a man must have standards of criticism." + +"Standards your foot!" cried Aunt Elizabeth. "You insufferable young +prig. That very girl laughing down through the branches--I'll wager she +could set your head spinning in ten seconds if she thought it worth her +while to try." + +"Perhaps," smiled Terence. "In the meantime she has freckles and a +vocabulary 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! Where +are you going now?" + +"Out to see El Sangre." + +He went whistling out of the door, and she followed him with confused +feelings of anger, pride, joy, and fear. She went to a side window and +saw him go fearlessly into the corral where the man-destroying El Sangre +was kept. And the big stallion, red fire in the sunshine, went straight +to him and nosed at a hip pocket. They had already struck up a perfect +understanding. Deeply she wondered at it. + +She had never loved the mountains and their people and their ways. It had +been a battle to fight. She had fought the battle, won, and gained a +hollow victory. And watching Terry caress the great, beautiful horse, she +knew 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 as +El Sangre has done. You need teaching." + +When she turned from the window, she found Vance watching her. He had a +habit of obscurely melting into a background and looking out at her +unexpectedly. All at once she knew that he had been there listening +during all of her talk with Terence. Not that the talk had been of a +peculiarly private nature, but it angered her. There was just a semblance +of eavesdropping about the presence of Vance. For she knew that Terence +unbosomed himself to her as he would do in the hearing of no other human +being. However, she mastered her anger and smiled at her brother. He had +taken all these recent changes which were so much to his disadvantage +with 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 her +completely. 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 antiquated +style, Vance, keeps me at arm's length." + +"A stiff style because he wrote so rapidly. But there's the greatest body +and 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 for +physical 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 well +and shoot well. If a man can't do that, he ceases to be a man in Terry's +eyes. 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 into +the conversation than he planned; now he retreated carefully. "But +another year or so may help him." + +He retreated before she could answer, but he left her thoughtful, as he +hoped to do. He had a standing theory that the only way to make a woman +meditate is to keep her from talking. And he wanted very much to make +Elizabeth meditate the evil in the son of Black Jack. Otherwise all his +plans 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 and +the sheriff together on the birthday and guide the two explosives until +they met on the subject of the death of Black Jack. Either Terry would +kill the sheriff, or the sheriff would kill Terry. Vance hoped for the +latter, but rather expected the former to be the outcome, and if it were, +he was inclined to think that Elizabeth would sooner or later make +excuses for Terry and take him back into the fold of her affections. +Accordingly, his work was, in the few days that intervened, to plant all +the 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 big +veranda. The mail was delivered, as a rule, just before dusk, one of the +cow-punchers riding down for it. Grave fears about the loss of that all- +important missive to Terry haunted him, for the postmaster was a +doddering old fellow who was quite apt to forget his head. Consequently +he was vastly relieved when the mail arrived and Elizabeth brought the +familiar 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 to +separate 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 rather +touchy about the thing. I want people to know that you and I have agreed +on making Terry the heir to the ranch. I don't want anyone to suspect +that 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 the +envelope." + +"But wait a minute, Elizabeth. It might anger Terry to have even his +business 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 over +the matter. "Do you know, Vance, that sometimes I feel as if the whole +world 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's +festivities. Aunt Elizabeth shifted the burden of the entertainment onto +the capable shoulders of Vance, who could please these Westerners when he +chose. Tonight he decidedly chose. Elizabeth had never see him in such +high spirits. He could flirt good-humoredly and openly across the table +at Nelly, or else turn and draw an anecdote from Nelly's father. He kept +the reins in his hands and drove the talk along so smoothly that +Elizabeth could sit in gloomy silence, unnoticed, at the farther end of +the table. Her mind was up yonder in the room of Terry. + +Something had happened, and it had come through that long business +envelope with the typewritten address that seemed so harmless. One +reading of the contents had brought Terry out of his chair with an +exclamation. Then, without explanation of any sort, he had gone to his +room and stayed there. She would have followed to find out what was the +matter, but the requirements of dinner and her guests kept her +downstairs. + +Immediately after dinner Vance, at a signal from her, dexterously herded +everyone into the living room and distributed them in comfort around the +big fireplace; Elizabeth Cornish bolted straight for the room of Terence. +She knocked and tried the door. To her astonishment, the knob turned, but +the 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 things +about Terry were great things to Elizabeth. In twenty-four years he had +never locked his door. What could it mean? + +It was a moment before she could call, and she waited breathlessly. She +was reassured by a quiet voice that answered her: "Just a moment. I'll +open." + +The tone was so matter-of-fact that her heart, with one leap, came back +to normal and tears of relief misted her eyes for an instant. Perhaps he +was up here working out a surprise for the next day--he was full of +tricks and surprises. That was unquestionably it. And he took so long in +coming to the door because he was hiding the thing he had been working +on. As for food, Wu Chi was his slave and would have smuggled a tray up +to him. Presently the lock turned and the door opened. + +She could not see his face distinctly at first, the light was so strong +behind him. Besides, she was more occupied in looking for the tray of +food which would assure her that Terry was not suffering from some mental +crisis that had made him forget even dinner. She found the tray, sure +enough, but the food had not been touched. + +She turned on him with a new rush of alarm. And all her fears were +realized. Terry had been fighting a hard battle and he was still +fighting. 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 an +article clipped out of a magazine. She looked down at it with unseeing +eyes. The sheets were already much crumbled. Terry turned them to a full- +page picture, and Elizabeth found herself looking down into the face of +Black Jack, proud, handsome, defiant. + +Had Vance been there, he might have recognized her actions. As she had +done one day twenty-four years ago, now she turned and dropped heavily +into a chair, her bony hands pressed to her shallow bosom. A moment later +she 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 tell +by 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, are +you?" + +"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 with +short 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 mental +processes through which he had been going. Who in all the reaches of the +mountain desert had ever before dreamed of terming the killing of the +notorious 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 sharply +on his face and on the photograph which he held beside his head. He +caught up a sombrero and jammed it jauntily on his head. He tilted his +face high, with resolute chin. And all at once there were two Black +Jacks, not one. He evidently saw all the admission that he cared for in +her face. He took off the hat with a dragging motion and replaced the +photograph on the table. + +"I tried it in the mirror," he said quietly. "I wasn't quite sure until I +tried 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 old +blood!" + +He made himself smile at her, and Elizabeth trembled. "If I could +explain--" she began. + +"Ah, what is there to explain, Aunt Elizabeth? Except that you have been +a thousand times kinder to me than I dreamed before. Why, I--I actually +thought that you were rather honored by having a Colby under your roof. I +really 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 her +mournful eyes on his face. + +"Whatever your name may be, that doesn't change the man who wears the +name." + +He laughed softly. "And you've been teaching me steadily for twenty-four +years that blood will tell? You can't change like this. Oh, I understand +it perfectly. You determined to make me over. You determined to destroy +my heritage and put the name of the fine old Colbys in its place. It was +a brave thing to try, and all these years how you must have waited, and +waited to see how I would turn out, dreading every day some outbreak of +the bad blood! Ah, you have a nerve of steel, Aunt Elizabeth! How have +you 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 send +for me?" + +"I've been busy doing a thing that no one could help me with. I've been +burning my dreams." He pointed to a smoldering heap of ashes on the +hearth. + +"Terry!" + +"Yes, all the Colby pictures that I've been collecting for the past +fifteen years. I burned 'em. They don't mean anything to anyone else, and +certainly they have ceased to mean anything to me. But when I came to +Anthony Colby--the eighteen-twelve man, you know, the one who has always +been my hero--it went pretty hard. I felt as if--I were burning my own +personality. As a matter of fact, in the last couple of hours I've been +born over again." + +Terry paused. "And births are painful, Aunt Elizabeth!" + +At that she cried out and caught his hand. "Terry dear! Terry dear! You +break my heart!" + +"I don't mean to. You mustn't think that I'm pitying myself. But I want +to know the real name of my father. He must have had some name other than +Black 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. Blood +will tell. I know that I'm not all bad, and there must have been good in +Black Jack. I want to know all about him. I want to know about--his +crimes." + +He labored through a fierce moment of silent struggle while her heart +went helplessly out to him. + +"Because--I had a hand in every one of those crimes! Everything that he +did 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 do +that? Will you wait till tomorrow night, Terry? I'm going to have a long +talk with you then, about many things. And I want you to keep this in +mind always. No matter how long you live, the influence of the Colbys +will never go out of your life. And neither will my influence, I hope. If +there 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 have +entered into your make-up. They're just as much a part of you as his +blood." + +"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 in +the shadowy hall. Then he touched her arm, suddenly grown serious. + +"What's wrong, Elizabeth?" + +Her voice was low, vibrating with fierceness. And Vance blessed the +dimness of the hall, for he could feel the blood recede from his face and +the sweat stand on his forehead. + +"Vance, if you've done what I think you've done, you're lower than a +snake, and more poisonous and more treacherous. And I'll cut you out of +my heart and my life. You know what I mean?" + +It was really the first important crisis that he had ever faced. And now +his heart grew small, cold. He knew, miserably, his own cowardice. And +like all cowards, he fell back on bold lying to carry him through. It was +a triumph that he could make his voice steady--more than steady. He could +even throw the right shade of disgust into it. + +"Is this another one of your tantrums, Elizabeth? By heavens, I'm growing +tired of 'em. You continually throw in my face that you hold the strings +of 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 carried +home to her; there was just a sufficient edge of truth to wound her. Had +there been much light, she could have read his face; the dimness of the +hall was saving Vance, and he knew it. + +"God knows I'd like to believe that you haven't had anything to do with +it. But you and I are the only two people in the world who know the +secret of it--" + +He pretended to guess. "It's something about Terence? Something about his +father?" + +Again she was disarmed. If he were guilty, it was strange that he should +approach the subject so openly. And she began to doubt. + +"Vance, he knows everything! Everything except the real name of Black +Jack!" + +"Good heavens!" + +She strained her eyes through the shadows to make out his real +expression; but there seemed to be a real horror in his restrained +whisper. + +"It isn't possible, Elizabeth!" + +"It came in that letter. That letter I wanted to open, and which you +persuaded me not to!" She mustered all her damning facts one after +another. "And it was postmarked from Craterville. Vance, you have been in +Craterville lately!" + +He seemed to consider. + +"Could I have told anyone? Could I, possibly? No, Elizabeth, I'll give +you my word of honor that I've never spoken a syllable about that subject +to 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 her +recede from her aggressiveness. + +"It was dated after you left Craterville, of course. And--I can't stand +imagining 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 Jack +that happens to look as much like Terry as two peas." + +"Then I have it! If the picture looks like Terry, someone took it for +granted that he'd be interested in the similarity. That's why it was +sent. Unless they told him that he was really Black Jack's son. Did the +person who sent the letter do that?" + +"There was no letter. Only a magazine clipping and the photograph of the +painting." + +They were both silent. Plainly she had dismissed all idea of her +brother'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. Sooner +or 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'll +help me to keep Terry in hand for the next few days? You see, he declared +that 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, my +dear." + +She pressed his hand in silence. + +"I'm going up to talk with him now," he said. "I'm going to do what I can +with him. You go in and talk. And don't let them see that anything is +wrong." + +The door had not been locked again. He entered at the call of Terry and +found him leaning over the hearth stirring up the pile of charred paper +to make it burn more freely. A shadow crossed the face of Terry as he saw +his visitor, but he banished it at once and rose to greet him. In his +heart Vance was a little moved. He went straight to the younger man and +took his hand. + +"Elizabeth has told me," he said gently, and he looked with a moist eye +into the face of the man who, if his plans worked out, would be either +murderer or murdered before the close of the next day. "I am very sorry, +Terence." + +"I thought you came to congratulate me," said Terry, withdrawing his +hand. + +"Congratulate you?" echoed Vance, with unaffected astonishment. + +"For having learned the truth," said Terry. "Also, for having a father +who 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 in +that way, I do congratulate you, Terence!" + +"You've always hated me, Uncle Vance," Terry declared. "I've known it all +these years. And I'll do without your congratulations." + +"You're wrong, Terry," said Vance. He kept his voice mild. "You're very +wrong. But I'm old enough not to take offense at what a young spitfire +says." + +"I suppose you are," retorted Terry, in a tone which implied that he +himself would never reach that age. + +"And when a few years run by," went on Vance, "you'll change your +viewpoint. In the meantime, my boy, let me give you this warning. No +matter what you think about me, it is Elizabeth who counts." + +"Thanks. You need have no fear about my attitude to Aunt Elizabeth. You +ought to know that I love her, and respect her." + +"Exactly. But you're headstrong, Terry. Very headstrong. And so is +Elizabeth. Take your own case. She took you into the family for the sake +of a theory. Did you know that?" + +The boy stiffened. "A theory?" + +"Quite so. She wished to prove that blood, after all, was more talk than +a vital influence. So she took you in and gave you an imaginary line of +ancestors with which you were entirely contented. But, after all, it has +been 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. "Perhaps +you're right. I don't know. Perhaps you're right." + +"And if her theory is proved wrong--look out, Terry! She'll throw you out +of 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. I +have 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 he +retired 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 not +be punished. He would turn Terry into a corpse or a killer, and in either +case the youngster would never dream who had dealt the blow. + +No wonder, then, as he went downstairs, that he stepped onto the veranda +for a few moments. The moon was just up beyond Mount Discovery; the +valley unfolded like a dream. Never had the estate seemed so charming to +Vance Cornish, for he felt that his hand was closing slowly around his +inheritance. + + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +The sleep of the night seemed to blot out the excitement of the preceding +evening. A bright sun, a cool stir of air, brought in the next morning, +and certainly calamity had never seemed farther from the Cornish ranch +than it did on this day. All through the morning people kept arriving in +ones and twos. Every buckboard on the place was commissioned to haul the +guests around the smooth roads and show them the estate; and those who +preferred were furnished with saddle horses from the stable to keep their +own mounts fresh for their return trip. Vance took charge of the wagon +parties; Terence himself guided the horsemen, and he rode El Sangre, a +flashing 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, he +was 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 for +his great results. No less a person than Sheriff Joe Minter galloped up +and threw his reins before the veranda. He approached Elizabeth with a +high flourish of his hat and a profound bow, for Uncle Joe Minter +affected the mannered courtesy of the "Southern" school. Vance had them +in profile from the side, and his nervous glance flickered from one to +the other. The sheriff was plainly pleased with what he had seen on his +way up Bear Creek. He was also happy to be present at so large a +gathering. But to Elizabeth his coming was like a death. Her brother +could tell the difference between her forced cordiality and the real +thing. She had his horse put up; presented him to the few people whom he +had not met, and then left him posing for the crowd of admirers. Life to +the 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 here +for the party; he hardly knows us." + +"No, no! Not that! But don't you remember? Don't you remember what Joe +Minter did?" + +"Good Lord!" gasped Vance, apparently just recalling. "He killed Black +Jack! 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 man +you'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 insult +with gunplay. We must simply keep them apart. Keep the sheriff from +talking." + +"Keep rain from falling!" groaned Elizabeth. "Vance, if you won't do +anything, 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 with +Machiavellian smoothness. "If Terry saw the man who killed his father, +all his twenty-four years of training would go up in smoke and the blood +of 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 think +he 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 would +I. But if the sheriff stays here, I feel that I'm going to win the bet +that I made twenty-four years ago. You remember? That Terry would shoot a +man before he was twenty-five?" + +"Have I ever forgotten?" she said huskily. "Have I ever let it go out of +my mind? But it isn't the danger of Terry shooting. It's the danger of +Terry being shot. If he should reach for a gun against the sheriff--that +professional mankiller--Vance, something has to be done!" + +"Right," he nodded. "I wouldn't trust Terry in the face of such a +temptation 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've +spent twenty-four years training him. If he isn't what he ought to be +now, 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 after +what I've done for him, then he's a hopeless case. The sheriff shall +stay! The sheriff shall stay!" + +She kept repeating it, as though the repetition of the phrase might bring +her courage. And then she went back among her guests. + +As for Vance, he remained skillfully in the background that day. It was +peculiarly vital, this day of all days, that he should not be much in +evidence. No one must see in him a controlling influence. + +In the meantime he watched his sister with a growing admiration and with +a growing concern. Instantly she had a problem on her hands. For the +moment Terence heard that the great sheriff himself had joined the party, +he was filled with happiness. Vance watched them meet with a heart +swelling with happiness and surety of success. Straight through a group +came Terry, weaving his way eagerly, and went up to the sheriff. Vance +saw 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 least +determined to be present at it. She came up with Terence and presented +him. + +"Sheriff Minter, this is Terence Colby." + +"I've heard of you, Colby," said the sheriff kindly. And he waited for a +response 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 drifting +around a tolerable long time, I guess." + +"Why," said Terry, with a sort of outburst, "I've simply eaten up +everything 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 who +might learn how broadly the fame of their sheriff was spread. + +"That Canning fellow who travelled out West and ran into you and was +along 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 all +that gent's questions, I recollect. Yep, he was along when I took the +Garrison 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. Perhaps +you'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 hand +at 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 story +by--the kind of stories I got to tell," he declared. "Some of these days +I'll take you along with me on a trail, son, if you'd like--and most like +I'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 a +revolver, too." + +"I practice hard," said Terry frankly. "I love guns." + +"Good things to love, and good things to hate, too," philosophized the +sheriff. "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 with +a hoss under him, and a pair of Colts strapped to his waist, and made his +own 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 get +together. 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 El +Sangre, 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 his +mane 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 see +you. You can take the sheriff out to see El Sangre later. Besides, half a +dozen 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 real +Sheriff Minter. Do you mind?" + +"Pshaw," said the sheriff. "I ain't no kind of a hand at talking to the +womenfolk. 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 won +the first engagement, but Vance was still confident. The dinner table +would tell the tale. + + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +Elizabeth left the ordering of the guests at the table to Vance, and she +consulted 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 a +small porch, and below the porch was the garden which had been the pride +of Henry Cornish. Beside the tall glass doors which led out onto the +porch she reviewed the seating plans of Vance. "You at this end and I at +the other," he said. "I've put the sheriff beside you, and right across +from the sheriff is Nelly. She ought to keep him busy. The old idiot has +a weakness for pretty girls, and the younger the better, it seems. Next +to the sheriff is Mr. Gainor. He's a political power, and what time the +sheriff doesn't spend on you and on Nelly he certainly will give to +Gainor. The arrangement of the rest doesn't matter. I simply worked to +get the sheriff well-pocketed and keep him under your eye." + +"But why not under yours, Vance? You're a thousand times more diplomatic +than I am." + +"I wouldn't take the responsibility, for, after all, this may turn out to +be 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'll +have them practically facing each other." + +It was the main thing he was striving to attain. He placated her +carefully. + +"I had to. There's a danger. But the advantage is huge. You'll be there +between them, you might say. You can keep the table talk in hand at that +end. Flash me a signal if you're in trouble, and I'll fire a question +down the table at the sheriff or Terry, and get their attention. In the +meantime you can draw Terry into talk with you if he begins to ask the +sheriff what you consider leading questions. In that way, you'll keep the +talk a thousand leagues away from the death of Black Jack." + +He gained his point without much more trouble. Half an hour later the +table was surrounded by the guests. It was a table of baronial +proportions, but twenty couples occupied every inch of the space easily. +Vance found himself a greater distance than he could have wished from the +scene of danger, and of electrical contact. + +At least four zones of cross-fire talk intervened, and the talk at the +farther end of the table was completely lost to him, except when some new +and amazing dish, a triumph of Wu Chi's fabrication, was brought on, and +an appreciative wave of silence attended it. + +Or again, the mighty voice of the sheriff was heard to bellow forth in +laughter of heroic proportions. + +Aside from that, there was no information he could gather except by his +eyes. And chiefly, the face of Elizabeth. He knew her like a book in +which he had often read. Twice he read the danger signals. When the great +roast was being removed, he saw her eyes widen and her lips contract a +trifle, and he knew that someone had come very close to the danger line +indeed. Again when dessert was coming in bright shoals on the trays of +the Chinese servants, the glance of his sister fixed on him down the +length of the table with a grim appeal. He made a gesture of +helplessness. Between them four distinct groups into which the table talk +had divided were now going at full blast. He could hardly have made +himself heard at the other end of the table without shouting. + +Yet that crisis also passed away. Elizabeth was working hard, but as the +meal progressed toward a close, he began to worry. It had seemed +impossible that the sheriff could actually sit this length of time in +such an assemblage without launching into the stories for which he was +famous. Above all, he would be sure to tell how he had started on his +career as a manhunter by relating how he slew Black Jack. + +Once the appalling thought came to Vance that the story must have been +told during one of those moments when his sister had shown alarm. The +crisis might be over, and Terry had indeed showed a restraint which was a +credit to Elizabeth's training. But by the hunted look in her eyes, he +knew that the climax had not yet been reached, and that she was +continually fighting it away. + +He writhed with impatience. If he had not been a fool, he would have +taken that place himself, and then he could have seen to it that the +sheriff, with dexterous guiding, should approach the fatal story. As it +was, how could he tell that Elizabeth might not undo all his plans and +cleverly keep the sheriff away from his favorite topic for an untold +length of time? But as he told his sister, he wished to place all the +seeming responsibility on her own shoulders. Perhaps he had played too +safe. + +The first ray of hope came to him as coffee was brought in. The +prodigious eating of the cattlemen and miners at the table had brought +them to a stupor. They no longer talked, but puffed with unfamiliar +awkwardness at the fine Havanas which Vance had provided. Even the women +talked less, having worn off the edge of the novelty of actually dining +at the table of Elizabeth Cornish. And since the hostess was occupied +solely with the little group nearest her, and there was no guiding mind +to pick up the threads of talk in each group and maintain it, this duty +fell more and more into the hands of Vance. He took up his task with +pleasure. + +Farther and farther down the table extended the sphere of his mild +influence. He asked Mr. Wainwright to tell the story of how he treed the +bear so that the tenderfoot author could come and shoot it. Mr. +Wainwright responded with gusto. The story was a success. He varied it by +requesting young Dobel to describe the snowslide which had wiped out the +Vorheimer shack the winter before. + +Young Dobel did well enough to make the men grunt at the end, and he +brought several little squeals of horror from the ladies. + +All of this was for a purpose. Vance was setting the precedent, and they +were becoming used to hearing stories. At the end of each tale the +silence of expectation was longer and wider. Finally, it reached the +other end of the table, and suddenly the sheriff discovered that tales +were going the rounds, and that he had not yet been heard. He rolled his +eye with an inward look, and Vance knew that he was searching for some +smooth 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 with +the accuracy of a marksman, and beat up a drumfire of responses from the +ladies 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 Vance +began to despair of ever effecting his goal, the silence began again as +lady after lady ran out of material for the nonce. And as the silence +spread, the sheriff was visibly gathering steam. + +Again Elizabeth cut in. But this time there was only a sporadic +chattering in response. Coffee was steaming before them, Wu Chi's +powerful, thick, aromatic coffee, which only he knew how to make. They +were in a mood, now, to hear stories, that tableful of people. An +expected ally came to the aid of Vance. It was Terence, who had been +eating 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 Johnny +Garden. But I've never had the straight of it. Won't you tell us how it +happened?" + +"Oh," protested the sheriff, "it don't amount to much." + +Elizabeth cast one frantic glance at her brother, and strove to edge into +the interval of silence with a question directed at Mr. Gainor. But he +shelved that question; the whole table was obviously waiting for the +great 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 tell +you just how it come about." + +There followed a long story of how Johnny Garden had announced that he +would ride down and shoot up the sheriff's own town, and then get away on +the sheriff's own horse--and how he did it. And how the sheriff was +laughed at heartily by the townsfolk, and how the whole mountain district +joined in the laughter. And how he started out single-handed in the +middle of winter to run down Johnny Garden, and struck through the +mountains, was caught above the timberline in a terrific blizzard, kept +on in peril of his life until he barely managed to reach the timber again +on the other side of the ridge. How he descended upon the hiding-place of +Johnny Garden, found Johnny gone, but his companions there, and made a +bargain with them to let them go if they would consent to stand by and +offer 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, they +stood aside and let Johnny and the sheriff fight it out. How the sheriff +beat Johnny to the draw, but was wounded in the left arm while Johnny +fired a second shot as he lay dying on the floor of the lean-to. How the +sheriff's wound was dressed by the companions of the dead Johnny, and how +he was safely dismissed with honor, as between brave men, and how +afterwards he hunted those same men down one by one. + +It was quite a long story, but the audience followed it with a breathless +interest. + +"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 the +son of a minister brung up plumb peaceful. Now, would you?" + +And again, to the intense joy of Vance, it was Terry who brought the +subject back, and this time the subject of all subjects which Elizabeth +dreaded, 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 a +glance of frantic and weary appeal, to which he responded with a gesture +which indicated that the cause was lost. + +"I was brung up mighty proper. I had a most amazing lot of prayers at the +tip of my tongue when I wasn't no more'n knee-high to a grasshopper. But +when 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 to +smother it, and stop me by saying: 'Don't!' Which don't accomplish +nothing with young gents that got any spirit. Not a damn thing--asking +your 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 and +getting pretty near ready to bust. + +"Well, sirs, pretty soon--we was living in Garrison City them days, when +Garrison wasn't near the town that it is now--along comes word that Jack +Hollis is around. A lot of you younger folks ain't never heard nothing +about him. But in his day Jack Hollis was as bad as they was made. They +was nothing that Jack wouldn't turn to real handy, from shootin' up a +town to sticking up a train or a stage. And he done it all just about as +well. He was one of them universal experts. He could blow a safe as neat +as you'd ask. And if it come to a gun fight, he was greased lightning +with a flying start. That was Jack Hollis." + +The sheriff paused to draw breath. + +"Perhaps," said Elizabeth Cornish, white about the lips, "we had better +go 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 point +of utter desperation. And on the way into the living room unquestionably +she would be able to divert Terry to something else. Vance held his +breath. + +And it was Terry who signed his own doom. + +"We're very comfortable here, Aunt Elizabeth. Let's not go in till the +sheriff has finished his story." + +The sheriff rewarded him with a flash of gratitude, and Vance settled +back in his chair. The end could not, now, be far away. + + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +"I was saying," proceeded the sheriff, "that they scared their babies in +these 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 stories +about the generosity of--" + +He was anxious to put in the name of Black Jack, since the sheriff was +sticking so close to "Jack Hollis," which was a name that Terry had not +yet heard for his dead father. But before he could get out the name, the +sheriff, angry at the interruption, resumed the smooth current of his +tale with a side flash at Vance. + +"Not all bad, you say? Generous? Sure he was generous. Them that live +outside the law has got to be generous to keep a gang around 'em. Not +that Hollis ever played with a gang much, but he had hangers-on all over +the mountains and gents that he had done good turns for and hadn't gone +off and talked about it. But that was just common sense. He knew he'd +need friends that he could trust if he ever got in trouble. If he was +wounded, 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 apt +to cotton to. He was free with his money. He dressed like a dandy. He'd +gamble with hundreds, and then give back half of his winnings if he'd +broke the gent that run the bank. Them was the sort of things that Jack +Hollis would do. And I had my head full of him. Well, about the time that +he come to the neighborhood, I sneaked out of the house one night and +went off to a dance with a girl that I was sweet on. And when I come +back, I found Dad waiting up for me ready to skin me alive. He tried to +give me a clubbing. I kicked the stick out of his hands and swore that +I'd leave and never come back. Which I never done, living up to my word +proper. + +"But when I found myself outside in the night, I says to myself: 'Where +shall I go now?' + +"And then, being sort of sick at the world, and hating Dad particular, I +decided to go out and join Jack Hollis. I was going to go bad. Mostly to +cut 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 sure +not to be no officer of the law. Besides, they didn't go out single and +hunt for Hollis. They went in gangs of a half a dozen at a time, or more +if they could get 'em. And even then they mostly got cleaned up when they +cornered Hollis. Yes, sir, he made life sad for the sheriffs in them +parts that he favored most. + +"I found Jack toasting bacon over a fire. He had two gents with him, and +they brung me in, finding me sneaking around like a fool kid instead of +walking right into camp. Jack sized me up a minute. He was a fine-looking +boy, was Hollis. He gimme a look out of them fine black eyes of his which +I won't never forget. Aye, a handsome scoundrel, that Hollis!" + +Elizabeth Cornish sank back in her chair and covered her eyes with her +hands for a moment. To the others it seemed that she was merely rubbing +weary 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 with +sparkling 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 I +knew that he was a no-good, man-killing, heartless sort. I told him right +off that I wanted to join him. I even up and give him an exhibition of +shooting. + +"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 to +fight your way.' + +"'Any fool can fight,' says Jack Hollis. 'But a gent with any sense don't +have to fight. You can lay to that, son!' + +"'Don't call me son,' says I. 'I'm older than you was when you started +out.' + +"I'd had my heart busted before I started,' says Jack Hollis to me. 'Are +you 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 rest +of that night. The next day I loafed around town not hardly noways +knowing what I was going to do. + +"Then I was loafing around with my rifle, like I was going out on a +hunting trip that afternoon. And pretty soon I heard a lot of noise +coming down the street, guns and what not. I look out the window and +there comes Jack Hollis, hellbent! Jack Hollis! And then it pops into my +head that they was a big price, for them days, on Jack's head. I picked +up 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 her +in amazement. She mustered a smile. The story went on. + +"When Jack turned to blaze away at them that was piling out around the +corner of the street, I let the gun go, and I drilled him clean. Great +sensation, gents, to have a life under your trigger. Just beckon one mite +of an inch and a life goes scooting up to heaven or down to hell. I never +got over seeing Hollis spill sidewise out of that saddle. There he was a +minute before better'n any five men when it come to fighting. And now he +wasn't nothing but a lot of trouble to bury. Just so many pounds of +flesh. You see? Well, sir, the price on Black Jack set me up in life and +gimme my start. After that I sort of specialized in manhunting, and I've +kept on ever since." + +Terry leaned across the table, his left arm outstretched to call the +sheriff'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's +tale. But there was something in the tone of the boy that cut through the +talk to its root. People were suddenly looking at him out of eyes which +were very wide indeed. And it was not hard to find a reason. His handsome +face was colorless, like a carving from the stone, and under his knitted +brows his black eyes were ominous in the shadow. The sheriff frankly +gaped at him. It was another man who sat across the table in the chair +where 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 mostly +called 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 of +one 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 the +sheriff, and it was obvious that he was making his speech to one pair of +ears 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 my +name. After what the sheriff has just told you it may be of interest to +know that my real name is Hollis. Terence Hollis is my name and my father +was Jack Hollis, commonly known as Black Jack, it seems from the story of +the sheriff. I also wish to say that I am announcing my parentage not +because I wish to apologize for it--in spite of the rather remarkable +narrative of the sheriff--but because I am proud of it." + +He lifted his head while he spoke. And his eye went boldly, calmly down +the table. + +"This could not have been expected before, because none of you knew my +father's name. I confess that I did not know it myself until a very short +time ago. Otherwise I should not have listened to the sheriff's story +until the end. Hereafter, however, when any of you are tempted to talk +about Black or Jack Hollis, remember that his son is alive--and in good +health!" + +He hung in his place for an instant as though he were ready to hear a +reply. But the table was stunned. Then Terry turned on his heel and left +the room. + +It was the signal for a general upstarting from the table, a pushing back +of chairs, a gathering around Elizabeth Cornish. She was as white as +Terry had been while he talked. But there was a gathering excitement in +her eye, and happiness. The sheriff was full of apologies. He would +rather have had his tongue torn out by the roots than to have offended +her or the young man with his story. + +She waved the sheriff's apology aside. It was unfortunate, but it could +not have been helped. They all realized that. She guided her guests into +the living room, and on the way she managed to drift close to her +brother. + +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 man +stunned or walking in his sleep. Not until he stepped into the familiar +room did the blood begin to return to his face, and with the warmth there +was a growing sensation of uneasiness. + +Something was wrong. Something had to be righted. Gradually his mind +cleared. The thing that was wrong was that the man who had killed his +father was now under the same roof with him, had shaken his hand, had sat +in bland complacency and looked in his face and told of the butchery. + +Butchery it was, according to Terry's standards. For the sake of the +price on the head of the outlaw, young Minter had shoved his rifle across +a window sill, taken his aim, and with no risk to himself had shot down +the wild rider. His heart stood up in his throat with revulsion at the +thought of it. Murder, horrible, and cold-blooded, the more horrible +because 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 of +light on the barrels. Then he knew. He selected his favorite Colt and +drew it out. It was loaded, and the action in perfect condition. Many and +many an hour he had practiced and blazed away hundreds of rounds of +ammunition with it. It responded to his touch like a muscular part of his +own body. + +He shoved it under his coat, and walking down the stairs again the chill +of the steel worked through to his flesh. He went back to the kitchen and +called 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 what +you'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 that +Mr. Harkness is waiting for them outside and wishes to see them on +business of the most urgent nature. It will only be the matter of a +moment. Now go. Gainor and the sheriff. Don't forget." + +He received a scared glance, and then went out onto the veranda and sat +down to wait. + +That was the right way, he felt. His father would have called the sheriff +to the door, in a similar situation, and after one brief challenge they +would have gone for their guns. But there was another way, and that was +the 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 a +hum of the screen as it slammed. Steps approached him. He got up from the +chair and faced them, Gainor and the sheriff. The sheriff had +instinctively put on his hat, like a man who does not understand the open +air with an uncovered head. But Gainor was uncovered, and his white hair +glimmered. + +He was a tall, courtly old fellow. His ceremonious address had won him +much political influence. Men said that Gainor was courteous to a dog, +not because he respected the dog, but because he wanted to practice for a +man. He had always the correct rejoinder, always did the right thing. He +had a thin, stern face and a hawk nose that gave him a cast of ferocity +in 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 my +business is very urgent, and I have a very particular reason for not +wishing to have it known that I have called you out." + +The moment he rose out of the chair and faced them, Gainor had stopped +short. He was quite capable of fast thinking, and now his glance +flickered from Terry to the sheriff and back again. It was plain that he +had shrewd suspicions as to the purpose behind that call. The sheriff was +merely confused. He flushed as much as his tanned-leather skin permitted. +As for Terry, the moment his glance fell on the sheriff he felt his +muscles jump into hard ridges, and an almost uncontrollable desire to go +at the throat of the other seized him. He quelled that desire and fought +it 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 picture +of the sheriff out of his brain. But the desire to leap at the tall man +was as consuming as the passion for water in the desert. And with a +shudder of horror he found himself without a moral scruple. Just behind +the thin partition of his will power there was a raging fury to get at +Joe Minter. He wanted to kill. He wanted to snuff that life out as the +life of Black Jack Hollis had been snuffed. + +He excluded the sheriff deliberately from his attention and turned fully +upon Gainor. + +"Mr. Gainor, will you be kind enough to go over to that grove of spruce +where the three of us can talk without any danger of interruption?" + +Of course, that speech revealed everything. Gainor stiffened a little and +the tuft of beard which ran down to a point on his chin quivered and +jutted out. The sheriff seemed to feel nothing more than a mild surprise +and curiosity. And the three went silently, side by side, under the +spruce. They were glorious trees, strong of trunk and nobly proportioned. +Their tops were silver-bright in the sunshine. Through the lower branches +the light was filtered through layer after layer of shadow, until on the +ground there were only a few patches of light here and there, and these +were no brighter than silver moonshine, and seemed to be without heat. +Indeed, in the mild shadow among the trees lay the chill of the mountain +air which seems to lurk in covert places waiting for the night. + +It might have been this chill that made Terry button his coat closer +about him and tremble a little as he entered the shadow. The great trunks +shut out the world in a scattered wall. There was a narrow opening here +among the trees at the very center. The three were in a sort of gorge of +which the solemn spruce trees furnished the sides, the cold blue of the +mountain skies was just above the lofty tree-tips, and the wind kept the +pure fragrance of the evergreens stirring about them. The odor is the +soul of the mountains. A great surety had come to Terry that this was the +last place he would ever see on earth. He was about to die, and he was +glad, 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, who +was very grave, indeed, and returned his look with one of infinite pity, +as though he knew and understood and acquiesced, but was deeply grieved +that it must be so. + +"Gentlemen," said Terry, making his voice light and cheerful as he felt +that 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 slightest +chance of killing this professional manslayer, but at least he would do +his best--for the sake of Black Jack's memory. But to think that his +life--his mind--his soul--all that was dear to him and all that he was +dear to, should ever lie at the command of the trigger of this hard, +crafty, vain, and unimportant fellow! He writhed at the thought. It made +him stand stiffer. His chin went up. He grew literally taller before +their eyes, and such a look came on his face that the sheriff +instinctively fell back a pace. + +"Mr. Gainor," said Terry, as though his contempt for the sheriff was too +great to permit his speaking directly to Minter, "will you explain to the +sheriff that my determination to have satisfaction does not come from the +fact 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 that +thought, there is only one thing to do. One of us must not leave this +place!" Gainor bowed, but the sheriff gaped. + +"By the eternal!" he scoffed. "This sounds like one of them duels of the +old days. This was the way they used to talk!" + +"Gentlemen," said Gainor, raising his long-fingered hand, "it is my +solemn duty to admonish you to make up your differences amicably." + +"Whatever that means," sneered the sheriff. "But tell this young fool +that's trying to act like he couldn't see me or hear me--tell him that I +don'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 to +say I'm sorry that I done all that talking right to his face. But farther +than 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 you +that, and don't you never forget it!" + +Mr. Gainor had remained with his hand raised during this outbreak. Now he +turned to Terry. + +"You have heard?" he said. "I think the sheriff is going quite a way +toward you, Mr. Colby." + +"Hollis!" gasped Terry. "Hollis is the name, sir!" + +"I beg your pardon," said Gainor. "Mr. Hollis it is! Gentlemen, I assure +you that I feel for you both. It seems, however, to be one of those +unfortunate affairs when the mind must stop its debate and physical +action must take up its proper place. I lament the necessity, but I admit +it, even though the law does not admit it. But there are unwritten laws, +sirs, unwritten laws which I for one consider among the holies of +holies." + +Palpably the old man was enjoying every minute of his own talk. It was +not his first affair of this nature. He came out of an early and more +courtly generation where men drank together in the evening by firelight +and carved one another in the morning with glimmering bowie knives. + +"You are both," he protested, "dear to me. I esteem you both as men and +as good citizens. And I have done my best to open the way for peaceful +negotiations toward an understanding. It seems that I have failed. Very +well, 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 tree +trunk 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 white +handkerchief. 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 shall +shoot down unquestioningly, like a dog. I give you my solemn word for +it!" + +And his eye informed them that he would enjoy the job. + +He continued smoothly: "This contest shall accord with the only terms by +which a duel with guns can be properly fought. You will stand back to +back with your guns not displayed, but in your clothes. At my word you +will start walking in the opposite directions until my command 'Turn!' +and at this command you will wheel, draw your guns, and fire until one +man falls--or both!" + +He sent his revolver through a peculiar, twirling motion and shook back +his 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 to +revive the happiness of her guests, but she herself was a prey to the +same subdued excitement which showed in the faces of the others. A +restraint had been taken away by the disappearance of both the storm +centers of the dinner--the sheriff and Terry. Therefore it was possible +to talk freely. And people talked. But not loudly. They were prone to +gather in little familiar groups and discuss in a whisper how Terry had +risen and spoken before them. Now and then someone, for the sake of +politeness, strove to open a general theme of conversation, but it died +away like a ripple on a placid pond. + +"But what I can't understand," said Elizabeth to Vance when she was able +to maneuver him to her side later on, "is why they seem to expect +something more." + +Vance was very grave and looked tired. The realization that all his +cunning, all his work, had been for nothing, tormented him. He had set +his trap and baited it, and it had worked perfectly--save that the teeth +of the trap had closed over thin air. At the denouement of the sheriff's +story there should have been the barking of two guns and a film of +gunpowder smoke should have gone tangling to the ceiling. Instead there +had been the formal little speech from Terry--and then quiet. Yet he had +to mask and control his bitterness; he had to watch his tongue in talking +with his sister. + +"You see," he said quietly, "they don't understand. They can't see how +fine Terry is in having made no attempt to avenge the death of his +father. I suppose a few of them think he's a coward. I even heard a +little talk to that effect!" + +"Impossible!" cried Elizabeth. + +She had not thought of this phase of the matter. All at once she hated +the sheriff. + +"It really is possible," said Vance. "You see, it's known that Terry +never fights if he can avoid it. There never has been any real reason for +fighting until today. But you know how gossip will put the most unrelated +facts together, and make a complete story in some way." + +"I wish the sheriff were dead!" moaned Elizabeth. "Oh, Vance, if you only +hadn't gone near Craterville! If you only hadn't distributed those +wholesale invitations!" + +It was almost too much for Vance--to be reproached after so much of the +triumph was on her side--such a complete victory that she herself would +never dream of the peril she and Terry had escaped. But he had to control +his irritation. In fact, he saw his whole life ahead of him carefully +schooled and controlled. He no longer had anything to sell. Elizabeth had +made a mock of him and shown him that he was hollow, that he was living +on her charity. He must all the days that she remained alive keep +flattering 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, who +disliked him pointedly, would then be the master, and he would face the +bitter necessity of cajoling the youngster whom he detested. A fine life, +truly! An almost noble anguish of the spirit came upon Vance. He was +urged to the very brink of the determination to thrust out into the world +and 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 to +be wholehearted in the Western way, my dear, and show that I had entered +into the spirit of things." + +"As a matter of fact," sighed Elizabeth, "you nearly ruined Terry's +life--and mine!" + +"Very near," said the penitent Vance. "But then--you see how well it has +turned out? Terry has taken the acid test, and now you can trust him +under any--" + +The words were literally blown off ragged at his lips. Two revolver shots +exploded at them. No one gun could have fired them. And there was a +terrible significance in the angry speed with which one had followed the +other, blending, so that the echo from the lofty side of Sleep Mountain +was but a single booming sound. In that clear air it was impossible to +tell the direction of the noise. + +Everyone in the room seemed to listen stupidly for a repetition of the +noises. But there was no repetition. + +"Vance," whispered Elizabeth in such a tone that the coward dared not +look 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 which +one?" + +That was it. Who had fallen--Terry, or the sheriff? A long, heavy step +crossed 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 to +my room to put some things together; and I'll go into town with any man +who wishes to arrest me. Decide that between yourselves." + +With that he turned and walked away with a step as deliberately unhurried +as his approach had been. The manner of the boy was more terrible than +the 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 was +being 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 as +formidable in the opinion of the mountains as some Achilles. It was +incredible 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 so +dreaded as that deep-throated murmur of angry, honest men. That murmur +from half a dozen law-abiding citizens will put the fear of death in the +hearts of a hundred outlaws. The rumble grew, spread: "Foul play." And +they 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, after +all. The time is not quite up--and you win the bet!" + +Vance shook his head as though in protest and struck his hand across his +face. 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 gave +wings 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 do +what 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. Before +Vance could answer, there was a confusion in the hall, running feet here +and there. They heard the hard, shrill voice of Wu Chi chattering +directions and the guttural murmurs of his fellow servants as they +answered. 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 through +it!" + +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 thrust +for the big doors that led into the hall. They cast the doors back and +came directly upon the tall, white-headed figure of Gainor. + + + +CHAPTER 15 + + +Gainor's dignity split the force of their rush. They recoiled as water +strikes on a rock and divides into two meager swirls. And when one or two +went 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 them +with a force of knowledge of things that they did not know. They were +remembering that this man had gone out with the sheriff to meet, +apparently, his death. And yet Gainor, a well-tried friend of the +sheriff, seemed unexcited. They had to answer his question, and how could +they lie when he saw them rushing through a door with revolvers coming to +brown, skillful hands? It was someone from the rear who made the +confession. + +"We're going to get young Black Jack!" + +That was it. The speech came out like the crack of a gun, clearing the +atmosphere. It told every man exactly what was in his own mind, felt but +not confessed. They had no grudge against Terry, really. But they were +determined to hang the son of Black Jack. Had it been a lesser deed, they +might have let him go. But his victim was too distinguished in their +society. He had struck down Joe Minter; the ghost of the great Black Jack +himself seemed to have stalked out among them. + +"You're going to get young Terry Hollis?" interpreted Gainor, and his +voice rose and rang over them. Those who had slipped past him on either +side came back and faced him. In the distance Elizabeth had not stirred. +Vance kept watching her face. It was cold as ice, unreadable. He could +not believe that she was allowing this lynching party to organize under +her own roof--a lynching party aimed at Terence. It began to grow in him +that he had gained a greater victory than he imagined. + +"If you aim at Terry," went on Gainor, his voice even louder, "you'll +have 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 stir +and murmur around Elizabeth. + +"Gentlemen," said Gainor, shaking his white hair back again in his +imposing 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 is +now badly wounded. I think that is all. Does anybody want to ask +questions about what has happened?" + +There was a bustle in the group of men. They were putting +away the weapons, not quite sure what they could do next. + +"I am going to tell you exactly what has happened," said Gainor. "You +heard the unfortunate things that passed at the table today. What the +sheriff said was not said as an insult; but under the circumstances it +became necessary for Terence Hollis to resent what he had heard. As a man +of 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 at +such things. The way of Gainor was a generation old. But there was +something so imposing about the old fellow, something which breathed the +very spirit of honor and fair play, that they could not argue the point. + +"Accordingly Mr. Hollis sent for the sheriff. Not to bring him outdoors +and shoot him down in a sudden gunplay, nor to take advantage of him +through a surprise--as a good many men would have been tempted to do, my +friends, for the sheriff has a wide reputation as a handler of guns of +all sorts. No, sir, he sent for me also, and he told us frankly that the +bad blood between him and the sheriff must be spent. You understand? By +the Lord, my friends, I admired the fine spirit of the lad. He expected +to be shot rather than to drop the sheriff. I could tell that by his +expression. But his eye did not falter. It carried me back to the old +days--to old days, sirs!" + +There was not a murmur in the entire room. The eye of Elizabeth Cornish +was fire. Whether with anger or pride, Vance could not tell. But he began +to worry. + +"We went over to the group of silver spruce near the house. I gave them +the directions. They came and stood together, back to back, with their +revolvers not drawn. They began to walk away in opposite directions at my +command. + +"When I called 'Turn,' they wheeled. My gun was ready to shoot down the +first man guilty of foul play--but there was no attempt to turn too soon, +before the signal. They whirled, snatching out their guns--and the +revolver 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 sheriff +could 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 as +he snapped about, the revolver was in his hand, not raised to draw a +bead, 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. He +dropped the muzzle of his gun--and waited. By heaven, my heart went out +to him. It was magnificent." + +The thin, strong hand of Elizabeth closed on the arm of Vance. "That was +a 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 to +flicker 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 beat +the sheriff to the trigger. The two shots came almost together, but the +sheriff was already falling when he pulled his trigger, and his aim was +wild. + +"He dropped on one side, the revolver flying out of his hand. I started +forward, and then I stopped. By heaven, the sheriff had stretched out his +arm and picked up his gun again. He was not through fighting. + +"A bulldog spirit, you say? Yes! And what could I do? It was the +sheriff's right to keep on fighting as long as he wished. And it was the +right of Terence to shoot the man full of holes the minute his hand +touched the revolver again. + +"I could only stand still. I saw the sheriff raise his revolver. It was +an effort of agony. But he was still trying to kill. And I nerved myself +and waited for the explosion of the gun of Terence. I say I nerved myself +for 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 in +the eye! + +"At that I shouted to him, I don't know what. I shouted to the sheriff +not to fire. Too late. The muzzle of the gun was already tilting up, the +barrel was straightening. And then the gun fell from Minter's hand and he +dropped 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 I +have ever seen in my life, and I have seen fine things done by gentlemen +before. There may be unpleasant associations with the name of Terry's +father. 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 a +gentleman, my friends! There is nothing for us to do. If the sheriff is +unfortunate and the wound should prove fatal, Terence will give himself +up to the law. If he lives, he will be the first to tell you to keep your +hands off the boy!" + +He ended in a little silence. But there was no appreciative burst of +applause from those who heard him. The fine courage of Terence was, to +them, merely the iron nerve of the man-killer, the keen eye and the +judicious mind which knew that the sheriff would collapse before he fired +his second shot. And his courtesy before the first shot was simply the +surety of the man who knew that no matter what advantage he gave to his +enemy, his own speed of hand would more than make up for it. + +Gainor, reading their minds, paid no more heed to them. He went straight +across the room and took the hand of Elizabeth. + +"Dear Miss Cornish," he said so that all could hear, "I congratulate you +for the man you have given us in Terence Hollis." + +Vance, watching, saw the tears of pleasure brighten the eyes of his +sister. + +"You are very kind," she said. "But now I must see Sheriff Minter and be +sure that everything is done for him." + +It seemed that the party took this as a signal for dismissal. As she went +across the room, there were a dozen hasty adieus, and soon the guests +were streaming towards the doors. + +Vance and Elizabeth and Gainor went to the sheriff. He had been installed +in a guest room. His eyes were closed, his arms outstretched. A thick, +telltale bandage was wrapped about his breast. And Wu Chi, skillful in +such matters from a long experience, was sliding about the room in his +whispering slippers. The sheriff did not open his eyes when Elizabeth +tried his pulse. It was faint, but steady. + +He had been shot through the body and the lungs grazed, for as he +breathed there was a faint bubble of blood that grew and swelled and +burst on his lips at every breath. But he lived, and he would live unless +there were an unnecessary change for the worse. They went softly out of +the room again. Elizabeth was grave. Mr. Gainor took her hand. + +"I think I know what people are saying now, and what they will say +hereafter. If Terry's father were any other than Hollis, this affair +would soon he forgotten, except as a credit to him. But even as it is, he +will live this matter down. I want to tell you again, Miss Cornish, that +you have reason to be proud of him. He is the sort of man I should be +proud to have in my own family. Madam, good-by. And if there is anything +in which I can be of service to you or to Terence, call on me at any time +and to any extent." + +And he went down the hall with a little swagger. Mr. Gainor felt that he +had 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 for +him in the library." + + + +CHAPTER 16 + + +Vance went gloomily to the room of Terry and called him out. The boy was +pale, but perfectly calm, and he looked older, much older. + +"There was a great deal of talk," said Vance--he must make doubly sure of +Terence now. "And they even started a little lynching party. But we +stopped all that. Gainor made a very nice little speech about you. And +now 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 of +you because of the way Gainor talked. You can't do anything wrong in my +sister'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'm +afraid 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 to +blurt that out to Elizabeth, do you? Let her think it was the +overwhelming passion of the moment; something like that. A woman likes to +be 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 a +moment." + +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 and +behind you in more ways than you'd ever guess." + +He received a grateful glance as they went down the broad stairs +together. At the door to the library Vance turned away, but Elizabeth +called to him and asked him in. He entered behind Terence Hollis, and +found Elizabeth sitting in her father's big chair under the window, +looking extremely fragile and very erect and proud. Across her lap was a +legal-looking document. + +Vance knew instantly that it was the will she had made up in favor of +Terence. He had been preparing himself for the worst, but at this his +heart sank. He lowered himself into a chair. Terence had gone straight to +Elizabeth. + +"I know I've done a thing that will cut you deeply, Aunt Elizabeth," he +said. "I'm not going to ask you to see any justice on my side. I only +want 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 of +Elizabeth was hard as iron. It brought a corresponding stiffening of +Terence. + +"I'm done," he said, with a certain ring to his voice that Vance was glad +to 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 thing +I'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 emotion +from Terence, her brother could not tell. But he knew that something of +importance was in the air. He scented it as clearly as the smoke of a +forest fire. + +"I thought," she said in her new and icy manner, "that that would be your +one regret." + +She looked suddenly up at Terence. + +"Twenty-four years," she said, "have passed since I took you into my +life. At that time I was told that I was doing a rash thing, a dangerous +thing--that before your twenty-fifth birthday the bad blood would out; +that you would, in short, have shot a man. And the prophecy has come +true. By an irony of chance it has happened on the very last day. And by +another irony you picked your victim from among the guests under my +roof!" + +"Victim?" cried Terry hoarsely. "Victim, Aunt Elizabeth?" + +"If you please," she said quietly, "not that name again, Terence. I wish +you to know exactly what I have done. Up to this time I have given you a +place in my affections. I have tried to the best of my skill to bring you +up with a fitting education. I have given you what little wisdom and +advice I have to give. Today I had determined to do much more. I had a +will made out--this is it in my hands--and by the terms of this will I +made you my heir--the heir to the complete Cornish estate aside from a +comfortable annuity to Vance." + +She looked him in the eye, ripped the will from end to end, and tossed +the fragments into the fire. There was a sharp cry from Vance, who sprang +to his feet. It was the thrill of an unexpected triumph, but his sister +took it for protest. + +"Vance, I haven't used you well, but from now on I'm going to change. As +for you, Terence, I don't want you near me any longer than may be +necessary. Understand that I expect to provide for you. I haven't raised +you merely to cast you down suddenly. I'm going to establish you in +business, see that you are comfortable, supply you with an income that's +respectable, and then let you drift where you will. + +"My own mind is made up about your end before you take a step across the +threshold of my house. But I'm still going to give you every chance. I +don't want to throw you out suddenly, however. Take your time. Make up +your mind what you want to do and where you are going. Take all the time +you wish for such a conclusion. It's important, and it needs time for +such a decision. When that decision is made, go your way. I never wish to +hear from you again. I want no letters, and I shall certainly refuse to +see you." + +Every word she spoke seemed to be a heavier blow than the last, and +Terence bowed under the accumulated weight. Vance could see the boy +struggle, waver between fierce pride and desperate humiliation and +sorrow. To Vance it was clear that the stiff pride of Elizabeth as she +sat in the chair was a brittle strength, and one vital appeal would break +her to tears. But the boy did not see. Presently he straightened, bowed +to her in the best Colby fashion, and turned on his heel. He went out of +the room and left Vance and his sister facing one another, but not +meeting each other's glances. + +"Elizabeth," he said at last, faintly--he dared not persuade too much +lest she take him at his word. "Elizabeth, you don't mean it. It was +twenty-four years ago that you passed your word to do this if things +turned out as they have. Forget your promise. My dear, you're still +wrapped up in Terry, no matter what you have said. Let me go and call him +back. 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 she +lifted her hand, he willingly sank back into his chair. + +"You're a very kind soul, Vance. I never knew it before. I'm appreciating +it 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 by +what 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 the +Cornish 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 long +to wait; after this blow she would go swiftly to her grave. + +He had barely reached that conclusion when the door opened again. Terry +stood before them in the old, loose, disreputable clothes of a cow- +puncher. The big sombrero swung in his hand. The heavy Colt dragged down +in 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'm +leaving with nothing of yours. I've already taken too much. If I live to +be a hundred, I'll never forgive myself for taking your charity these +twenty-four years. For what you've spent maybe I can pay you back one of +these days, in money. But for all the time and--patience--you've spent on +me I can never repay you. I know that. At least, here's where I stop +piling up a debt. These clothes and this gun come out of the money I made +punching cows last year. Outside I've got El Sangre saddled with a saddle +I bought out of the same money. They're my start in life, the clothes +I've got on and the gun and the horse and the saddle. So I'm starting +clean--Miss Cornish!" + +Vance saw his sister wince under that name from the lips of Terry. But +she 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 ridden +before. To be sure, it was not the first time that El Sangre had +stretched to the full his mighty strength, but on those other occasions +he had fought the burst of speed, straining back in groaning stirrup +leathers, with his full weight wresting at the bit. Now he let the rein +play to such a point that he was barely keeping the power of the stallion +in touch. He lightened his weight as only a fine horseman can do, +shifting a few vital inches forward, and with the burden falling more +over his withers, El Sangre fled like a racer down the valley. Not that +he was fully extended. His head was not stretched out as a cow-pony's +head is stretched when he runs; he held it rather high, as though he +carried in his big heart a reserve strength ready to be called on for any +emergency. For all that, it was running such as Terry had never known. + +The wind became a blast, jerking the brim of his sombrero up and +whistling in his hair. He was letting the shame, the grief, the thousand +regrets of that parting with Aunt Elizabeth be blown out of his soul. His +mind was a whirl; the thoughts became blurs. As a matter of fact, Terry +was being reborn. + +He had lived a life perfectly sheltered. The care of Elizabeth Cornish +had surrounded him as the Blue Mountains and Sleep Mountain surrounded +Bear Valley and fenced off the full power of the storm winds. The reality +of life had never reached him. Now, all in a day, the burden was placed +on his back, and he felt the spur driven home to the quick. No wonder +that he winced, that his heart contracted. + +But now that he was awakening, everything was new. Uncle Vance, whom he +had always secretly despised, now seemed a fine character, gentle, +cultured, thoughtful of others. Aunt Elizabeth Cornish he had accepted as +a 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. The +sorrow of it, that only the loss of that love should have brought him +realization of it. Vague thoughts and aspirations formed in his mind. He +yearned toward some large and heroic deed which should re-establish +himself in her respect. He wished to find her in need, in great trouble, +free her from some crushing burden with one perilous effort, lay his +homage 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 seemed +to him inevitable that he should resent the story of the sheriff and +shoot him down or be shot down himself. All that he regretted was that he +had remained mute before Aunt Elizabeth, unable to explain to her a thing +which he felt so keenly. And for the first time he realized the flinty +basis of her nature. The same thing that enabled her to give half a +lifetime to the cherishing of a theory, also enabled her to cast all the +result of that labor out of her life. It stung him again to the quick +every time he thought of it. There was something wrong. He felt that a +hundred hands of affection gave him hold on her. And yet all those grips +were brushed away. + +The torment was setting him on fire. And the fire was burning away the +smug complacency which had come to him during his long life in the +valley. + +When El Sangre pulled out of his racing gallop and struck out up a slope +at his natural gait, the ground-devouring pace, Terry Hollis was panting +and twisting in the saddle as though the labor of the gallop had been +his. They climbed and climbed, and still his mind was involved in a haze +of thought. It cleared when he found that there were no longer high +mountains before him. He drew El Sangre to a halt with a word. The great +stallion turned his head as he paused and looked back to his master with +a confiding eye as though waiting willingly for directions. And all at +once the heart of Terence went out to the blood-bay as it had never gone +before to any creature, dumb or human. For El Sangre had known such pain +as he himself was learning at this moment. El Sangre was giving him true +trust, true love, and asking him for no return. + +The stallion, following his own will, had branched off from the Bear +Creek trail and climbed through the lower range of the Blue Peaks. They +were standing now on a mountain-top. The red of the sunset filled the +west and brought the sky close to them with the lower drifts of stained +clouds. Eastward the winding length of Bear Creek was turning pink and +purple. The Cornish ranch had never seemed so beautiful to Terry as it +was at this moment. It was a kingdom, and he was leaving, the +disinherited heir. + +He turned west to the blare of the sunset. Blue Mountains tumbled away in +lessening ranges--beyond was Craterville, and he must go there today. +That was the world to him just then. And something new passed through +Terry. The world was below him; it lay at his feet with its hopes and its +battles. 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 butt +of his revolver. It was a prophetic gesture, but there, again, was +something that Terry Hollis did not understand. + +He called to El Sangre softly. The stallion responded with the faintest +of whinnies to the vibrant power in the voice of the master; and at that +smooth, effortless pace, he glided down the hillside, weaving dexterously +among the jagged outcroppings of rock. A period had been placed after +Terry's old life. And this was how he rode into the new. + +The long and ever-changing mountain twilight began as he wound through +the lower ranges. And when the full dark came, he broke from the last +sweep of foothills and El Sangre roused to a gallop over the level toward +Craterville. + +He had been in the town before, of course. But he felt this evening that +he had really never seen it before. On other days what existed outside of +Bear Valley did not very much matter. That was the hub around which the +rest of the world revolved, so far as Terry was concerned. It was very +different now. Craterville, in fact, was a huddle of broken-down houses +among a great scattering of boulders with the big mountains plunging up +on every side to the dull blue of the night sky. + +But Craterville was also something more. It was a place where several +hundred human beings lived, any one of whom might be the decisive +influence 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 would +he meet? What should he see? A sudden kindness toward others poured +through Terry Hollis. After all, every man might be a treasure to him. A +queer choking came in his throat when he thought of all that he had +missed by his contemptuous aloofness. + +One thing gave him check. This was primarily the sheriff's town, and by +this time they knew all about the shooting. But what of that? He had +fought fairly, almost too fairly. + +He passed the first shapeless shack. The hoofs of El Sangre bit into the +dust, choking and red in daylight, and acrid of scent by the night. All +was very quiet except for a stir of voices in the distance here and +there, always kept hushed as though the speaker felt and acknowledged the +influence of the profound night in the mountains. Someone came down the +street carrying a lantern. It turned his steps into vast spokes of +shadows that rushed back and forth across the houses with the swing of +the 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 blind +him. Terry passed on without a word and heard the other mutter behind +him: "Some damn stranger!" + +Perhaps strangers were not welcome in Craterville. At least, it seemed so +when he reached the hotel after putting up his horse in the shed behind +the old building. Half a dozen dark forms sat on the veranda talking in +the subdued voices which he had noted before. Terry stepped through the +lighted doorway. There was no one inside. + +"Want something?" called a voice from the porch. The widow Rickson came +in 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 out +with a shrill ring of her voice. Terry noted that the talking on the +porch was cut off as though a hand had been clapped over the mouth of +every man. + +He recalled that the widow had been long a friend of the sheriff and he +was 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 had +been horrified, suspicious, before. + +"Sure I got a room. Best in the house, if you want it. And--you'll be +hungry, Mr.--Hollis?" + +He wondered why she insisted so savagely on that newfound name? He +admitted that he was very hungry from his ride, and she led him back to +the kitchen and gave him cold ham and coffee and vast slices of bread and +butter. + +She did not talk much while he ate, and he noted that she asked no +questions. Afterwards she led him through the silence of the place up to +the second story and gave him a room at the corner of the building. He +thanked her. She paused at the door with her hand on the knob, and her +eyes fixed him through and through with a glittering, hostile stare. A +wisp of gray hair had fallen across her cheek, and there it was plastered +to the skin with sweat, for the evening was, warm. + +"No trouble," she muttered at length. "None at all. Make yourself to +home, Mr.--Hollis!" + + + +CHAPTER 18 + + +When the door closed on her, Terry remained standing in the middle of the +room watching the flame in the oil lamp she had lighted flare and rise at +the corner, and then steady down to an even line of yellow; but he was +not seeing it; he was listening to that peculiar silence in the house. It +seemed to have spread over the entire village, and he heard no more of +those casual noises which he had noticed on his coming. + +He went to the window and raised it to let whatever wind was abroad enter +the musty warmth of the room. He raised the sash with stealthy caution, +wondering at his own stealthiness. And he was oddly glad when the window +rose 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 out +with shrill laughter and dodged about the corner of the house, escaping +after some mischief. + +After that the silence again, except that before long a murmur began on +the veranda beneath him where the half-dozen obscure figures had been +sitting when he entered. Why should they be mumbling to themselves? He +thought he could distinguish the voice of the widow Rickson among the +rest, but he shrugged that idle thought away and turned back into his +room. He sat down on the side of the bed and pulled off his boots, but +the minute they were off he was ill at ease. There was something +oppressive about the atmosphere of this rickety old hotel. What sort of a +world 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 the +feeling that there was danger in the air of Craterville--for him--there +came a nervous setting of the muscles, a desire to close on someone and +throttle the secret of this hostility. At this point he heard a light +tapping at the door. Terry sat bolt upright on the bed. + +There are all kinds of taps. There are bold, heavy blows on the door that +mean danger without; there are careless, conversational rappings; but +this was a furtive tap, repeated after a pause as though it contained a +code message. + +First there was a leap of fear--then cold quiet of the nerves. He was +surprised at himself. He found himself stepping into whatever adventure +lay 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 half +the width of the room away. It had come to him as he spoke that it might +be 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 made +a faint whisper in the air, oddly like a sigh. And there was no click of +the lock either in the opening or the closing. Which meant an +incalculably swift and dexterous manipulation with the fingers. Terry +found himself facing a short-throated man with heavy shoulders; he wore a +shapeless black hat bunched on his head as though the whole hand had +grasped the crown and shoved the hat into place. It sat awkwardly to one +side. And the hat typified the whole man. There was a sort of shifty +readiness about him. His eyes flashed in the lamplight as they glanced at +the bed, and then flicked back toward Terry. And a smile began somewhere +in his face and instantly went out. It was plain that he had understood +the maneuver. + +He continued to survey Terry insolently for a moment without announcing +himself. Then he stated: "You're him, all right!" + +"Am I?" said Terry, regarding this unusual visitor with increasing +suspicion. "But I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage." + +The big-shouldered man raised a stubby hand. He had an air of one who +deprecates, and at the same time lets another into a secret. He moved +across the room with short steps that made no sound, and gave him a +peculiar appearance of drifting rather than walking. He picked up a chair +and 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 made +no more noise than a phantom. + +"You're him, all right," he repeated, balancing back in the chair. But he +gathered his toes under him, so that he remained continually poised in +spite 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 to +read features beneath a mask. Terry could see his visitor's face more +clearly now. It was square, with a powerfully muscled jaw and features +that had a battered look. Suddenly he teetered forward in his chair and +dropped 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 a +little. But I think it'll be all words and no action. Four-flushers, most +of 'em. Besides, they say you bumped old Minter for a goal; and they +don't like the idea of messing up with you. They'll just talk. If they +try anything besides their talk--well, you and me can fix 'em!" + +Terry slipped into the only other chair which the room provided, but he +slid far down in it, so that his holster was free and the gun butt +conveniently 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 done +the Silver Junction job with old Black Jack, and a lot more jobs, when +you come to that!" + +He laughed again. "They were getting sort of warm for me out in the big +noise. So I grabbed me a side-door Pullman and took a trip out to the old +beat. 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't +you 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 rotten +lay, all right. If I'd known about that, I'd of--but I didn't. Well, let +it 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's +a 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 of +sat--cool as ice--with a gang under him talking about stretching his +neck. And now, bo, hark to me sing! I got the job fixed and--But wait a +minute. What you been doing all these years? Black Jack was known when he +was your age!" + +With a peculiar thrill of awe and of aversion Terry watched the face of +the man who had known his father so well. He tried to make himself +believe that twenty-four years ago Denver might have been quite another +type of man. But it was impossible to re-create that face other than as a +bulldog in the human flesh. The craft and the courage of a fighter were +written 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 and +bust Minter for your first crack. You began late, son, but you may go +far. 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 smooth +with a cannon. And fast as a snake's tongue. But they say you beat him +fair 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 something +done, go to Black Jack. Bam! There it was done clean for you and no talk +afterward. 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 was +not that he felt any consuming shame because he was the son of Black Jack +Hollis. But there was a sort of foster parenthood to which he owed a +clean-minded allegiance--the fiction of the Colby blood. He had +worshipped that thought for twenty years. He could not discard it in an +instant. + +Denver was breezing on in his quick, husky voice, so carefully toned that +it 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 a +peterman 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 it +come to the gorilla stuff, he was there a million, though. And when there +was a call for fast, quick, soft work, Black Jack was the man. Kid, I can +see that you're cut right on his pattern. And here's where you come in +with me. Right off the bat there's going to be velvet. Later on I'll +educate 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. The +store safe. You know what's in it? I'll tell you. Ten thousand cold. Ten +thousand bucks, boy. Well, well, and how did it get there? Because a lot +of the boobs around here have put their spare cash in the safe for +safekeeping!" + +He tilted his chin and indulged in another of his yawning, silent bursts +of laughter. + +"And you never seen a peter like it. Tin, kid, tin. I could turn it +inside out with a can opener. But I ain't long on a kit just now. I'm on +the hog for fair, as a matter of fact. Well, I don't need a kit. I got +some sawdust and I can make the soup as pretty as you ever seen. We'll +blow the safe, kid, and then we'll float. Are you on?" + +He paused, grinning with expectation, his face gradually becoming blank +as 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 the +peter, 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 mighty +good 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 to +keep 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-arm +stuff except when you got to use it. Going to try scratching, kid? Is +that 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't +you 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't +get away from it." + +Terry tugged his shirt open at the throat; he was stifling. "Perhaps," he +said. + +"It's the easy way," went on Denver. "Well, maybe you ain't ripe yet, but +when 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 in +that safe. But if you take it, the widow will be ruined. She runs the +hotel and the store, too, you know." + +"Why, you poor boob," groaned Denver, "don't you know she's the old dame +that's trying to get you mobbed?" + +"I suppose so. But she was pretty fond of the sheriff, you know. I don't +blame her for carrying a grudge. Now, about the money, Denver; I happen +to have a little with me. Take what you want." + +Denver took the proffered money without a word, counted it with a deftly +stabbing forefinger, and shoved the wad into his hip pocket. + +"All right," he said, "this'll sort of sweeten the pot. You don't need +it?" + +"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'll +stay on your trail till I have you." + +Again there was a long moment of silence, then, "Black Jack!" muttered +Denver. "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 got +left?" 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 you +got 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. From +his shoes to his skin everything he had belonged to his partners. His +ghost'll haunt you if you're turning me down, kid. Why, ain't you the +heir 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 into +Terry'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 was +going 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. Keep +it up if you can. I know damned well that you can't. I've seen 'em try +before. But they always slip. Keep it up, Black Jack, but if you ever +change 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 door +in the air, and no click of the lock. + + + +CHAPTER 19 + + +The door had hardly closed on him when Terence wanted to run after him +and call him back. There was a thrill still running in his blood since +the time the yegg had leaned so close and said: "That wasn't Black Jack's +way!" + +He wanted to know more about Black Jack, and he wanted to hear the story +from the lips of this man. A strange warmth had come over him. It had +seemed for a moment that there was a third impalpable presence in the +room--his father listening. And the thrill of it remained, a ghostly and +yet a real thing. + +But he checked his impulse. Let Denver go, and the thought of his father +with him. For the influence of Black Jack, he felt, was quicksand pulling +him down. The very fact that he was his father's son had made him shoot +down one man. Again the shadow of Black Jack had fallen across his path +today and tempted him to crime. How real the temptation had been, Terry +did not know until he was alone. Half of ten thousand dollars would +support him for many a month. One thing was certain. He must let his +father remain simply a name. + +Going to the window in his stocking feet, he listened again. There were +more voices murmuring on the veranda of the hotel now, but within a few +moments forms began to drift away down the street, and finally there was +silence. Evidently the widow had not secured backing as strong as she +could have desired. And Terry went to bed and to sleep. + +He wakened with the first touch of dawn along the wall beside his bed and +tumbled out to dress. It was early, even for a mountain town. The +rattling at the kitchen stove commenced while he was on the way +downstairs. And he had to waste time with a visit to El Sangre in the +stable before his breakfast was ready. + +Craterville was in the hollow behind him when the sun rose, and El Sangre +was taking up the miles with the tireless rhythm of his pace. He had +intended searching for work of some sort near Craterville, but now he +realized that it could not be. He must go farther. He must go where his +name was not known. + +For two days he held on through the broken country, climbing more than he +dropped. Twice he came above the ragged timber line, with its wind-shaped +army of stunted trees, and over the tiny flowers of the summit lands. At +the end of the second day he came out on the edge of a precipitous +descent 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 scamper +down what was almost the sheer face of a cliff--a beautiful bit of +acrobatics. They found foothold on ridges a couple of inches deep, hardly +visible to the eye from above. Plunging down a straight drop without a +sign of a ledge for fifty feet below them, they broke the force of the +fall and slowed themselves constantly by striking their hoofs from side +to side against the face of the cliff. And so they landed, with bunched +feet, on the first broad terrace below and again bounced over the ledge +and so out of sight. + +He dined on wild mutton that evening. In the morning he hunted along the +edge 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 his +glory. If he had not the agility of the mountain sheep, he was well-nigh +as level-headed in the face of tremendous heights. He knew how to pitch +ten feet down to a terrace and strike on his bunched hoofs so that the +force of the fall would not break his legs or unseat his rider. Again he +understood how to drive in the toes of his hoofs and go up safely through +loose gravel where most horses, even mustangs, would have skidded to the +bottom of the slope. And he was wise in trails. Twice he rejected the +courses which Terry picked, and the rider very wisely let him have his +way. The result was that they took a more winding, but a far safer +course, and arrived before midmorning in the bottomlands. + +The first ranch house he applied to accepted him. And there he took up +his 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 an +addition, and let him go his way. + +He was happy enough. He had not the leisure for thought or for +remembering better times. If he had leisure here and there, he used it +industriously in teaching El Sangre the "cow" business. The stallion +learned 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 horses +hitched onto his line could not pull El Sangre over his mark, and broke +the rope instead. There was much work, too, in teaching him to turn in +the cow-pony fashion, dropping his head almost to the ground and bunching +his feet altogether. For nothing of its size that lives is so deft in +dodging as the cow-pony. That part of El Sangre's education was not +completed, however, for only the actual work of a round-up could give him +the faultless surety of a good cow-pony. And, indeed, the ranchman +declared him useless for real roundup work. + +"A no-good, high-headed fool," he termed El Sangre, having sprained his +bank account with an attempt to buy the stallion from Terry the day +before. + +At the end of a fortnight the first stranger passed, and ill-luck made it +a man from Craterville. He knew Terry at a glance, and the next morning +the rancher called Terry aside. + +The work of that season, he declared, was going to be lighter than he had +expected. 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 the +straight of it?" + +The sudden pallor of the other was a confession. + +"What's names to me?" he declared. "Nothing, partner. I take a man the +way I find him. And I've found you all right. The reason I got to let you +go is what I said." + +But Terry grinned mirthlessly. + +"You know I'm the son of Black Jack Hollis," he insisted. "You think that +if you keep me you'll wake up some morning to find your son's throat cut +and your cattle gone. Am I right?" + +"Listen to me," the rancher said uncertainly. "I know how you feel about +losing a job so suddenly when you figured it for a whole season. Suppose +I give you a whole month's pay and--" + +"Damn your money!" said Terry savagely. "I don't deny that Black Jack was +my father. I'm proud of it. But listen to me, my friend. I'm living +straight. I'm working hard. I don't object to losing this job. It's the +attitude behind it that I object to. You'll not only send me away, but +you'll spread the news around--Black Jack's son is here! Am I a plague +because of that name?" + +"Mr. Hollis," insisted the rancher in a trembling voice, "I don't mean to +get you all excited. Far as your name goes, I'll keep your secret. I give +you 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 revolver +at his side. + +"Do you think so?" said Terry. "Here's one thing that you may not have +thought 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 turn +me off because I'm the son of Black Jack; and that's the very thing that +will make me the son of Black Jack in more than name. Did you ever stop +to realize that?" + +"Mr. Hollis," quavered the rancher, "I guess you're right. If you want to +stay on here, stay and welcome, I'm sure." + +And his eye hunted for help past the shoulder of Terry and toward the +shed, where his eldest son was whistling. Terry turned away in mute +disgust. 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 was +closed, and through the window he caught a glimpse of a rifle. Ten +minutes later El Sangre was stepping away across the range at a pace that +no mount in the cattle country could follow for ten miles. + + + +CHAPTER 20 + + +There was an astonishing deal of life in the town, however. A large +company had reopened some old diggings across the range to the north of +Calkins, and some small fragments of business drifted the way of the +little cattle town. Terry found a long line of a dozen horses waiting to +be shod before the blacksmith shop. One great wagon was lumbering out at +the farther end of the street, with the shrill yells of the teamster +calling 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 a +stir of busy life was everywhere in the town. The hotel and store +combined was flooded with sound, and the gambling hall across the street +was alive even at midday. + +It was noon, and Terry found that the dining room was packed to the last +chair. The sweating waiter improvised a table for him in the corner of +the hall and kept him waiting twenty minutes before he was served with +ham and eggs. He had barely worked his fork into the ham when a familiar +voice hailed him. + +"Got room for another at that table?" + +He looked up into the grinning face of Denver. For some reason it was a +shock 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 a +chair and seated himself in his usual noiseless way. + +When he rearranged the silver which the waiter placed before him, there +was not the faintest click of the metal. And Terry noted, too, a certain +nice justness in every one of Denver's motions. He was never fiddling +about with his hands; when they stirred, it was to do something, and when +the thing was done, the hands became motionless again. + +His eyes did not rove; they remained fixed for appreciable periods +wherever they fell, as though Denver were finding something worth +remembering in the wall, or in a spot on the table. When his glance +touched on a face, it hung there in the same manner. After a moment one +would forget all the rest of his face, brutal, muscular, shapeless, and +see only the keen eyes. + +Terry found it difficult to face the man. There was need to be excited +about something, to talk with passion, in order to hold one's own in the +presence of Denver, even when the chunky man was silent. He was not +silent now; he seemed in a highly cheerful, amiable mood. + +"Here's luck," he said. "I didn't know this God-forsaken country could +raise 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 never +did. Suddenly he was frank, because it seemed utterly futile to attempt +to mask one's real thoughts from this fellow. + +"I don't know," he said, "that it would surprise me if you _had_ been +tailing me. I imagine you're apt to do queer things, Denver." + +Denver hissed, very softly and with such a cutting whistle to his breath +that 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 an +impression of the most intense watchfulness--as though, while he stared +straight before him, he had sent other and mysterious senses exploring +for him. He seemed suddenly satisfied that all was well, and as he +relaxed, Terry became aware of a faint gleam of perspiration on the brow +of 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's +horse sense," said Denver. + +"No offense," answered Terry, with the utmost good nature. + +"Call me Shorty if you want," said Denver. In the meantime he was +regarding Terry more and more closely. + +"Your old man would of made a fight out of it if I'd said as much to him +as 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 and +powder, ready to explode. He probed his own nature. He had never been +particularly quick of temper--until lately. But he began to wonder if his +equable disposition might not rise from the fact that his life in Bear +Valley had been so sheltered. He had been crossed rarely. In the outer +world it was different. That very morning he had been tempted wickedly to +take 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 flare +up and be over it in a minute. Maybe you remember things and pack a +grudge with you." + +"Perhaps," said Terry, grown strangely meek. "I hardly know." + +Indeed, he thought, how little he really knew of himself. Suddenly he +said: "So you simply happened over this way, Shorty?" + +"Sure. Why not? I got a right to trail around where I want. Besides, what +would there be in it for me--following you?" + +"I don't know," said Terry gravely. "But I expect to find out sooner or +later. What else are you up to over here?" + +"I have a little job in mind at the mine," said Denver. "Something that +may give the sheriff a bit of trouble." He grinned. + +"Isn't it a little--unprofessional," said Terry dryly, "for you to tell +me these things?" + +"Sure it is, bo--sure it is! Worst in the world. But I can always tell a +gent that can keep his mouth shut. By the way, how many jobs you been +fired 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 learned +my name, he seemed to be afraid I'd start shooting up his place one of +these 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 your +hands." + +"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're +like 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 jokes +about 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 front +of 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 your +dad?" From the air he secured an imaginary morsel between stubby thumb +and 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 he +got 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 on +the ground and rode off. Next we heard, the guy was working for a +Chinaman that run a restaurant. Black Jack had taken all the fight out of +him." + +That scene out of the past drifted vividly back before Terry's eyes. He +saw 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 the +shock of the two strong bodies, and saw the other turn to pulp under the +grip 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 his +dead father's mood. During this moment of brooding he had been looking +down, and he did not notice the glance of Denver fasten upon him with an +almost hypnotic fervor, as though he were striving to reach to the very +soul of the younger man and read what was written there. When Terry +looked 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 for +yourself. It'll be that way with this work idea of yours. You've lost one +job. 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 departed +from the ranch that morning. The certainty of Denver that he would find +it impossible to stay by his program of honest work had made a strong +impression upon his imaginative mind, as though the little safecracker +really 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 balanced +between a desire to stay near the town and work out his destiny there, or +else drift far away. Distance, however, seemed to have no barrier against +rumor. After two days of hard riding, he had placed a broad gap between +himself and the Cornish ranch, yet in a short time rumor had overtaken +him, casually, inevitably, and the force of his name was strong enough to +take away his job. + +Standing in the middle of the street he looked darkly over the squat +roofs of the town to the ragged mountains that marched away against the +horizon--a bleak outlook. Which way should he ride? + +A loud outburst of curses roared behind him, a whip snapped above him, he +stepped aside and barely from under the feet of the leaders as a long +team wound by with the freight wagon creaking and swaying and rumbling +behind it. The driver leaned from his seat in passing and volleyed a few +crackling remarks in the very ear of Terry. It was strange that he did +not resent it. Ordinarily he would have wanted to, climb onto that seat +and roll the driver down in the dust, but today he lacked ambition. Pain +numbed him, a peculiar mental pain. And, with the world free before him +to roam in, he felt imprisoned. + +He turned. Someone was laughing at him from the veranda of the hotel and +pointing him out to another, who laughed raucously in turn. Terry knew +what was in their minds. A man who allowed himself to be cursed by a +passing teamster was not worthy of the gun strapped at his thigh. He +watched their faces as through a cloud, turned again, saw the door of the +gambling hall open to allow someone to come out, and was invited by the +cool, dim interior. He crossed the street and passed through the door. + +He was glad, instantly. Inside there was a blanket of silence; beyond the +window the sun was a white rain of heat, blinding and appalling. But +inside his shoes took hold on a floor moist from a recent scrubbing and +soft 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 this +hour of the day. And the room seemed so large, the tables were so +numerous, that Terry wondered how so small a town could support it. Then +he remembered the mine and everything was explained. People who dug gold +like dirt spent it in the same spirit. Half a dozen men were here and +there, playing in what seemed a listless manner, save when you looked +close. + +Terry slumped into a big chair in the darkest corner and relaxed until +the coolness had worked through his skin and into his blood. Presently he +looked about him to find something to do, and his eye dropped naturally +on the first thing that made a noise--roulette. For a moment he watched +the spinning disk. The man behind the table on his high stool was +whirling the thing for his own amusement, it seemed. Terry walked over +and looked on. + +He hardly knew the game. But he was fascinated by the motions of the +ball; one was never able to tell where it would stop, on one of the +thirty-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 the +click of the ball. + +And now he noted that the wheel had stopped the last four times on the +odd. He jerked a five-dollar gold piece out of his pocket and placed it +on the even. The wheel spun, clicked to a stop, and the rake of the +croupier slicked his five dollars away across the smooth-worn top of the +table. + +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 the +even. + +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 was +no temptation. Not a word had been spoken to him since he entered the +place. There was no excitement, no music, none of the drink and song of +which he had heard so much in robbing men of their cooler senses. It was +only his little system that tempted him on. + +He did not know that all gambling really begins with the creation of a +system that will beat the game. And when a man follows a system, he is +started on the most cold-blooded gambling in the world. + +Again the disk stopped, and the ball clicked softly and the ten dollars +slid 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 with +some trepidation again. Thirty dollars wagered. The wheel spun--the money +disappeared under the rake. + +Terry felt like setting his teeth. Instead, he smiled. He drew out his +last five dollars and wagered it with a coldness that seemed to make sure +of loss, on a single number. The wheel spun, clicked; he did not even +watch, and was turning away when a sound of a little musical shower of +gold 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 the +table, scooped up his winnings carelessly and bent a kinder eye upon the +wheel. 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 guilty +chill in the small of his back, half expecting reproaches to be shouted +after him for leaving the game when he was so far ahead of it. But +apparently the machine which won without remorse lost without complaint. + +At the door he made half a pace into the white heat of the sunlight. Then +he paused, a cool edging of shadow falling across one shoulder while the +heat burned through the shirt of the other. Why go on? + +Across the street the man on the veranda of the hotel began laughing +again and pointing him out. Terry himself looked the fellow over in an +odd fashion, not with anger or with irritation, but with a sort of cold +calculation. The fellow was trim enough in the legs. But his shoulders +were fat from lack of work, and the bulge of flesh around the armpits +would probably make him slow in drawing a gun. + +He shrugged his own lithe shoulders in contempt and turned. The man on +the stool behind the roulette wheel was yawning until his jaw muscles +stood 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 the +wheel fascinated him. He placed five dollars, saw the wheel win, took in +his winnings without emotion. + +While he scooped the two coins up, he did not see the croupier turn his +head and shoot a single glance to a fat, squat man in the corner of the +room, a glance to which the fat man responded with the slightest of nods +and smiles. He was the owner. And he was not particularly happy at the +thought of some hundred and fifty dollars being taken out of his treasury +by some chance stranger. + +Terry did not see the glance, and before long he was incapable of seeing +anything saving the flash of the disk, the blur of the alternate colors +as they spun together. He paid no heed to the path of the sunlight as it +stretched 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 he +gave the sun at his feet no more than a casual glance. It was metallic +gold that he was fascinated by and the whims and fancies of that singular +wheel. Twice that afternoon his fortune had mounted above three thousand +dollars--once it mounted to an even six thousand. He had stopped to count +his winnings at this point, and on the verge of leaving decided to make +it an even ten thousand before he went away. And five minutes later he +was gambling with five hundred in his wallet. + +When the sunlight grew yellow, other men began to enter the room. Terry +was still at his post. He did not see them. There was no human face in +the world for him except the colorless face of the croupier, and the +long, pale eyelashes that lifted now and then over greenish-orange eyes. +And Terry did not heed when he was shouldered by the growing crowd around +the wheel. + +He only knew that other bets were being placed and that it was a +nuisance, for the croupier took much longer in paying debts and +collecting winnings, so that the wheel spun less often. + +Meantime he was by no means unnoticed. A little whisper had gone the +rounds that a real plunger was in town. And when men came into the hall, +their attention was directed automatically by the turn of other eyes +toward six feet of muscular manhood, heavy-shouldered and erect, with a +flare of a red silk bandanna around his throat and a heavy sombrero worn +tilted a little to one side and back on his head. + +"He's playing a system," said someone. "Been standing there all afternoon +and making poor Pedro--the thief!--sweat and shake in his boots." + +In fact, the owner of the place had lost his complacence and his smile +together. He approached near to the wheel and watched its spin with a +face turned sallow and flat of cheek from anxiety. For with the setting +of the sun it seemed that luck flooded upon Terry Hollis. He began to bet +in chunks of five hundred, alternating between the red and the odd, and +winning with startling regularity. His winnings were now shoved into an +awkward canvas bag. Twenty thousand dollars! That had grown from the +fifty. + +No wonder the crowd had two looks for Terry. His face had lost its color +and grown marvellously expressionless. + +"The real gambler's look," they said. + +His mouth was pinched at the corners, and otherwise his expression never +varied. + +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 the +shoulder and whirled around. The crowd saw the tall man draw his right +foot back, balance, lift a trifle on his toes, and then a balled fist +shot up, caught the broad-faced man under the chin and dumped him in a +crumpled heap half a dozen feet away. They picked him up and took him +away, a stunned wreck. Terry had turned back to his game, and in ten +seconds had forgotten what he had done. + +But the crowd remembered, and particularly he who had twice laughed at +Terry from the veranda of the hotel. + +The heap in the canvas sack diminished, shrank--he dumped the remainder +of the contents into his pocket. He had been betting in solid lumps of a +thousand for the past twenty minutes, and the crowd watched in amazement. +This was drunken gambling, but the fellow was obviously sober. Then a +hand 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 of +build: a magnificent big head, heavily marked features, a short-cropped +black 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 this +reticence with a faint smile. + +"I got a name around here for keeping my mouth shut and not butting in on +another gent's game. But I always noticed that when a gent is in a losing +run, half the time he don't know it. Maybe that might be the way with +you. 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 eat +with me." + +He went willingly, suddenly aware of a raging appetite and a dinner long +postponed. The man of the black beard was extremely friendly. + +"One of the prettiest runs I ever see, that one you made," he confided +when 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 hour +before. Just passing through these parts?" + +"I'm looking for a job," said Terry. "Can you tell me where to start +hunting? Cows are my game." + +The other paused a moment and surveyed his companion. There seemed just a +shade of doubt in his eyes. They were remarkably large and yellowish +gray, those eyes of Joe Pollard, and now and again when he grew +thoughtful they became like clouded agate. They had that color now as he +gazed at Terry. Eventually his glance cleared. + +"I got a little work of my own," he declared. "My range is all clogged up +with 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 his +past 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 an +indescribable basic firmness. His eyes, for example, in their habit of +looking straight at one, reminded him of the eyes of Denver. His voice +was steady and deep and mellow, and one felt that it might be expanded to +an enormous volume. Such a man would not fly off into snap judgments and +become alarmed because an employee had a past or a strange name. + +They paid a short visit to the gambling hall after dinner, and then got +their horses. Pollard was struck dumb with admiration at the sight of the +blood-bay. + +"Maybe you been up the Bear Creek way?" he asked Terry. + +And when the latter admitted that he knew something of the Blue Mountain +country, the rancher exclaimed: "By the Lord, partner, I'd say that hoss +is 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 and +crossed his companion with one of his searching glances, but returned no +reply. Presently, however, he sent his own capable Steeldust into a sharp +gallop; El Sangre roused to a flowing pace and held the other even +without the slightest difficulty. At this Pollard drew rein with an +exclamation. + +"El Sangre as sure as I live!" he declared. "Ain't nothing else in these +parts that calls itself a hoss and slides over the ground the way El +Sangre 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. And +thereafter during the ride his glance continually drifted toward the +brilliant bay--brilliant even in the pallor of the clear mountain +starlight. + +He explained this by saying after a time: "I been my whole life in these +parts without running across a hoss that could pack me the way a man +ought to be packed on a hoss. I weigh two hundred and thirty, son, and it +busts the back of a horse in the mountains. Now, you ain't a flyweight +yourself, and El Sangre takes you along like you was a feather." + +Steeldust was already grunting at every sharp rise, and El Sangre had not +even broken out in perspiration. + +A mile or so out of the town they left the road and struck onto a mere +semblance of a trail, broad enough, but practically as rough as nature +chose to make it. This wound at sharp and ever-changing angles into the +hills, and presently they were pressing through a dense growth of +lodgepole pine. + +It seemed strange to Terry that a prosperous rancher with an outfit of +any size should have a road no more beaten than this one leading to his +place. But he was thinking too busily of other things to pay much heed to +such surmises and small events. He was brooding over the events of the +afternoon. If his exploits in the gaming hall should ever come to the ear +of Aunt Elizabeth, he was certain enough that he would be finally damned +in her judgment. Too often he had heard her express an opinion of those +who lived by "chance and their wits," as she phrased it. And the thought +of it irked him. + +He roused himself out of his musing. They had come out from the trees and +were in sight of a solidly built house on the hill. There was one thing +which struck his mind at once. No attempt had been made to find level for +the foundation. The log structure had been built apparently at random on +the slope. It conformed, at vast waste of labor, to the angle of the base +and the irregularities of the soil. This, perhaps, made it seem smaller +than it was. They caught the scent of wood smoke, and then saw a pale +drift of the smoke itself. + +A flurry of music escaped by the opening of a door and was shut out by +the closing of it. It was a moment before Terry, startled, had analyzed +the sound. Unquestionably it was a piano. But how in the world, and why +in the world, had it been carted to the top of this mountain? + +He glanced at his companion with a new respect and almost with a +suspicion. + +"Up to some damn doings again," growled the big man. "Never got no peace +nor 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 of +the 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 his +horse and found the rancher waiting for him when he came out. Inside the +shed he had found ample bins of barley and oats and good grain hay. And +in the stalls his practiced eye scanned the forms of a round dozen fine +horses with points of blood and bone that startled him. + +Coming to the open again, he probed the darkness as well as he could to +gain some idea of the ranch which furnished and supported all these +evidences of prosperity. But so far as he could make out, there was only +a jumble of ragged hilltops behind the house, and before it the slope +fell away steeply to the valley far below. He had not realized before +that they had climbed so high or so far. + +Joe Pollard was humming. Terry joined him on the way to the house with a +deepened sense of awe; he was even beginning to feel that there was a +touch or two of mystery in the make-up of the man. + +Proof of the solidity with which the log house was built was furnished at +once. Coming to the house, there was only a murmur of voices and of +music. The moment they opened the door, a roar of singing voices and a +jangle of piano music rushed into their ears. + +Terry found himself in a very long room with a big table in the center +and a piano at the farther end. The ceiling sloped down from the right to +the left. At the left it descended toward the doors of the kitchen and +storerooms; at the right it rose to the height of two full stories. One +of these was occupied by a series of heavy posts on which hung saddles +and bridles and riding equipment of all kinds, and the posts supported a +balcony onto which opened several doors--of sleeping rooms, no doubt. As +for the wall behind the posts, it, too, was pierced with several +openings, but Terry could not guess at the contents of the rooms. But he +was amazed by the size of the structure as it was revealed to him from +within. The main room was like some baronial hall of the old days of war +and plunder. A role, indeed, into which it was not difficult to fit the +burly Pollard and the dignity of his beard. + +Four men were around the piano, and a girl sat at the keys, splashing out +syncopated music while the men roared the chorus of the song. But at the +sound of the closing of the door all five turned toward the newcomers, +the girl looking over her shoulder and keeping the soft burden of the +song still running. + + + +CHAPTER 23 + + +So turned, Terry could not see her clearly. He caught a glimmer of red +bronze hair, dark in shadow and brilliant in high lights, and a sheen of +greenish eyes. Otherwise, he only noted the casual manner in which she +acknowledged 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 of +warning, though this, no doubt, could be attributed to his wish to +silently explain away the idiosyncrasy of Terry in using his first name +only. He was presented in turn to the four men, and thought them the +oddest collection he had ever laid eyes on. + +Slim Dugan was tall, but not so tall as he looked, owing to his very +small head and narrow shoulders. His hair was straw color, excessively +silky, and thin as the hair of a year-old child. There were other points +of interest in Slim Dugan; his feet, for instance, were small as the feet +of a girl, accentuated by the long, narrow riding boots, and his hands +seemed to be pulled out to a great and unnecessary length. They made up +for it by their narrowness. + +His exact opposite was Marty Cardiff, chunky, fat, it seemed, until one +noted the roll and bulge of the muscles at the shoulders. His head was +settled into his fat shoulders somewhat in the manner of Denver's, Terry +thought. + +Oregon Charlie looked the part of an Indian, with his broad nose and high +cheekbones, flat face, slanted dark eyes; but his skin was a dead and +peculiar white. He was a down-headed man, and one could rarely imagine +him opening his lips to speak; he merely grunted as he shook hands with +the 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 jovial +red; his hair was red also, and there was red hair on the backs of his +freckled hands. + +All these men met Terry with cordial nods, but there was a carelessness +about their demeanor which seemed strange to Terry. In his experience, +the men of the mountains were a timid or a blustering lot before +newcomers, uneasy, and anxious to establish their place. But these men +acted as if meeting unknown men were a part of their common, daily +experience. 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. "They +been getting pretty thick on the range, you know." + +"You came in just wrong," complained Kate, while the men turned four +pairs of grave eyes upon Terry and seemed to be judging him. "I got +Oregon singing at last, and he was doing fine. Got a real voice, Charlie +has. Regular branded baritone, I'll tell a man." + +"Strike up agin for us, Charlie," said Pollard good-naturedly. "You don't +never make much more noise'n a grizzly." + +But Charlie looked down at his hands and a faint spot of red appeared in +his cheek. Obviously he was much embarrassed. And when he looked up, it +was to fix a glance of cold suspicion upon Terry, as though warning him +not to take this talk of social acquirements as an index to his real +character. + +"Get us some coffee, Kate," said Pollard. "Turned off cold coming up the +hill." + +She did not rise. She had turned around to her music again, and now she +acknowledged the order by lifting her head and sending a shrill whistle +through the room. Her father started violently. + +"Damn it, Kate, don't do that!" + +"The only thing that'll bring Johnny on the run," she responded +carelessly. + +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 his +head as he halted and looked about in alarm. + +"Coffee for the boss and the new hand," said Kate, without turning her +head, 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. "You +can't scare the poor devil out of his skin like that every time you want +coffee. 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 here +and play." + +Her father swelled a moment in rage, but he subsided again without +audible protest. Only he sent a scowl at Terry as though daring him to +take notice of this insolence. As for the other men, they had scattered +to various parts of the room and remained there, idly, while the boss and +the new hand drank the scalding coffee of Johnny. All this time Pollard +remained deep in thought. His meditations exploded as he banged the empty +cup 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 hard +ridges along his arms, but glancing at the other four, he found that they +were taking the violence of Pollard quite as a matter of course. One was +whittling, another rolled a cigarette, and all of them, if they took any +visible 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, but +to the unutterable astonishment of Terry she was quietly looking her +father up and down. Pollard sprang to his feet and struck the table so +that 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 and +make allowances." + +It brought the heavy fist smashing on the table again. And an ugly +feeling rose in Hollis that the big fellow might put hands on his +daughter. + +"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 had +been such an easy dignity about her sitting at the piano that she had +seemed tall to Terry. Now that she stood up, he was surprised to see that +she was not a shade more than average height, beautifully and strongly +made. + +"You've gone about far enough with your little joke," said the girl, and +her 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, as +that 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 a +similar outbreak from the father, but the latter relaxed as suddenly as +his daughter had become furious. + +"There you go," he complained, with a sort of heavy whine. "Always flying +off the handle. Always turning into a wildcat when I try to reason with +you!" + +"Reason!" cried the girl. "Reason!" + +Joe Pollard grew downcast under her scorn. And Terry, sensing that the +crisis of the argument had passed, watched the other four men in the +room. They had not paid the slightest attention to the debate during its +later phases. And two of them--Slim and huge Phil Marvin--had begun to +roll dice on a folded blanket, the little ivories winking in the light +rapidly 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 you +never bear with a gent?" + +The tigerish alertness passed from Kate Pollard. She was filled all at +once with a winning gentleness and, crossing to her father, took his +heavy hands in hers. + +"I reckon I'm a bad one," she accused herself. "I try to get over +tantrums--but--I can't help it! Something--just sort of grabs me by the +throat when I get mad. I--I see red." + +"Hush up, honey," said the big man tenderly, and he ran his thick fingers +over her hair. "You ain't so bad. And all that's bad in you comes out of +me. 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 been +actin'." + +"Oh!" + +Plainly she was recalled to the presence of the stranger for the first +time in many minutes and, dropping her chin in her hand, she studied the +new arrival. + +He found it difficult to meet her glance. The Lord had endowed Terry +Hollis with a remarkable share of good looks, and it was not the first +time that he had been investigated by the eyes of a woman. But in all his +life he had never been subjected to an examination as minute, as +insolently 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 at +her, making himself examine her in equal detail. Seeing her so close, he +was aware of a marvellously delicate olive-tanned skin with delightful +tints 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 again +it seemed to Terry that Joe Pollard made an imperceptible sign, such as +he 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 she +broke in: "Crooked game he's running, isn't it?" + +"I thought so till today. Then I seen Terry, here, trim Pedro for a flat +twenty thousand!" + +"Oh," nodded the girl. Again her gaze reverted leisurely to the stranger +and 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 desiring +mightily to discover just what was going on behind the changing green of +her eyes. He was shocked when he discovered. It came like the break of +high dawn in the mountains of the Big Bend. Suddenly she had smiled +openly, frankly. "Hard luck, partner!" + +A little shivering sense of pleasure ran through him. He knew that he had +been 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 the +room waited, a little tense, with lifted heads. Slim was studying the +last throw that Phil Marvin had made. Terry could not but wonder what +significance 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 when +he feels like it. That's Pete's way." + +"Watching us, maybe," growled Joe Pollard, with a shade of uneasiness +still. "Damned funny gent, Pete is. Watches a man like a cat; watches a +gopher hole all day, maybe. And maybe the gent he watches is a friend +he's known for ten years. Well--let Pete go. They ain't no explaining +him." + +Through the last part of his talk, and through the heaviness of his +voice, cut another tone, lighter, sharper, venomous: "Phil, you gummed +them dice that last time!" + +Joe Pollard froze in place; the eyes of the girl widened. Terry, looking +across 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 Phil +Marvin 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 was +coiled, 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 had +heard of it before, but never seen it. As for Phil, it was plain that he +was 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, but +there was none of that fear which comes in the faces of ordinary men when +strife between men is at hand. And suddenly Terry knew that every one of +the five men in the room was an old familiar of danger, every one of them +a past master of gun fighting! + + + +CHAPTER 24 + + +The uneasy wait continued for a moment or more. The whisper of Joe +Pollard 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 of +surprise. + +"Slim, keep away from your gun!" + +She spoke as she whirled from her chair to her feet. It was strange to +see her direct all her attention to Slim, when Phil Marvin seemed the one +about to draw. + +"I ain't even nearin' my gun," asserted Slim truthfully. "It's Phil +that's got a strangle hold on his." + +"You're waiting for him to draw," said the girl calmly enough. "I know +you, 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 the +moment and jerked the gun from its holster. Then she faced Slim. +Obviously Phil was not displeased to have the matter taken out of his +hands; obviously Slim was not so pleased. He looked coldly up to the +girl. + +"This is between him and me," he protested. "I don't need none of your +help, 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 crooking +the 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 that +ugly look in your eyes. I know you, partner!" + +And to the unutterable astonishment of Terry, the man pulled his gun from +its holster and passed it up to her, his eyes fighting hers, his hand +moving 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 at +them dice!" + +She held them up to the light--then dropped them into a pocket of her +skirt. "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 the +progress of the trial, all saving Joe Pollard, who sat with his elbows +braced in sprawling fashion on the table, at ease, his eyes twinkling +contentedly at the girl. Why she refused to examine the dice at once was +plain to Terry. If they proved to have been gummed, it would mean a gun +fight with the men at a battling temperature. In the morning when they +had cooled down, it might be a different matter. Terry watched her in +wonder. His idea of an efficient woman was based on Aunt Elizabeth, cold +of 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 of +passion, of quick insight, of lightning guesses. He could see the play of +eager emotion in her face as she studied Phil Marvin. And how could she +do 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, how +many 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, shook +his 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 and +dropped 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 thinks +you didn't win that coin square. Is Slim's friendship worth two hundred +to you, or ain't it? Besides, you ain't lying down to nobody. Why, you +big squarehead, Phil, don't we all know that you'd fight a bull with your +bare 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 was +sneering in return. It seemed that she had failed. Even if she forced +Phil to return the money, he and Slim would hate each other as long as +they lived. And Terry gained a keen impression that if the hatred +continued, one of them would die very soon indeed. Her solution of the +problem was a strange one. She faced them both. + +"You two big sulky babies!" she exclaimed. "Slim, what did Phil do for +you down in Tecomo? Phil, did Slim stand by you last April--you know the +time? 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 little +distance from each other, one eyeing the other shrewdly. At the door they +hesitated. Finally, Phil lurched forward and went out first. Slim glided +after. + +"By heaven!" groaned Pollard as the door closed. "There goes two good +men! Kate, what put this last fool idea into your head?" + +She did not answer for a moment, but dropped into a chair as though +suddenly 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 she +passed 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 bother +me!" + +He turned his shoulder on her. As for the girl, she remained a moment, +looking thoughtfully at the broad back of Pollard. Then her glance +shifted 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 fully +on his new employee, and when Terry suggested that it was time for him to +turn in, his suggestion was hospitably put to one side. Pollard began +talking genially of the mountains, of the "varmints" he expected Terry to +clean out, and while he talked, he took out a broad silver dollar and +began flicking it in the air and catching it in the calloused palm of his +hand. + +"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 on +the table. + +"You win," said Pollard. "Well, you're a lucky gent, Terry, but I'll go +you ten you can't call it again." + +But again Terry called heads, and again the coin chimed, steadied, and +showed the Grecian goddess. The rancher doubled his bet. He lost, +doubled, lost again, doubled again, lost. A pile of money had appeared by +magic 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 and +laughing together. + +"What d'you know about that?" Pollard exclaimed softly. "She guessed +right. 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 had +won. He began to grow excited. On the next throw he lost. A moment later +his little pile of winnings had disappeared. And now he had forgotten the +face of Joe Pollard, forgotten the room, forgotten everything except the +thick thumb that snapped the coin into the air. The cold, quiet passion +of the gambler grew in him. He was losing steadily. Out of his wallet +came in a steady stream the last of his winnings at Pedro's. And still he +played. 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 agate +eyes dwelt kindly on the face of Terry, and mysteriously as well. "That +ain't nothing. Nothing between friends. You don't know the style of a man +I 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 mysterious +providence seemed to send all the luck the way of the heavy, tanned thumb +of Pollard. + +"That's my limit," he announced abruptly, rising. + +"No, no!" Pollard spread out his big hand on the table. "You got the red +hoss, 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 of +cash if you win. If you lose, you're just out that much hossflesh, and +I'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 to +support his head. It seemed to Terry that the big man made some odd +motion with his hidden fingers. At any rate, the four men who lounged on +the farther side of the room now rose and slowly drifted in different +directions. Oregon Charlie wandered toward the door. Slim sauntered to +the 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 the +posts, and finally, chunky Marty Cardiff strolled to the kitchen door and +appeared to study the hinges. + +All these things were done casually, but Terry, his attention finally off +the game, caught a meaning in them. Every exit was blocked for him. He +was trapped at the will of Joe Pollard! + + + +CHAPTER 25 + + +Looking back, he could understand everything easily. The horse was the +main objective of Pollard. He had won the money so as to tempt Terry to +gamble with the value of the blood-bay. But by fair means or foul he +intended to have El Sangre. And now, the moment his men were in place, a +change came over Pollard. He straightened in the chair. A slight +outthrust 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 voice +was raised so that it would undubitably reach the ears of the farthest of +the four men. "I don't mind letting a gambling debt ride when a gent +ain't got anything more to put up for covering his money. But when a gent +has got more, I figure he'd ought to cover with it." + +Unreasoning anger swelled in the throat of Terry Hollis; the same blind +passion which had surged in him before he started up at the Cornish table +and revealed himself to the sheriff. And the similarity was what sobered +him. It was the hunger to battle, to kill. And it seemed to him that +Black 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 toward +him. The chances of Terry were diminished, nine out of ten, for each of +those four, he shrewdly guessed, was a practiced gunman. Cold reason came +to Terry's assistance. + +"I told you when I was broke," he said gently. "I told you that I was +through. You told me to go on." + +"I figured you was kidding me," said Pollard harshly. "I knew you still +had El Sangre back. Son, I'm a kind sort of a man, I am. I got a name for +it." + +In spite of himself a faint and cruel smile flickered at the corners of +his mouth as he spoke. He became grave again. + +"But they's some things I can't stand. They's some things that I hate +worse'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't +that more'n fair?" + +He no longer took pains to disguise his voice. It was hard and heavy and +rang into the ear of Terry. And the latter, feeling that his hour had +come, looked deliberately around the room and took note of every guarded +exit, 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 hand +had disappeared beneath the table. + +"Suppose I throw the coin this time?" he suggested. + +"By God!" thundered Pollard, springing to his feet and throwing off the +mask completely. "You damned skunk, are you accusin' me of crooking the +throw of the coin?" + +Terry waited for the least moment--waited in a dull wonder to find +himself unafraid. But there was no fear in him. There was only a cold, +methodical calculation of chances. He told himself, deliberately, that no +matter how fast Pollard might be, he would prove the faster. He would +kill 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 a +picture. + +"Pollard," he said, more gently than before, "you'll have to eat that +talk!" + +A flash of bewilderment crossed the face of Pollard--then rage--then that +slight contraction of the features which in some men precedes a violent +effort. + +But the effort did not come. While Terry literally wavered on tiptoe, his +nerves straining for the pull of his gun and the leap to one side as he +sent 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 the +second story, his legs spread apart, his hands shoved deep into his +trouser 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 turned +to 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 tell +you, boys. It's the kid that dropped old Minter. It's the kid that beat +foxy Joe Minter to the draw. It's young Hollis. Why, you damned blind +men, look at his face! It's the son of Black Jack. It's Black Jack +himself come back to us!" + +Joe Pollard had let his hand fall away from his gun. He gaped at Terry as +though he were seeing a ghost. He came a long pace nearer and let his +arms fall on the table, where they supported his weight. + +"Black Jack," he kept whispering. "Black Jack! God above, are you Black +Jack's son?" + +And the bewildered Terry answered: + +"I'm his son. Whatever you think, and be damned to you all! I'm his son +and I'm proud of it. Now get your gun!" + +But Joe Pollard became a great catapult that shot across the table and +landed beside Terry. Two vast hands swallowed the hands of the younger +man 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 cleaned +up 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 dragged +the 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 from +the 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 in +the shoulders. But you got the look. I might of knowed you by the look in +your eyes. Hey, Slim, damn your good-for-nothing hide, drag Johnny here +pronto by the back of the neck!" + +Johnny, the Chinaman, appeared, blinking at the lights. Joe Pollard +clapped 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 the +cellar, you yaller old sinner, and get out the oldest bourbon I got +there. You savvy? Pretty damned pronto--hurry up--quick--old keg. Git +out!" + +Johnny was literally hurled out of the room toward the kitchen, trailing +a crackle of strange-sounding but unmistakable profanity behind him. And +Joe Pollard, perching his bulk on the edge of the table, introduced Terry +to the boys again, for Oregon had come back with word that Kate would be +out soon. + +"Here's Denver Pete. You know him already, and he's worth his weight in +any man's company. Here's Slim Dugan, that could scent a big coin +shipment a thousand miles away. Phil Marvin ain't any slouch at stalling +a gent with a fat wallet and leading him up to be plucked. Marty Cardiff +ain't half so tame as he looks, and he's the best trailer that ever +squinted at a buzzard in the sky; he knows this whole country like a +book. And Oregon Charlie is the best all-around man you ever seen, from +railroads 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 remarked +quietly: "All very pretty, partner, but Terry figures he walks the +straight and narrow path. Savvy?" + +"Just a kid's fool hunch!" snorted Joe Pollard. "Didn't your dad show me +the ropes? Wasn't it him that taught me all I ever knew? Sure it was, and +I'm going to do the same for you, Terry. Damn my eyes if I ain't! And +here I been sitting, trimming you! Son, take back the coin. I was sure +playing 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, not +gambling. I was gold-digging! Take back the stuff!" + +"If I was fool enough to lose it that way, it'll stay lost," answered +Terry. + +"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 the +subject. + +"Let it go, then. They's plenty of loose coin rolling about this day. If +you got a thin purse today, I'll make it fat for you in a week. But think +of me stumbling on to you!" + +It was the first time that Terry had a fair opportunity to speak, and he +made the best of it. + +"It's very pleasant to meet you--on this basis," he said. "But as for +taking up--er--road life--" + +The lifted hand of Joe Pollard made it impossible for him to complete his +sentence. + +"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 a +blow in the dark: "When I met up with the original Black Jack, I was +slavin' my life away with a pick trying to turn ordinary quartz into pay +dirt. Making a fool of myself, that's what I was doing. Along comes Black +Jack. He needed a man. He picks me up and takes me along with him. I +tried 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't +stealing from an honest man. And they's about one gent in three with +money that's come by it honest, in this part of the world. The rest is +just plain thieves, but they been clever enough to cover it up. Pick on +that 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 was +a 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 out +with the loot. If they was some dirty dog that had jumped a claim and was +making a pile of coin out of it, Black Jack would drop out of the sky +onto him and take the gold." + +Terry listened, fascinated. He was having the workings of his father's +mind re-created for him and spread plainly before his eyes. And there was +a certain terror and also a certain attractiveness about what he +discovered. + +"It sounds, maybe, like an easy thing to do, to just stick on the trail +of them that you know are worse crooks than you. But it ain't. I've tried +it. 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 the +money I owe you--" + +Before he could complete his sentence, a door opened on the far side of +the room, and Kate Pollard entered again. She had risen from her bed in +some haste to answer the summons of her father. Her bright hair poured +across her shoulders, a heavy, greenish-blue dressing gown was drawn +about her and held close with one hand at her breast. She came slowly +toward them. And she seemed to Terry to have changed. There was less of +the masculine about her than there had been earlier in the evening. Her +walk was slow, her eyes were wide as though she had no idea what might +await her, and the light glinted white on the untanned portion of her +throat, and on her arm where the loose sleeve of the dressing gown fell +back 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 the +greatest 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 thinking +right. And d'you know who we've got here with us now? Could you guess it +in a thousand years? Why, the kid that come tonight. Black Jack as sure +as if he was a picture out of a book, and me a blind fool that didn't +know him. Kate, here's the second Black Jack. Terry Hollis. Give him your +hand agin and say you're glad to have him for his dad's sake and for his +own! Kate, he's done a man's job already. It's him that dropped old foxy +Minter!" + +The last of these words faded out of the hearing of Terry. He felt the +lowered eyes of the girl rise and fall gravely on his face, and her +glance rested there a long moment with a new and solemn questioning. Then +her hand went slowly out to him, a cold hand that barely touched his with +its fingertips and then dropped away. + +But what Terry felt was that it was the same glance she had turned to him +when she stood leaning against the post earlier that evening. There was a +pity 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 the +room as slowly as she had come into it. + + + +CHAPTER 26 + + +"It don't mean nothing," Pollard hastened to assure Terry. "It don't mean +a thing in the world except that she's a fool girl. The queerest, +orneriest, kindest, strangest, wildest thing in the shape of calico that +ever come into these parts since her mother died before her. But the more +you see of her, the more you'll value her. She can ride like a man--no +wear out to her--and she's got the courage of a man. Besides which she +can sling a gun like it would do your heart good to see her! Don't take +nothing she does to heart. She don't mean no harm. But she sure does +tangle up a gent's ideas. Here I been living with her nigh onto twenty +years 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 before +by man, woman, or child. And for the past few seconds his mind had been +following her through the door behind which she had disappeared. + +"And if I were to see more of her, no doubt--" He broke off with: "But +I'm not apt to see much more of any of you, Mr. Pollard. If I can't stay +here and work off that three-hundred-dollar debt--" + +"Work, hell! No son of Black Jack Hollis can work for me. But he can live +with me as a partner, son, and he can have everything I got, half and +half, 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 the +mountains by hard and patient work. They would have none of him. His own +kind turned him out. And among these men--men who had no law, as he had +every 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 way +up the stairs to the balcony. He pointed out the advantages of the house +as he spoke. + +"Not half bad--this house, eh?" he said proudly. "And who d'you think +planned it? Your old man, kid. It was Black Jack Hollis himself that done +it! He was took off sudden before he'd had a chance to work it out and +build it. But I used his ideas in this the same's I've done in other +things. 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. Same +with this house. You seen them walls. And the walls on the outside ain't +the only thing. Every partition is the same thing, pretty near; and a +gent could stand behind these doors safe as if he was a mile away from a +gun. Why? Because they's a nice little lining of the best steel you ever +seen in the middle of 'em. + +"Cost a lot. Sure. But look at us now. Suppose a posse was to rush the +house. They bust into the kitchen side. Where are they? Just the same as +if they hadn't got in at all. I bolt the doors from the inside of the big +room, and they're shut out agin. Or suppose they take the big room? Then +a couple of us slide out on this balcony and spray 'em with lead. This +house ain't going to be took till the last room is filled full of the +sheriff's men!" + +He paused on the balcony and looked proudly over the big, baronial room +below them. It seemed huger than ever from this viewpoint, and the men +below them were dwarfed. The light of the lanterns did not extend all the +way across it, but fell in pools here and there, gleaming faintly on the +men below. + +"But doesn't it make people suspicious to have a fort like this built on +the hill?" asked Terry. + +"Of course. If they knew. But they don't know, son, and they ain't going +to 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 the +flare steadied in the big circular oil burner and the light spread, Terry +made out a surprisingly comfortable apartment. There was not a bunk, but +a civilized bed, beside which was a huge, tawny mountain-lion skin +softening the floor. The window was curtained in some pleasant blue +stuff, 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 up +all out of her own head. Never got no ideas out of me. Anything you might +lack, son?" + +Terry told him he would be very comfortable, and the big man wrung his +hand again as he bade him good night. + +"The best work that Denver ever done was bringing you to me," he +declared. "Which you'll find it out before I'm through. I'm going to give +you a home!" And he strode away before Terry could answer. + +The rather rare consciousness of having done a good deed swelled in the +heart of Joe Pollard on his way down from the balcony. When he reached +the floor below, he found that the four men had gone to bed and left +Denver alone, drawn back from the light into a shadowy corner, where he +was flanked by the gleam of a bottle of whisky on the one side and a +shimmering 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 Eastern +territory. He came and went as he pleased, and was more or less a law to +himself. Moreover, he had certain qualities of silence and brooding that +usually disturbed the leader. They troubled him now as he approached the +squat, 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. "Maybe +he 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 a +while back. Good thing for him you come out when you did!" + +"A good thing for you, Joe," replied Denver Pete. "He'd of turned you +into 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 about +guns, Joe--quite a bit. But there's some things about gun fighting that +nobody can learn. It's got to be born into 'em. Remember how Black Jack +used 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 beat +him 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 a +good deal of gunplay, and said that Terry's was the coolest he ever +watched." + +"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; but +is 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 be +used, and he'll be the best bargain you ever turned. Black Jack started +you in business; Black Jack the Second will make you rich if you handle +him 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 gent +that's used to reading the secrets of a safe to read the secrets of a +gent's head. And I've read the secret of young Black Jack Hollis. He's a +pile of dry powder, Joe. Throw in the spark and he'll explode so damned +loud 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 no +mental 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 him +and 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 old +Black 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 working +it off for you--honest work. You ain't got any ranch work. Well, set him +to cutting down trees, or anything. That'll help to hold him. If he makes +some gambling play--and he's got the born gambler in him--you got one +last 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 Jack +looking 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 him +along. Will you? And after we got him glued to the place here, we'll +figure out the way to turn Terry into a copy of his dad. We'll figure out +how to shoot the spark into the powder, and then stand clear for the +explosion." + +Denver came silently and swiftly out of the chair, his pudgy hand spread +on 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 his +father ever was--and maybe more. He'll rake in the money like it was +dirt. How do I know? Because I've talked to him. I've watched him and +trailed him. He's trying hard to go straight. He's failed twice; the +third time he'll bust and throw in with us. And if he does, he'll clean +up the coin--and we'll get our share. Why ain't you made more money +yourself, Joe? You got as many men as Black Jack ever had. It's because +you ain't got the fire in you. Neither have I. We're nothing but tools +ready for another man to use the way Black Jack used us. Nurse this kid +along a little while, and he'll show us how to pry open the places where +the real coin is cached away. And he'll lead us in and out with no danger +to us and all the real risk on his own head. That's his way--that was his +dad'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 with +something more than gold. And I know what that something is. I'm going to +show him that the good, lawabiding citizens have made up their minds that +he'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 when +he 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't +there?" + +"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 good +name for gunplay." + +"Then hark to me sing, Joe! Send Terry into town to get something for +you. I'll drop in ahead of him and find Larrimer, and tell Larrimer that +Black Jack's son is around--the man that dropped Sheriff Minter. Then +I'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's +good riddance. The kid is going to get bumped off sometime, anyway. He's +bad--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 Hollis +is 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 brought +a bright flood of memories of the day before him. It seemed to him that +half a lifetime had been crowded into the brief hours since he was fired +on the ranch that morning. Behind everything stirred the ugly face of +Denver as a sort of controlling nemesis. It seemed to him that the chunky +little man had been pulling the wires all the time while he, Terry +Hollis, danced in response. Not a flattering thought. + +Nervously, Terry got out of bed and went to the window. The night was +cool, cut crisp rather than chilling. His eye went over the velvet +blackness of the mountain slope above him to the ragged line of the +crest--then a dizzy plunge to the brightness of the stars beyond. The +very sense of distance was soothing; it washed the gloom and the troubles +away from him. He breathed deep of the fragrance of the pines and then +went back to his bed. + +He had hardly taken his place in it when the sleep began to well up over +his brain--waves of shadows running out of corners of his mind. And then +suddenly he was wide awake, alert. + +Someone had opened the door. There had been no sound; merely a change in +the air currents of the room, but there was also the sense of another +presence so clearly that Terry almost imagined he could hear the +breathing. + +He was beginning to shrug the thought away and smile at his own +nervousness, when he heard that unmistakable sound of a foot pressing the +floor. And then he remembered that he had left his gun belt far from the +bed. In a burning moment that lesson was printed in his mind, and would +never be forgotten. Slowly as possible and without sound, he drew up his +feet little by little, spread his arms gently on either side of him, and +made himself tense for the effort. Whoever it was that entered, they +might be taken by surprise. He dared not lift his head to look; and he +was on the verge of leaping up and at the approaching noise, when a +whisper came to him softly: "Black Jack!" + +The soft voice, the name itself, thrilled him. He sat erect in the bed +and made out, dimly, the form of Kate Pollard in the blackness. She would +have been quite invisible, save that the square of the window was almost +exactly behind her. He made out the faint whiteness of the hand which +held her dressing robe at the breast. + +She did not start back, though she showed that she was startled by the +suddenness of his movement by growing the faintest shade taller and +lifting her head a little. Terry watched her, bewildered. + +"I been waiting to see you," said Kate. "I want to--I mean--to--talk to +you." + +He could think of nothing except to blurt with sublime stupidity: "It's +good of you. Won't you sit down?" + +The girl brought him to his senses with a sharp "Easy! Don't talk out. Do +you know what'd happen if Dad found me here?" + +"I--" began Terry. + +But she helped him smoothly to the logical conclusion. "He'd blow your +head 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 he +wondered at the variety of expression she was able to pack in the small +range of that murmur. "I suppose I'm a fool for coming. But I was born to +love chances. Born for it!" She lifted her head and laughed. + +It amazed Terry to hear the shaken flow of her breath and catch the +glinting outline of her face. He found himself leaning forward a little; +and he began to wish for a light, though perhaps it was an unconscious +wish. + +"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 chin +while she considered what she could say next. + +"They's so much to tell," she confessed, "that I can't put it short. I'll +tell 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? And +what you been doing with yourself?" + +He felt that this giving of the first name was a tribute, in some subtle +manner. It enabled him, for instance, to call her Kate, and he decided +with a thrill that he would do so at the first opportunity. He reverted +to her question. + +"I suppose," he admitted gloomily, "that I've been raised to do pretty +much 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 her +rose. Yet he found himself explaining humbly. + +"You see, I was taken when I wasn't old enough to decide for myself. I +was only a baby. And I was raised to depend upon Elizabeth Cornish. I--I +didn'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?" She +laughed 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 now +possible to dimly make out objects in the room. The window was filled +with an increasing brightness, and presently a shaft of pale light began +to slide across the floor, little by little. The moon had pushed up above +the 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. This +Elizabeth 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 terrible +pile." + +"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 you +gambled 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 of +himself, his voice changed, became softer. The girl straightened +somewhat, and the light was now increased to such a point that he could +make out that she was frowning at him through the dimness. + +"First, you been adopted, then you been raised on a great big place with +everything you want, mostly, and now you're out--playing at Pedro's. How +come, Terry?" + +"I was sent away," said Terry faintly, as all the pain of that farewell +came 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 of +her eyes, and knew that she had flown into one of her sudden, fiery +passions. And it warmed his heart to hear her. + +"I'd like to know what kind of people they are, anyway! I'd like to meet +up 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 very +just, Kate." + +She was shaking her head; the hair had become a dull and wonderful gold +in the faint moonshine. + +"I dunno what kind of a man you are, Terry. I didn't ever know a man +could stick by--folks--after they'd been hurt by 'em. I couldn't do it. I +ain't got much Bible stuff in me, Terry. Why, when somebody does me a +wrong, 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 that +you're pretty white, Terry Hollis." + +There was something so direct about her talk that he could not answer. It +seemed to him that there was in her a cross between a boy and a man--the +simplicity of a child and the straightforward strength of a grown man, +and all this tempered and made strangely delightful by her own unique +personality. + +"But I guessed it the first time I looked at you," she was murmuring. "I +guessed that you was different from the rest." + +She had her elbow on her knee now, and, with her chin cupped in the +graceful 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 about +the 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 myself +like 'em. But you're different. I seen that when you started talking. You +didn't sulk; and you didn't look proud like you wanted to show us what +you could do; and you didn't boast none. I kept wondering at you while I +was 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 tomorrow +morning?" + +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 you +see that that's why they like you? Because you're his son, and because +they want you to be another like him. Not that I have anything against +him. I guess he was a fine fellow in his way." She paused and stared +directly at him in a way he found hard to bear. "He must of been! But +that 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 could +stay 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 waved +him 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 anything +to 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 you +mean it? I see you do. I don't suppose it does any good for me to tell +you 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 the +inside of your head than you'd ever guess! Well, I knew that--and I come +with the money so's you can pay back Dad in the morning. Here it is--and +they'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 not +that low. I can't take your money!" + +She stood by the bed and stamped lightly. "Are you going to be a fool +about this, too?" + +"Your father offered to give me back all the money I'd won. I can't do +it, 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 thousand +ways just how vast that difference was. + +"Man, you'd make a saint swear, and I ain't a saint by some miles. You +take that money and pay Dad, and get on your way. This ain't no place for +you, Terry Hollis." + +"I--" he began. + +She broke in: "Don't say it. You'll have me mad in a minute. Don't say +it." + +"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 of +it. + +"Good enough?" said Terry. "Good enough?" Something that had been +accumulating in him now swelled to bursting, flooded from his heart to +his throat. He hardly knew his own voice, it was so transformed with +sudden 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 face +raised, as though music were falling on her, a thing barely heard at a +perilous distance. + +"They've told you other things, but they don't know. I know, Kate. The +moment I saw you I knew, and it stopped my heart for a beat--the knowing +of it. That you're beautiful--and true as steel; that you're worthy of +honor--and that I honor you with all my heart. That I love your kindness, +your frankness, your beautiful willingness to help people, Kate. I've +lived with a woman who taught me what was true. You've taught me what's +glorious 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 have +let you--talk the way you've done. But, oh, Terry--when you come to +forget what you've said--don't forget it all the way--keep some of the +things--tucked away in you--somewhere--" + +She rose from the bed and slipped across the white brilliance of the +shaft of moonlight. It made a red-gold fire of her hair. Then she +flickered 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 house +at dawn with her horse. + +"May be night before she comes back," said her father. "No telling how +far 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 trail +her across the hills. But he was very quickly brought to the reality that +if he chose to make himself a laboring man and work out the three hundred +dollars he would not take back from Joe Pollard, the big man was now +disposed to make him live up to his word. + +He was sent out with an ax and ordered to attack a stout grove of the +pines for firewood. But he quickly resigned himself to the work. Whatever +gloom he felt disappeared with the first stroke that sunk the edge deep +into the soft wood. The next stroke broke out a great chip, and a +resinous, fresh smell came up to him. + +He made quick work of the first tree, working the morning chill out of +his body, and as he warmed to his labor, the long muscles of arms and +shoulders limbering, the blows fell in a shower. The sturdy pines fell +one by one, and he stripped them of branches with long, sweeping blows of +the ax, shearing off several at a stroke. He was not an expert axman, but +he knew enough about that cunning craft to make his blows tell, and a +continual desire to sing welled up in him. + +Once, to breathe after the heavy labor, he stepped to the edge of the +little grove. The sun was sparkling in the tops of the trees; the valley +dropped far away below him. He felt as one who stands on the top of the +world. There was flash and gleam of red; there stood El Sangre in the +corral below him; the stallion raised his head and whinnied in reply to +the master's whistle. + +A great, sweet peace dropped on the heart of Terry Hollis. Now he felt he +was at home. He went back to his work. + +But in the midmorning Joe Pollard came to him and grunted at the swath +Terry 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 Sangre +a stretching down the road?" + +"Of course." + +It gave Terry a little prickling feeling of resentment to be ordered +about. But he swallowed the resentment. After all, this was labor of his +own choosing, though he could not but wonder a little, because Joe +Pollard no longer pressed him to take back the money he had lost. And he +reverted to the talk of Kate the night before. That three hundred dollars +was now an anchor holding him to the service of her father. And he +remembered, with a touch of dismay, that it might take a year of ordinary +wages to save three hundred dollars. Or more than a year. + +It was impossible to be downhearted long, however. The morning was as +fresh as a rose, and the four men came out of the house with Pollard to +see El Sangre dancing under the saddle. Terry received the commission for +a box of shotgun cartridges and the money to pay for them. + +"And the change," said Pollard liberally, "don't worry me none. Step +around and make yourself to home in town. About coming back--well, when I +send 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 straight +into the air and landed on legs of jack-rabbit qualities that flung him +sidewise. The hand and voice of Terry quieted him, while the others stood +around grinning with delight at the fun and at the beautiful +horsemanship. + +"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 of +quartz and hurled it--straight at El Sangre! There was no warning--just a +jerk 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 hand +of Terry, exploded, and the gleaming quartz puffed into a shower of +bright particles that danced toward the earth. El Sangre flew into a +paroxysm of educated bucking of the most advanced school. The steady +voice of Terry Hollis brought him at last to a quivering stop. The rider +was 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 may +have had something to do with the success of that snapshot, but it was +such 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. I +hope I'm wrong?" + +"Maybe," growled Slim. He flashed a glance at his companions, not at all +eager to push this quarrel forward to a conclusion in spite of his known +prowess. He had been a little irritated by the adulation which had been +shown to the son of Black Jack the night before. He was still more +irritated by the display of fine riding. For horsemanship and clever +gunplay were the two main feathers in the cap of Slim Dugan. He had +thrown the stone simply to test the qualities of this new member of the +gang; the snapshot had stunned him. So he glanced at his companions. If +they smiled, it meant that they took the matter lightly. But they were +not smiling; they met his glance with expressions of uniform gravity. To +torment a nervous horse is something which does not fit with the ways of +the men of the mountain desert, even at their roughest. Besides, there +was an edgy irritability about Slim Dugan which had more than once won +him black looks. They wanted to see him tested now by a foeman who seemed +worthy of his mettle. And Slim saw that common desire in his flickering +side glance. He turned a cold eye on Terry. + +"Maybe," he repeated. "But maybe I meant to see what you could do with a +gun." + +"I thought so," said Terry through his teeth. "Steady, boy!" + +El Sangre became a rock for firmness. There was not a quiver in one of +his long, racing muscles. It was a fine tribute to the power of the +rider. + +"I thought you might be trying out my gun," repeated Terry. "Are you +entirely satisfied?" + +He leaned a little in the saddle. Slim moistened his lips. It was a hard +question to answer. The man in the saddle had become a quivering bundle +of nerves; Slim could see the twitching of the lips, and he knew what it +meant. Instinctively he fingered one of the broad bright buttons of his +shirt. A man who could hit a glittering thrown stone would undoubtedly be +able to hit that stationary button. The thought had elements in it that +were decidedly unpleasant. But he had gone too far. He dared not recede +now if he wished to hold up his head again among his fellows--and fear of +death had never yet controlled the actions of Slim Dugan. + +"I dunno," he remarked carelessly. "I'm a sort of curious gent. It takes +more than one lucky shot to make me see the light." + +The lips of Terry worked a moment. The companions of Slim Dugan scattered +of one accord to either side. There was no doubting the gravity of the +crisis which had so suddenly sprung up. As for Joe Pollard, he stood in +the doorway in the direct line projected from Terry to Slim and beyond. +There was very little sentiment in the body of Joe Pollard. Slim had +always been a disturbing factor in the gang. Why not? He bit his lips +thoughtfully. + +"Dugan," said Terry at length, "curiosity is a very fine quality, and I +admire a man who has it. Greatly. Now, you may notice that my gun is in +the holster again. Suppose you try me again and see how fast I can get it +out of the leather--and hit a target." + +The challenge was entirely direct. There was a perceptible tightening in +the muscles of the men. They were nerving themselves to hear the crack of +a gun at any instant. Slim Dugan, gathering his nerve power, fenced for a +moment more of time. His narrowing eyes were centering on one spot on +Terry's body--the spot at which he would attempt to drive his bullet, and +he chose the pocket of Terry's shirt. It steadied him, gave him his old +self-confidence to have found that target. His hand and his brain grew +steady, 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 a +button!" + +It jarred home to Slim--the very thought he had had a moment before. He +felt his certainty waver, slip from him. Then the voice of Pollard boomed +out at them: + +"Keep them guns in their houses! You hear me talk? The first man that +makes 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 without +a backward look. + + + +CHAPTER 29 + + +There had been a profound reason behind the sudden turning of Terry +Hollis'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 new +to him, a fierce and sudden passion. + +It was joyous, free, terrible in its force--that wish to slay. The +emotion had grown, held back by the very force of a mental thread of +reason, until, at the very moment when the thread was about to fray and +snap, and he would be flung into sudden action, the booming voice of Joe +Pollard had cleared his mind as an acid clears a cloudy precipitate. He +saw himself for the first time in several moments, and what he saw made +him shudder. + +And still in fear of himself he swung El Sangre and put him down the +slope recklessly. Never in his life had he ridden as he rode in those +first five minutes down the pitch of the hill. He gave El Sangre his head +to pick his own way, and he confined his efforts to urging the great +stallion along. The blood-bay went like the wind, passing up-jutting +boulders with a swish of gravel knocked from his plunging hoofs against +the rock. + +Even in Terry's passion of self-dread he dimly appreciated the prowess of +the horse, and when they shot onto the level going of the valley road, he +called El Sangre out of the mad gallop and back to the natural pace, a +gait as swinging and smooth as running water--yet still the road poured +beneath them at the speed of an ordinary gallop. It was music to Terry +Hollis, that matchless gait. He leaned and murmured to the pricking ears +with that soft, gentle voice which horses love. The glorious head of El +Sangre went up a little, his tail flaunted somewhat more proudly; from +the quiver of his nostrils to the ringing beat of his black hoofs he +bespoke 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 waning +self-confidence. His father had been up in him as he faced Slim Dugan, he +knew. Once more he had escaped from the commission of a crime. But for +how long would he succeed in dodging that imp of the perverse which +haunted him? + +It was like the temptation of a drug--to strike just once, and thereafter +to be raised above himself, take to himself the power of evil which is +greater than the power of good. The blow he struck at the sheriff had +merely served to launch him on his way. To strike down was not now what +he wanted, but to kill! To feel that once he had accomplished the destiny +of some strong man, to turn a creature of mind and soul, ambition and +hope, 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 desire +to strike, as he had looked into the sneering face of Slim Dugan, had +been almost overmastering. + +Sooner or later he would strike that blow. Sooner or later he would +commit the great and controlling crime. And the rest of his life would be +a 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 or +deed and give him a chance to prove that he was honest! Even then the +battle would be hard, against temptation; but they were too smugly sure +that 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 his +father? + +Grinding his teeth, he swore that if that time ever came when they took +his destiny into their own hands, he would make it a day to be marked in +red all through the mountains! + +The cool, fresh wind against his face blew the sullen anger away. And +when 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 the +cinches, where girth means lung power, twisted out of a side trail and +swung past El Sangre at a fast gallop. The blood-bay snorted and came +hard against the bit in a desire to follow. On the range, when he led his +wild band, no horse had ever passed El Sangre and hardly the voice of the +master could keep him back now. Terry loosed him. He did not break into a +gallop, but fled down the road like an arrow, and the gray came back to +him slowly and surely until the rider twisted around and swore in +surprise. + +He touched his mount with the spurs; there was a fresh start from the +gray, a lunge that kicked a little spurt of dust into the nostrils of El +Sangre. He snorted it out. Terry released his head completely, and now, +as though in scorn refusing to break into his sweeping gallop, El Sangre +flung himself ahead to the full of his natural pace. + +And the gray came back steadily. The town was shoving up at them at the +end of the road more and more clearly. The rider of the gray began to +curse. He was leaning forward, jockeying his horse, but still El Sangre +hurled himself forward powerfully, smoothly. They passed the first shanty +on the outskirts of the town with the red head of the stallion at the hip +of the other. Before they straightened into the main street, El Sangre +had shoved his nose past the outstretched head of the gray. Then the +other rider jerked back on his reins with a resounding oath. Terry +imitated; one call to El Sangre brought him back to a gentle amble. + +"Going to sell this damned skate," declared the stranger, a lean-faced +man of middle age with big, patient, kindly eyes. "If he can't make +another hoss break out of a pace, he ain't worth keeping! But I'll tell a +man 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 him +beat by a hoss that don't break out of a pace." + +He swore again, but less violently and with less disappointment. He was +beginning to run his eyes appreciatively over the superb lines of El +Sangre. There were horses and horses, and he began to see that this was +one 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 freak +mustang, I guess. He reverts to the old source stock." + +"I've heard something about that," nodded the other. "Once in a +generation they say a mustang turns up somewhere on the range that breeds +back 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, and +the 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 the +country known by his first name alone. There were reasons and reasons why +men chose to conceal their family names in the mountains, however, and +not all of them were bad. He decided to reserve judgment. Particularly +since he noted a touch of similarity between the high head and the +glorious lines of El Sangre and the young pride and strength of Terry +himself. There was something reassuringly clean and frank about both +horse 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 back +of the hills, I know, and some cattle on it; but he's sure a waster of +good labor. Take me, now. I need a hand right bad to help me with the +cows." + +"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 is +all right. He's sort of a newcomer around here. That big house of his +ain't more'n four or five years old. But most usually a man buys land and +cattle around here before he builds him a big house. Well--Pollard is an +open-handed cuss, I'll say that for him, and maybe they ain't anything in +the talk that goes around." + +What that talk was Terry attempted to discover, but he could not. Jack +Baldwin was a cautious gossip. + +Since they had finished buying, the storekeeper perched on the edge of +his selling counter and began to pass the time of the day. It began with +the 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 two +nights firing up the croup kettle. Now he's better, but he still coughs +terrible bad." + +And so on until all family affairs had been exhausted. This is a +formality. One must not rush to the heart of his news or he will mortally +offend the sensitive Westerner. + +This is the approved method. The storekeeper exemplified it, and having +talked about nothing for ten minutes, quietly remarked that young +Larrimer 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 a +peanut shell can run over men just because he's spent his life learning +how 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 with +precision and remarkable power through the window beside him. "That's +what they been saying for the last two years. Dawson come right down here +to get him; but it was Dawson that was got. And Kennedy was called a good +man with a gun--but Larrimer beat him to the draw and filled him plumb +full of lead." + +"I know," growled Baldwin. "Kept on shooting after Kennedy was down and +had the gun shot out of his hand and was helpless. And yet they call that +self-defense." + +"We can't afford to be too particular about shootings," said the +storekeeper. "Speaking personal, I figure that a shooting now and then +lets the blood of the youngsters and gives 'em a new start. Kind of like +to see it." + +"But who's Larrimer after now?" + +"A wild-goose chase, most likely. He says he's heard that the son of old +Black Jack is around these parts, and that he's going to bury the +outlaw'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 horror +from which there was no appeal. In the eye of Jack Baldwin, fair-minded +man though he was, Black Jack's son was judged and condemned as worthless +before his case had been heard. + +"I dunno," said the storekeeper; "but if Larrimer put one of Black Jack's +breed under the ground, I'd call him some use to the town." + +Jack Baldwin was agreeing fervently when the storekeeper made a violent +signal. + +"There's Larrimer now, and he looks all fired up." + +Terry turned and saw a tall fellow standing in the doorway. He had been +prepared for a youth; he saw before him a hardened man of thirty and +more, gaunt-faced, bristling with the rough beard of some five or six +days' growth, a thin, cruel, hawklike face. + + + +CHAPTER 30 + + +A moment later, from the side door which led from the store into the main +body of the hotel, stepped the chunky form of Denver Pete, quick and +light of foot as ever. He went straight to the counter and asked for +matches, and as the storekeeper, still keeping half an eye upon the +formidable figure of Larrimer, turned for the matches, Denver spoke +softly from the side of his mouth to Terry--only in the lockstep line of +the prison do they learn to talk in this manner--gauging the carrying +power of the whisper with nice accuracy. + +"That bird's after you. Crazy with booze in the head, but steady in the +hand. One of two things. Clear out right now, or else say the word and +I'll stay and help you get rid of him." + +For the first time in his life fear swept over Terry--fear of himself +compared with which the qualm he had felt after turning from Slim Dugan +that morning had been nothing. For the second time in one day he was +being 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, Denver +had come to be present and watch the launching of Terry into a career of +crime. But it was not the public that Terry feared. It was himself. His +moral determination was a dam which blocked fierce currents in him that +were struggling to get free. And a bullet fired at Larrimer would be the +thing 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. And +pray for me." + +A strange request. It shattered even the indomitable self-control of +Denver 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 his +bloodshot little eyes ran up and down the body of the stranger. He turned +to the storekeeper, but still half of his attention was fixed upon Terry. + +"Bill," he said, "you seen anything of a spavined, long-horned, no-good +skunk named Hollis around town today?" + +And Terry could see him wait, quivering, half in hopes that the stranger +would show some anger at this denunciation. + +"Ain't seen nobody by that name," said Bill mildly. "Maybe you're chasing +a wild goose? Who told you they was a gent named Hollis around?" + +"Black Jack's son," insisted Larrimer. "Wild-goose chase, hell! I was +told he was around by a gent named--" + +"These ain't the kind of matches I want!" cried Denver Pete, with a +strangely loud-voiced wrath. "I don't want painted wood. How can a gent +whittle one of these damned matches down to toothpick size? Gimme plain +wood, will you?" + +The storekeeper, wondering, made the exchange. Drunken Larrimer had roved +on, forgetful of his unfinished sentence. For the very purpose of keeping +that sentence unfinished, Denver Pete remained on the scene, edging +toward the outskirts. Now was to come, in a single moment, both the +temptation and the test of Terry Hollis, and well Denver knew that if +Larrimer fell with a bullet in his body there would be an end of Terry +Hollis in the world and the birth of a new soul--the true son of Black +Jack! + +"It's him that plugged Sheriff Minter," went on Larrimer. "I hear tell as +how he got the sheriff from behind and plugged him. This town ain't a +place for a man-killing houn' dog like young Black Jack, and I'm here to +let him know it!" + +The torrent of abuse died out in a crackle of curses. Terry Hollis stood +as 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, is +there?" + +"Better than a circus," declared Baldwin. "Wouldn't miss it. Since old +man 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 he +determined to dodge the issue. He started toward the door, taking care +not to walk hastily enough to draw suspicion on him because of his +withdrawal, but to the heated brain of Larrimer all things were +suspicious. His long arm darted out as Terry passed him; he jerked the +smaller man violently back. + +"Wait a minute. I don't know you, kid. Maybe you got the information I +want?" + +"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 the +floor. + +He heard a murmur from the men at the other end of the room. He knew that +small, 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 victim +more fully. "What I want to know is about the gent that owns the red hoss +in front of the store. Ever hear of him?" + +Terry was silent. By a vast effort he was able to shake his head. It was +hard, bitterly hard, but every good influence that had ever come into his +life now stood beside him and fought with and for him--Elizabeth Cornish, +the long and fictitious line of his Colby ancestors, Kate Pollard with +her clear-seeing eyes. He saw her last of all. When the men were scorning +him for the way he had avoided this battle, she, at least, would +understand, and her understanding would be a mercy. + +"Hollis is somewhere around," declared Larrimer, drawing back and biting +his lip. "I know it, damn well. His hoss is standing out yonder. I know +what'll fetch him. I'll shoot that hoss of his, and that'll bring him--if +young Black Jack is half the man they say he is! I ain't out to shoot +cowards--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 that +it 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 already +damned 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. I +know 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 the +breaking-point all this time. He felt a warmth run through him--the +warmth 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 the +voice of Terry like the ring down the barrel of a shotgun after it has +been 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 long +stride back. + +"Stop where you are!" cried Terry. + +He stood like a soldier with his heels together, straight, trembling. And +Larrimer stopped as though a blow had checked him. + +"I may be your sky-pilot, Larrimer. But listen to sense. Do you really +mean 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 change +from this man's humility of the moment before, his almost cringing +meekness, to his present defiance was so startling that Larrimer was +momentarily at sea. + +"Damn my eyes," he remarked furiously, "this is funny, this is. Are you +preaching at me, kid? What d'you mean by that? Eh?" + +"I'll tell you why. Face me squarely, will you? Your head up, and your +hands ready." + +In spite of his rage and wonder, Larrimer instinctively obeyed, for the +words came snapping out like military commands. + +"Now I'll tell you. You manhunting cur, I'm going to send you to hell +with your sins on your head. I'm going to kill you, Larrimer!" + +It was so unexpected, so totally startling, that Larrimer blinked, raised +his 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 hand +whipped for the gun. It came cleanly out. There was no flap to his +holster, and the sight had been filed away to give more oiled and perfect +freedom to the draw. Years of patient practice had taught his muscles to +reflex in this one motion with a speed that baffled the eye. Fast as +light that draw seemed to those who watched, and the draw of Terry Hollis +appeared to hang in midair. His hand wavered, then clutched suddenly, and +they saw a flash of metal, not the actual motion of drawing the gun. Just +that gleam of the barrel at his hip, hardly clear of the holster, and +then in the dimness of the big room a spurt of flame and the boom of the +gun. + +There was a clangor of metal at the farthest end of the room. Larrimer's +gun had rattled on the boards, unfired. He tossed up his great gaunt arms +as though he were appealing for help, leaped into the air, and fell +heavily, 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 the +body of Larrimer. + +To these things Bill, the storekeeper, and Jack Baldwin, the rancher, +afterward swore. That young Black Jack leaned a little over the corpse +and then straightened and touched the fallen hand with the toe of his +boot. Then he turned upon them a perfectly calm, unemotional look. + +"I seem to have been elected to do the scavenger work in this town," he +said. "But I'm going to leave it to you gentlemen to take the carrion +away. Shorty, I'm going back to the house. Are you ready to ride that +way?" + +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 of +the two was a voice singing faintly and far off in the stable--they could +hear it because the door to the big living room was opened. And Kate +Pollard, who had been sitting idly at the piano, stood up suddenly and +looked around her. It did not interrupt the crap game of the four at one +side of the room, where they kneeled in a close circle. But it brought +big Pollard himself to the door in time to meet Denver Pete as the latter +hurried in. + +When Denver was excited he talked very nearly as softly as he walked. And +his voice tonight was like a contented humming. + +"It worked," was all he said aside to Pollard as he came through the +door. They exchanged silent grips of the hands. Then Kate drew down on +them; as if a mysterious; signal had been passed to them by the subdued +entrance 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 that +to hear him the others instantly drew close. Kate Pollard stood suddenly +before 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 played +scavenger for the town--and he's done it in a way they won't be +forgetting 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's +words again." + +"Wait a minute," cut in big blond Phil Marvin. Don't spoil the story for +Terry. But did he really do for Larrimer? Larrimer was a neat one with a +gun--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't +talk about it. Wouldn't open his face about it all the way home. A pretty +neat play, boys. Larrimer was looking for a rep, and he wanted to make it +on Black Jack's son. Came tearing in. + +"At first Terry tried to sidestep him. Made me weak inside for a minute +because I thought he was going to take water. Then he got riled a bit and +then--whang! It was all over. Not a body shot. No, boys, nothing clumsy +and amateurish like that, because a man may live to empty his gun at you +after he's been shot through the body. This young Hollis, pals, just ups +and drills Larrimer clean between the eyes. If you'd measured it off with +a ruler, you couldn't have hit exact center any better'n he done. Then he +walks up and stirs Larrimer with his toe to make sure he was dead. Cool +as 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, if +they'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 town +rave. They thought nobody could beat Larrimer." + +The girl slipped back into her chair again and sat with her chin in her +hand, brooding. It was all impossible--it could not be. Yet there was +Denver telling his story, and far away the clear baritone of Terry Hollis +singing as he cared for El Sangre. + +She waited to make sure, waited to see his face and hear him speak close +at hand. Presently the singing rang out more clearly. He had stepped out +of 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 the +doorway, with his saddle and bridle hanging over one strong arm and his +gun and gun belt in the other hand. And his voice came cheerily to them +in greeting. It was impossible--more impossible than ever. + +He crossed the room, hung up his saddle, and found her sitting near. What +should he say? How would his color change? In what way could he face her +with that stain in his soul? + +And this was what Terry said to her: "I'm going to teach El Sangre to let +you ride him, Kate. By the Lord, I wish you'd been with us going down the +hill this morning!" + +No shame, no downward head, no remorse. And he was subtly and strangely +changed. She could not put the difference into words. But his eye seemed +larger and brighter--it was no longer possible for her to look deeply +into it, as she had done so easily the night before. And there were other +differences. + +He held his head in a more lordly fashion. About every movement there was +a singular ease and precision. He walked with a lighter step and with a +catlike softness almost as odd as that of Denver. His step had been light +before, but it was not like this. But through him and about him there was +an air of uneasy, alert happiness--as of one who steals a few perfect +moments, 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 you +ought to be hangin' your head. You've done murder! Murder! Murder!" + +She let the three words ring through the room like three blows, cutting +the talk to silence. And all save Terry seemed moved. + +He was laughing down at her--actually laughing, and there was no doubt as +to 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 a +man, Terry." + +He insisted carelessly. "By the Lord, Kate, only a dog--and a mad dog at +that. Perhaps there was the body of a man, but there was the soul of a +dog inside the skin. Tut! it isn't worth talking about." + +She drew away from him. "Terry, God pity you. I pity you," she went on +hurriedly and faintly. "But you ain't the same any more, Terry. I--I'm +almost afraid of you!" + +He tried laughingly to stop her, and in a sudden burst of hysterical +terror she fled from him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him come +after her, light as a shadow. And the shadow leaped between her and the +door; the force of her rush drove her into his arms. + +In the distance she could hear the others laughing--they understood such +a game as this, and enjoyed it with all their hearts. Ah, the fools! + +He held her lightly, his fingertips under her elbows. For all the +delicacy of that touch, she knew that if she attempted to flee, the grip +would be iron. He would hold her where she was until he was through +talking to her. + +"Don't you see what I've done?" he was saying rapidly. "You wanted to +drive me out last night. You said I didn't fit--that I didn't belong up +here. Well, Kate, I started out today to make myself fit to belong to +this company of fine fellows." + +He laughed a little; if it were not real mirth, at least there was a +fierce quality of joy in his voice. + +"You see, I decided that if I went away I'd be lonely. Particularly, I'd +be 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 other +place for me to go. I tried the world of good, ordinary working people. I +asked them to let me come in and prove my right to be one of them. They +discharged me when I worked honestly on the range. They sent their +professional gunmen and bullies after me. And then--I reached the limit +of my endurance, Kate, and I struck back. And the mockery of it all is +this--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. And +freedom is the sweetest thing in the world. There's no place else for me +to go. This is my world. You're my queen. I've won my spurs; I'll use +them in your service, Kate." + +"Stop, Terry!" + +"By the Lord, I will, though! I'm happy--don't you see? And I'm going to +be happier. I'm going to work my way along until I can tell you--that I +love you, Kate--that you're the daintiest body of fire and beauty and +temper and gentleness and wisdom and fun that was ever crowned with the +name 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 went +by 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 the +Pollard house were now opened. They no longer held back from Terry, but +admitted him freely to their counsels. But the first person to whom he +spoke was Slim Dugan. There was a certain nervousness about Slim this +evening, and a certain shame. For he felt that in the morning, to an +extent, he had backed down from the quarrel with young Black Jack. The +killing of Larrimer now made that reticence of the morning even more +pointed than it had been before. With all these things taken into +consideration, Slim Dugan was in the mood to fight and die; for he felt +that his honor was concerned. A single slighting remark to Terry, a +single sneering side glance, would have been a signal for gunplay. And +everyone knew it. + +The moment there was silence the son of Black Jack went straight to Slim +Dugan. + +"Slim," he said, just loud enough for everyone to hear, "a fellow isn't +himself before noon. I've been thinking over that little trouble we had +this morning, and I've made up my mind that if there were any fault it +was mine for taking a joke too seriously. At any rate, if it's agreeable +to you, Slim, I'd like to shake hands and call everything square. But if +there'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 I +was damned wrong to heave that stone at the hoss. And I apologize, +Terry." + +And so everything was forgotten. Indeed, where there had been enmity +before, there was now friendship. And there was a breath of relief drawn +by every member of the gang. The peacemaking tendency of Hollis had more +effect on the others than a dozen killings. They already granted that he +was formidable. They now saw that he was highly desirable also. + +Dinner that night was a friendly affair, except that Kate stayed in her +room with a headache. Johnny the Chinaman smuggled a tray to her. Oregon +Charlie 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'll +get over it all right." + +Oregon Charlie had a right to talk. It was an open secret that he had +loved Kate faithfully ever since he joined the gang. But apparently Terry +Hollis cared little about the moods of the girl. He was the center of +festivities that evening until an interruption from the outside formed a +diversion. It came in the form of a hard rider; the mutter of his hoofs +swept to the door, and Phil Marvin, having examined the stranger from the +shuttered 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 the +dust off it, and loosening the bandanna at his throat. The drooping, pale +mustache 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 places +laid; he had always liked the suggestion of hospitality, but he was +rather in doubt about this guest. He ate with marvellous expedition, +keeping his lean face close to the table and bolting his food like a +hungry dog. Presently he drained his coffee cup, arranged his mustache +with painful care, and seemed prepared to talk. + +"First thing," he said now--and utter silence spread around the table as +he began to talk--"first thing is that McGuire is coming. I seen him on +the trail, cut to the left and took the short way. He ought to be loping +in almost any minute." + +Terry saw the others looking straight at Pollard; the leader was +thoughtful 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 the +sheriff 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 lay +eyes on me, neither. Some of you can go out and beat up trouble. I like +to 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, he +twitched his gun out of the holster, spun the cylinder, and dropped it +back. + +"Don't try nothing till you see me put my hand into my beard, boys. He +don't mean much so long as he's come alone." + +Marvin drew back the door. Terry saw a man with shoulders of martial +squareness enter. And there was a touch of the military in his brisk step +and the curt nod he sent at Marvin as he passed the latter. He had not +taken off his sombrero. It cast a heavy shadow across the upper part of +his worn, sad face. + +"Evening, sheriff," came from Pollard, and a muttered chorus from the +others repeated the greeting. The sheriff cast his glance over them like +a 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 of +war. + +"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 in +you-all a heap!" + +He brought it out with a faint smile; there was no response to that +mirth. + +"Matter of fact, I been keeping my eye on you fellows right along. Now, I +ain'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's +been a lot of queer things happen right around in the mountains; and some +of 'em has traced back kind of close to Joe Pollard's house as a starting +point. I ain't going to go any further. If I'm wrong, they ain't any harm +done; 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 things +that we don't stand for, and one of 'em that riles us particular much is +when a gent that lays out to be a regular hardworking rancher--even if he +ain't got much of a ranch to talk about and work about--takes mankillers +under their wings. It ain't regular, and it ain't popular around these +parts. I guess you know what I mean." + +Terry expected Pollard to jump to his feet. But there was no such +response. 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 on +Terry 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's +blood 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 very +proud of my father." + +"I think you are," said the sheriff gravely. "I think you are--damned +proud of him. So proud you might even figure on imitating what he done in +the old days." + +"Perhaps," said Terry. The imp of the perverse was up in him now, urging +him on. + +"Step soft, sheriff," cried Pollard suddenly, as though he sensed a +crisis 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't +scaring me none. And now hark to me, Black Jack. You've got away with two +gents already--two that's known, I mean. Minter was one and Larrimer was +two. 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 going +to do what your dad done before you. I'll tell you why. In the old days +the law was a joke. But it's tolerable strong now. You hear me talk--get +out 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 the +tigerish suddenness with which Terry's temper could flare--they had +received an object lesson that morning. But to their amazement he +remained perfectly cool under fire. He sauntered a little closer to the +sheriff. + +"I'll tell you, McGuire," he said gently. "Your great mistake is in +talking too much. You've had a good deal of success, my friend. So much +that your head is turned. You're quite confident that no one will invade +your special territory; and you keep your sympathy for neighboring +counties. You pity the sheriffs around you. Now listen to me. You've +branded 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 be +done 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'm +going to keep you busy. And now--get out! And before you judge the next +man that crosses your path, wait for the advice of twelve good men and +true. You need advice, McGuire. You need it to beat hell! Start on your +way!" + +His calmness was shaken a little toward the end of this speech and his +voice, at the close, rang sharply at McGuire. The latter considered him +from beneath frowning brows for a moment and then, without another word, +without a glance to the others and a syllable of adieu, turned and walked +slowly, thoughtfully, out of the room. Terry walked back to his place. As +he 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 I +particularly 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 hound +myself. Action, boys; action is what we must have, and action right in +this county under the nose of the complacent McGuire!" + + + +CHAPTER 33 + + +There was no exuberant joy to meet this suggestion. McGuire had, as a +matter of fact, made his territory practically crime-proof for so long +that men had lost interest in planning adventures within the sphere of +his authority. It seemed to the four men of Pollard's gang a peculiar +folly to cast a challenge in the teeth of the formidable sheriff himself. +Even Pollard was shaken and looked to Denver. But that worthy, who had +returned from the door where he was stationed during the presence of the +sheriff, 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 particularly +interesting 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 he +skinned out of the ranch. And then I worked for Lewison. If they's +anything good about Lewison, you'd need a spyglass to find it, and then +it wouldn't be fit to see. His wife couldn't live with him; he drove his +son off and turned him into a drunk; and he's lived his life for his +coin." + +"Which he ain't got much to show for it," remarked Marvin. "He lives like +a starved dog." + +"And that's just why he's got the coin," said Sandy. "He lives on what +would make a dog sick and his whole life he's been saving every cent he's +made. He gives his wife one dress every three years till she died. That's +how tight he is. But he's sure got the money. Told everybody his kid run +off with all his savings. That's a lie. His kid didn't have the guts or +the sense to steal even what was coming to him for the work he done for +the old miser. Matter of fact, he's got enough coin saved--all gold--to +break the back of a mule. That's a fact! Never did no investing, but +turned 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't +going to tell you how I smell out the facts about money. Wouldn't be any +use 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 the +house?" + +"That so?" + +"It sure is! Now the point's this. He had all his gold in his own private +safe at home." + +Denver groaned. + +"I know, Denver," nodded Sandy. "Easy pickings for you; but I didn't find +all this out till the other day. Never even knew he had a safe in his +house. Not till he has 'em bring out a truck from town and he ships the +safe and everything in it to the bank. You see, he sold out his own place +and 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 old +Lewison himself and two gunmen he's hired for the job. Tomorrow he starts +out down the river with the safe on a big wagon, and he'll have half a +dozen guards along with him. Boys, they's going to be forty thousand +dollars in that safe! And the minute she gets out of the county--because +old McGuire will guard it to the boundary line--we can lay back in the +hills and--" + +"You done enough planning, Sandy," broke in Joe Pollard. "You've smelled +out 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 same +yellow glint of the eyes. It would be a big haul, one of the biggest, if +not the very biggest, Pollard had ever attempted. + +Of the talk that followed, Terry heard little, because he was paying +scant attention. He saw Joe Pollard lie back in his chair with squinted +eyes and run over a swift description of the country through which the +trail of the money would lead. The leader knew every inch of the +mountains, it seemed. His memory was better than a map; in it was jotted +down every fallen log, every boulder, it seemed. And when his mind was +fixed 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 be +more to say in the morning about the details. And every man offered +suggestions. On only one point were they agreed. This was a sum of money +for which they could well afford to spill blood. For such a prize as this +they could well risk making the countryside so hot for themselves that +they would have to leave Pollard's house and establish headquarters +elsewhere. Two shares to Pollard and one to each of his men, including +Sandy, would make the total loot some four thousand dollars and more per +man. And in the event that someone fell in the attempt, which was more +than probable, the share for the rest would be raised to ten thousand for +Pollard and five thousand for each of the rest. Terry saw cold glances +pass the rounds, and more than one dwelt upon him. He was the last to +join; if there were to be a death in this affair, he would be the least +missed of all. + +A sharp order from Pollard terminated the conference and sent his men to +bed, with Pollard setting the example. But Terry lingered behind and +called back Denver. + +"There is one point," he said when they were alone, "that it seems to me +the chief has overlooked." + +"Talk up, kid," grinned Denver Pete. "I seen you was thinking. It sure +does 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 is +guarded 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, you +don't know the gents in this town. They sleep with a gat under every head +and ears that hear a pin drop in the next room--right while they're +snoring. 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 long +that 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 call +the chief and--" + +"Wait," said Terry, laying a hand on the round, hard-muscled shoulder of +the yegg. "I had a purpose in waiting. Seven men are too many to take +into a town." + +"Eh?" + +"Two men might surprise three. But seven men are more apt to be +surprised." + +"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 was +more and more fascinated by the idea. + +"You and me to turn the trick alone?" he whispered out of the side of his +mouth in a peculiar, confidentially guilty way that was his when he was +excited. "Kid, I begin to hear the old Black Jack talk in you! I begin to +hear him talk! I knew it would come!" + + + +CHAPTER 34 + + +An hour's ride brought them to the environs of the little town. But it +was already nearly the middle of night and the village was black; +whatever life waked at that hour had been drawn into the vortex of +Pedro's. And Pedro's was a place of silence. Terry and Denver skirted +down the back of the town and saw the broad windows of Pedro's, against +which passed a moving silhouette now and again, but never a voice floated +out to them. + +Otherwise the town was dead. They rode until they were at the other +extremity of the main street. Here, according to Denver, was the bank +which had never in its entire history been the scene of an attempted +raid. They threw the reins of their horses after drawing almost +perilously close. + +"Because if we get what we want," said Terry, "it will be too heavy to +carry far." + +And Denver agreed, though they had come so close that from the back of +the bank it must have been possible to make out the outlines of the +horses. The bank itself was a broad, dumpy building with adobe walls, +whose corners had been washed and rounded by time to shapelessness. The +walls angled in as they rose; the roof was flat. As for the position, it +could 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; and +the front and back porches commanded the front and back entrances of the +building. + +The moment they had dismounted, Terry and Denver stood a while +motionless. There was no doubt, even before they approached nearer, about +the activity and watchfulness of the guards who took care of the new +deposit in the bank. Across the back wall of the building drifted a +shadowy outline--a guard marching steadily back and forth and keeping +sentry watch. + +"A stiff job, son," muttered Denver. "I told you these birds wouldn't +sleep 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; the +soundless, slowly moving figure across the wall of the building; the +hush, 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 be +alone with this adventure, match his cunning and his strength against +whoever guarded the money of old Lewison, the miser. + +"Stay here," he whispered in the ear of Denver. "Keep quiet. I'm going to +slip over there and see what's what. Be patient. It may take a long +time." + +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 and +get you away again with the stuff." Denver shrugged his shoulders. It was +much in the method of famous old Black Jack himself. There were so many +features of similarity between the methods of the boy and his father that +it seemed to Denver that the ghost of the former man had stepped into the +body of his son. + +In the meantime Terry faded into the dark. His plan of approach was +perfectly simple. The house to the right of the bank was painted blue. +Against that dark background no figure stood out clearly. Instead of +creeping close to the ground to get past the guard at the rear of the +building, he chose his time when the watcher had turned from the nearest +end of his beat and was walking in the opposite direction. The moment +that 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 form +a firm matting, and there was no telltale crunching of the sand +underfoot. Even so, some slight sound made the guard pause abruptly in +the middle of his walk and whirl toward Terry. Instead of attempting to +hide by dropping down to the ground, it came to Terry that the least +motion in the dark would serve to make him visible. He simply halted at +the same moment that the guard halted and trusted to the dark background +of the house which was now beside him to make him invisible. Apparently +he was justified. After a moment the guard turned and resumed his pacing, +and Terry slipped on into the narrow walk between the bank and the +adjoining house on the right. + +He had hoped for a side window. There was no sign of one. Nothing but the +sheer, sloping adobe wall, probably of great thickness, and burned to the +density of soft stone. So he came to the front of the building, and so +doing, almost ran into a second guard, who paced down the front of the +bank just as the first kept watch over the rear entrance. Terry flattened +himself against the side wall and held his breath. But the guard had seen +nothing and, turning again at the end of his beat, went back in the +opposite direction, a tall, gaunt man--so much Terry could make out even +in the dark, and his heel fell with the heaviness of age. Perhaps this +was Lewison himself. + +The moment he was turned, Terry peered around the corner at the front of +the building. There were two windows, one close to his corner and one on +the farther side of the door. Both were lighted, but the farther one so +dimly that it was apparent the light came from one source, and that +source 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 of +it was fenced off with steel bars that terminated in spikes at the top as +though, ludicrously, they were meant to keep one from climbing over. +Behind this steel fencing were the safes of the bank. Outside the fence +at a table, with a lamp between them, two men were playing cards. And the +lamplight glinted on the rusty old safe which stood a little at one side. + +Certainly old Lewison was guarding his money well. The hopes of Terry +disappeared, 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, front +and rear, were thoroughly guarded. Not only that, but once inside the +bank, one would encounter the main obstacle, which consisted of two +heavily armed men sitting in readiness at the table. If there were any +solution to the problem, it must be found in another examination of the +room. + +Again the tall old man reached the end of his beat nearest Terry, turned +with military precision and went back. Terry slipped out and was +instantly at the window again. All was as before. One of the guards had +laid down his cards to light a cigarette, and dense clouds of smoke +floated above his head. That partial obscurity annoyed Terry. It seemed +as if the luck were playing directly against him. However, the smoke +began to clear rapidly. When it had mounted almost beyond the strongest +inner circle of the lantern light, it rose with a sudden impetus, as +though drawn up by an electric fan. Terry wondered at it, and squinted +toward the ceiling, but the ceiling was lost in shadow. + +He returned to his harborage between the two buildings for a fresh +session of thought. And then his idea came to him. Only one thing could +have sucked that straight upward so rapidly, and that was either a fan-- +which was ridiculous--or else a draught of air passing through an +opening in the ceiling. + +Unquestionably that was the case. Two windows, small as they were, would +never serve adequately to ventilate the big single room of the bank. No +doubt there was a skylight in the roof of the building and another +aperture in the floor of the loft. + +At least that was the supposition upon which he must act, or else not act +at all. He went back as he had come, passed the rear guard easily, and +found Denver unmoved beside the heads Of the horses. + +"Denver," he said, "we've got to get to the roof of that bank, and the +only way we can reach it is through the skylight." + +"Skylight?" echoed Denver. "Didn't know there was one." "There has to +be," said Terry, with surety. "Can you force a door in one of those +houses so we can get to the second story of one of 'em and drop to the +roof?" + +"Force nothing," whispered Denver. "They don't know what locks on doors +mean around here." + +And he was right. + +They circled in a broad detour and slipped onto the back porch of the +blue house; the guard at the rear of the bank was whistling softly as he +walked. + +"Instead of watchdogs they keep doors with rusty hinges," said Denver as +he turned the knob, and the door gave an inch inward. "And I dunno which +is worst. But watch this, bo!" + +And he began to push the door slowly inward. There was never a slackening +or an increase in the speed with which his hand travelled. It took him a +full five minutes to open the door a foot and a half. They slipped +inside, but Denver called Terry back as the latter began to feel his way +across 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 you +are. That's the one rule of politeness for a burglar, Terry. Close the +doors after you!" + +And the door was closed with fully as much caution and slowness as had +been used when it was opened. Then Denver took the lead again. He went +across the kitchen as though he could see in the dark, and then among the +tangle 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 for +all that, Denver continually turned in an agony of anger and whispered +curses at the noisy clumsiness of his companion--yet to Terry it seemed +as though both of them were not making a sound. + +The stairs to the second story presented a difficult climb. Denver showed +him how to walk close to the wall, for there the weight of their bodies +would act with less leverage on the boards and there would be far less +chance of causing squeaks. Even then the ascent was not noiseless. The +dry air had warped the timber sadly, and there was a continual procession +of murmurs underfoot as they stole to the top of the stairs. + +To Terry, his senses growing superhumanly acute as they entered more and +more into the heart of their danger, it seemed that those whispers of the +stairs might serve to waken a hundred men out of sound sleep; in reality +they were barely audible. + +In the hall a fresh danger met them. A lamp hung from the ceiling, the +flame turned down for the night. And by that uneasy light Terry made out +the face of Denver, white, strained, eager, and the little bright eyes +forever glinting back and forth. He passed a side mirror and his own face +was dimly visible. It brought him erect with a squeak of the flooring +that made Denver whirl and shake his fist. + +For what Terry had seen was the same expression that had been on the face +of 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. And +every door was closed. Denver tried the nearest door first, and the +opening was done with the same caution and slowness which had marked the +opening of the back door of the house. He did not even put his head +through the opening, but presently the door was closed and Denver +returned. + +"Two," he whispered. + +He could only have told by hearing the sounds of two breathing; Terry +wondered quietly. The man seemed possessed of abnormal senses. It was +strange to see that bulky, burly, awkward body become now a sensitive +organism, possessed of a dangerous grace in the darkness. + +The second door was opened in the same manner. Then the third, and in the +midst of the last operation a man coughed. Instinctively Terry reached +for the handle of his gun, but Denver went on gradually closing the door +as if nothing had happened. He came back to Terry. + +"Every room got sleepers in it," he said. "And the middle room has got a +man who's awake. We'll have to beat it." + +"We'll stay where we are," said Terry calmly, "for thirty minutes--by +guess. That'll give him time to go asleep. Then we'll go through one of +those 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 a +bed creaked as someone turned in it heavily. Once there was a voice--one +of the sleepers must have spoken without waking. Those two noises, and no +more, and yet they remained for what seemed two hours to Terry, but what +he 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 anybody +up?" + +"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 driven +on into this madcap venture merely by a pride which would not allow him +to show less courage--even rash courage--than his companion. + +The door opened--Denver went inside and was soaked up--a shadow among +shadows. Terry followed and stepped instantly into the presence of the +sleeper. 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 was +something more than sound or sight. It was like feeling a soul--that +impalpable presence in the night. A ghostly and a thrilling thing to +Terry Hollis. + +Now, against the window on the farther side of the room, he made out the +dim outline of Denver's chunky shoulders and shapeless hat. Luckily the +window was open to its full height. Presently Terry stood beside Denver +and they looked down. The roof of the bank was only some four feet below +them, but it was also a full three feet in distance from the side of the +house. 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 catch +or his gun scrape--and the least whisper would ruin everything. At +length, he hung from his arms at full length. Glancing down, he faintly +saw 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 the +side of the house, raised himself by the ledge, and then flung himself +out 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 the +roof take his weight lightly, landing on his toes. He had not only made +the leap, but he had landed a full foot and a half in from the edge of +the roof. + +Compared with the darkness of the interior of the house, everything on +the outside was remarkably light now. He could see Denver at the window +shaking his head. Then the professional slipped over the sill with +practiced ease, dangled at arm's length, and flung himself out with a +quick thrust of his feet against the wall. + +The result was that while his feet were flung away far enough and to +spare, the body of Denver inclined forward. He seemed bound to strike the +roof with his feet and then drop head first into the alley below. Terry +set his teeth with a groan, but as he did so, Denver whirled in the air +like a cat. His body straightened, his feet barely secured a toehold on +the 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 was +a broad skylight of dark green glass propped up a foot or more above the +level of the rest of the flat roof. Beside it Terry dropped upon his +knees 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 through +the loft to the room of the bank below them. But would the opening be +large 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-thoughtful +Denver had provided him. A door banged somewhere far down the street, +loudly. Someone might be making a hurried and disgusted exit from +Pedro's. He looked quietly around him. After his immersion in the thick +darkness of the house, the outer night seemed clear and the stars burned +low through the thin mountain air. Denver's face was black under the +shadow of his hat. + +"How are you, kid--shaky?" he whispered. + +Shaky? It surprised Terry to feel that he had forgotten about fear. He +had been wrapped in a happiness keener than anything he had known before. +Yet the scheme was far from accomplished. The real danger was barely +beginning. Listening keenly, he could hear the sand crunch underfoot of +the watcher who paced in front of the building; one of the cardplayers +laughed from the room below--a faint, distant sound. + +"Don't worry about me," he told Denver, and, securing a strong fingerhold +on the edge of the ledge, he dropped his full length into the darkness +under the skylight. + +His tiptoes grazed the floor beneath, and letting his fingers slide off +their purchase, he lowered himself with painful care so that his heels +might not jar on the flooring. Then he held his breath--but there was no +creaking of the loft floor. + +That made the adventure more possible. An ill-laid floor would have set +up a ruinous screeching as he moved, however carefully, across it. Now he +whispered up to Denver. The latter instantly slid down and Terry caught +the 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 the +leadership to him. Again he led the way, stealing toward a ghost of light +that issued upward from the center of the floor. Presently he could look +down through it. + +It was an ample square, a full three feet across. Below, and a little +more than a pace to the side, was the table of the cardplayers. As nearly +as he could measure, through the misleading wisps and drifts of cigarette +smoke, the distance to the floor was not more than ten feet--an easy drop +for 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 leaning +close to the ear of Denver so that the least thread of sound would be +sufficient. "I'm going to cover those two from this place. When I have +them covered, you slip through the opening and drop to the floor. Don't +stand still, but softfoot it over to the wall. Then cover them with your +gun while I come down. The idea is this. Outside that window there's a +second guard walking up and down. He can look through and see the table +where they're playing, but he can't see the safe against the wall. As +long as he sees those two sitting there playing their cards, he'll be +sure that everything is all right. Well, Denver, he's going to keep on +seeing them sitting at their game--but in the meantime you're going to +make your preparations for blowing the safe. Can you do it? Is your nerve +up to it?" + +Even the indomitable Denver paused before answering. The chances of +success in this novel game were about one in ten. Only shame to be +outbraved by his younger companion and pupil made him nod and mutter his +assent. + +That mutter, strangely, was loud enough to reach to the room below. Terry +saw one of the men look up sharply, and at the same moment he pulled his +gun and shoved it far enough through the gap for the light to catch on +its barrel. + +"Sit tight!" he ordered them in a cutting whisper. "Not a move, my +friends!" + +There was a convulsive movement toward a gun on the part of the first +man, but the gesture was frozen midway; the second man looked up, gaping, +ludicrous in astonishment. But Terry was in no mood to see the +ridiculous. + +"Look down again!" he ordered brusquely. "Keep on with that game. And the +moment one of you goes for a gun--the minute one of you makes a sign or a +sound to reach the man in front of the house, I drill you both. Is that +clear?" + +The neck of the man who was nearest to him swelled as though he were +lifting a great weight with his head; no doubt he was battling with +shrewd temptations to spring to one side and drive a bullet at the +robbers above him. But prudence conquered. He began to deal, laying out +the cards with mechanical, stiff motions. + +"Now," said Terry to Denver. + +Denver was through the opening in a flash and dropped to the floor below +with 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 the +table for fear his voice might carry to the guard who was apparently +leaning at the window outside. But the dealer jerked his head for an +instant toward the direction in which Denver had disappeared. Evidently +the yegg was silently communicating imperious instructions, for presently +the dealer said, in a voice natural enough: "Nothing happened, Lewison. I +just moved my chair; that was all, I figure." + +"I dunno," growled Lewison. "I been waiting for something to happen for +so long that I begin to hear things and suspect things where they ain't +nothing at all." + +And, still mumbling, his voice passed away. + +Terry followed Denver's example, dropping through the opening; but, more +cautious, he relaxed his leg muscles, so that he landed in a bunched +heap, without sound, and instantly joined Denver on the farther side of +the room. Lewison's gaunt outline swept past the window at the same +moment. + +He found that he had estimated viewpoints accurately enough. From only +the right-hand window could Lewison see into the interior of the room and +make out his two guards at the table. And it was only by actually leaning +through the window that he would be able to see the safe beside which +Terry and Denver stood. + +"Start!" said Terry, and Denver deftly laid out a little kit and two +small packages. With incredible speed he began to make his molding of +soft soap around the crack of the safe door. Terry turned his back on his +companion and gave his undivided attention to the two at the table. + +Their faces were odd studies in suppressed shame and rage. The muscles +were taut; their hands shook with the cards. + +"You seem kind of glum, boys!" broke in the voice of Lewison at the +window. + +Terry flattened himself against the wall and jerked up his gun--a warning +flash 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, this +watch." + +"Mind you," crackled the uncertain voice of Lewison, "five dollars if you +keep on the job till morning. No, six dollars, boys!" + +He brought out the last words in the ringing voice of one making a +generous sacrifice, and Terry smiled behind his mask. Lewison passed on +again. Forcing all his nerve power into the faculty of listening, Terry +could tell by the crunching of the sand how the owner of the safe went +far 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 gun +which covered him, the red-haired man became absorbed in the interest of +the tale. He began to labor to win a smile from his companion. That would +be something worthwhile--something to tell about afterward; how he made +Pat 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 time +Lewison passed the window, he darted out and swiftly went the rounds of +the 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 a +gent awake. That's the stuff, Red!" A time of silence came, with only the +faint noises of Denver at his rapid work. + +"Suppose they was to rush the bank, even?" said Lewison on his next trip +past the window. + +"Who's they?" asked Red, and looked steadily into the mouth of Terry's +gun. + +"Why, them that wants my money. Money that I slaved and worked for all my +life! Oh, I know they's a lot of crooked thieves that would like to lay +hands on it. But I'm going to fool 'em, Red. Never lost a cent of money +in all my born days, and I ain't going to form the habit this late in +life. 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 us +just 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 a +rush 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 be +an elephant's burden to them in their flight. + +"Wait," Terry directed Denver. The latter kneeled by his fuse until +Lewison passed far down the end of his beat. Terry stepped to the door +and dropped the bolt. + +"Now!" he commanded. + +He had planned his work carefully. The loose strips of cords which Denver +had put into his pocket--"nothing so handy as strong twine," he had +said--were already drawn out. And the minute he had given the signal, he +sprang for the men at the table, backed them into a corner, and tied +their hands behind their backs. + +The fuse was sputtering. + +"Put out the light!" whispered Denver. It was done--a leap and a puff of +breath, and then Terry had joined the huddled group of men at the farther +end 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 the +window into the darkness. He caught sight of the red, flickering end of +the fuse. + +His voice, grown shrill and sharp, was chopped off by the explosion. It +was a noise such as Terry had never heard before--like a tremendously +condensed and powerful puff of wind. There was not a sharp jar, but he +felt an invisible pressure against his body, taking his breath. The sound +of the explosion was dull, muffled, thick. The door of the safe crushed +into the flooring. + +Terry had nerved himself for two points of attack--Lewison from the front +of the building, and the guard at the rear. But Lewison did not yell for +help. He had been dangerously close to the explosion and the shock to his +nerves, perhaps some dislodged missile, had flung him senseless on the +sand outside the bank. + +But from the rear of the building came a dull shout; then the door beside +which Terry stood was dragged open--he struck with all his weight, +driving his fist fairly into the face of the man, and feeling the +knuckles cut through flesh and lodge against the cheekbone. The guard +went down in the middle of a cry and did not stir. Terry leaned to shake +his arm--the man was thoroughly stunned. He paused only to scoop up the +fallen revolver which the fellow had been carrying, and fling it into the +night. Then he turned back into the dark bank, with Red and Pat cursing +in frightened unison as they cowered against the wall behind him. + +The air was thick with an ill-smelling smoke, like that of a partially +snuffed candle. Then he saw a circle of light spring out from the +electric lantern of Denver and fall on the partially wrecked safe. And it +glinted on yellow. One of the sacks had been slit and the contents were +running 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 the +metal struck through the canvas to the hand. The searchlight flickered +here and there--it found the little drawer which was wrenched open and +Denver's stubby hand came out, choked with greenbacks. + +"Now away!" snarled Denver. And his voice shook and quaked; it reminded +Terry 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 to +his senses--a gasping, sound, and then a choked cry: "Help!" + +His senses and his voice seemed to return to him with a rush. His shriek +split through the darkness of the room like a ray of light probing to +find the guilty: "Thieves! Help!" + +The yell gave strength to Terry. He caught some of the burden that was +staggering Denver into his own arms and floundered through the rear door +into the blessed openness of the night. His left arm carried the crushing +burden of the canvas sacks--in his right hand was the gun--but no form +showed behind him. + +But there were voices beginning. The yells of Lewison had struck out +echoes up and down the street. Terry could hear shouts begin inside +houses in answer, and bark out with sudden clearness as a door or a +window 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 back +door, 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 at +this 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 ten +minutes before the sheriff has a posse organized. And that's the only +thing we have to fear." + + + +CHAPTER 36 + + +They drifted past the town, quickening to a soft trot after a moment, and +then 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 straightened +back 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 where +he'll find me. Pollard will hide the coin and we'll get one of the boys +to take our sweaty horses over the hills. We can tell McGuire that the +two horses have been put out to pasture, if he asks. But he mustn't find +hot 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 Pollard +and 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. We +wouldn't have known where to find the stuff if it hadn't been for +Pollard'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 that +fat-headed sheriff. I'd pay twice this price for the sake of the little +talk I'm going to have with him later on tonight." + +"All right--Black Jack," muttered Denver. For it seemed to him that the +voice 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 done +this. And because he knows that, and he knows that I know it, he'll +strike in the opposite direction to Pollard's house. He'll never dream +that I would go right back to Pollard and sit down under the famous nose +of McGuire!" + +The dawn was brightening over the mountains above them, and the skyline +was ragged with forest. A free country for free men--like the old Black +Jack and the new. A short life, perhaps, but a full one. + +The coming of the day showed Denver's face weary and drawn. Those moments +in the bank, surrounded by danger, had been nerve-racking even to his +experience. But to him it was a business, and to Terry it was a game. He +felt a qualm of pity for Lewison--but, after all, the man was a wolf, +selfish, accumulating money to no purpose, useless to the world. He +shrugged the thought of Lewison away. + +It was close to sunrise when they reached the house, and having put up +the horses, staggered in and called to Johnny to bring them coffee; he +was already rattling at the kitchen stove. Then, with a shout, they +brought Pollard himself stumbling down from the balcony rubbing the sleep +out of his eyes. They threw the money down before him. + +He was stupefied, and then his big lion's voice went booming with the +call for his men. Terry did not wait; he stretched himself with a great +yawn and made for his bed, and passed Phil Marvin and the others hurrying +downstairs to answer the summons. Kate Pollard came also. She paused as +he went by her and he saw her eyes go down to his dusty boots, with the +leather polished where the stirrup had chafed, then flashed back to his +face. + +"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, a +bright-eyed, hungry-faced crew of men. Gold was piled across the table in +front of them. Slim Dugan had been ordered to go to the highest window of +the house and keep watch for the coming of the expected posse. In the +meantime the others counted the money, ranging it in bright little +stacks; and Denver told the tale. + +He took a little more credit to himself than was his due. But it was his +part to pay a tribute to Terry. For was it not he who had brought the son +of Black Jack among them? + +"And of all the close squeezes I ever been in," concluded Denver, "that +was the closest. And of all the nervy, cold-eyed guys I ever see, Black +Jack's kid takes the cake. Never a quiver all the time. And when he +whispered, them two guys at the table jumped. He meant business, and they +knew it." + +The girl listened. Her eye alone was not upon the money, but fixed far +off, at thin distance. + +"Thirty-five thousand gold," announced Pollard, with a break of +excitement in his voice, "and seventeen thousand three hundred and +eighty-two in paper. Boys, the richest haul we ever made! And the coolest +deal all the way through. Which I say, Denver and Terry--Terry +particular--gets extra shares for what they done!" + +And there was a chorus of hearty approval. The voice of Denver cut it +short. + +"Terry don't want none. No, boys, knock me dead if he does. Can you beat +it? 'I did it to keep my word,' he says, 'with the sheriff. You can have +my share, Denver.' + +"And he sticks on it. It's a game with him, boys. He plays at it like a +big kid!" + +In the hush of astonishment, the eyes of Kate misted. Something in that +last 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 very +vague and faraway hope to which she clung and which unravelled slowly in +her imagination. Before she left the kitchen, her plan was made, and +immediately after breakfast, she went to her room and dressed for a long +journey. + +"I'm going over the hills to visit the Stockton girls," she told her +father. "Be gone a few days." + +His mind was too filled with hope for the future to understand her. He +nodded idly, and she was gone. + +She roped the toughest mustang of her "string" in the corral, and ten +minutes later she was jogging down the trail. Halfway down a confused +group 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 long +riding and stopped her. + +His salutation was brief; he plunged into the heart of his questions. Had +she noticed anything unusual this morning? Which of the men had been +absent from the house last night? Particularly, who went out with Black +Jack'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 studied +her. + +"Kate," he said at length, "I don't blame you for not talking. I don't +suppose I would in your place. But your dad has about reached the end of +the rope with us. If you got any influence, try to change him, because if +he 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 on +their grunting, tired horses. She gave them only a careless glance. Joe +Pollard 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 stiff +gallop on the level ground below. She headed straight through the town, +and found a large group collected in and around the bank building. They +turned and looked after her, but no one spoke a greeting. Plainly the +sheriff's suspicions were shared by others. + +She shook that shadow out of her head and devoted her entire attention to +the 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 Blue +Mountains, it seemed to her a small paradise. And as she rode lower and +lower among the hills, the impression gathered strength. So she came out +onto the road and trotted her cow-pony slowly under the beautiful +branches of the silver spruce, and saw the bright tree shadows reflected +in Bear Creek. Surely here was a place of infinite quiet, made for +happiness. A peculiar ache and sense of emptiness entered her heart, and +the ghost of Terry Hollis galloped soundlessly beside her on flaming El +Sangre through the shadow. It seemed to her that she could understand him +more easily. His had been a sheltered and pleasant life here, half +dreamy; 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 a +palace to Kate, that great white facade and the Doric columns of the +veranda. She had always thought that the house of her father was a big +and stable house; compared with this, it was a shack, a lean-to, a +veritable hovel. And the confidence which had been hers during the hard +ride of two days across the mountains grew weaker. How could she talk to +the woman who owned such an establishment as this? How could she even +gain access to her? + +On a broad, level terrace below the house men were busy with plows and +scrapers smoothing the ground; she circled around them, and brought her +horse 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 man +was 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 touching +his hat to her, "I'll do your business. What is it? Cattle lost over the +Blue Mountains again? No strays have come down into the valley." + +"I'm not here about cattle," she answered curtly enough. "I'm here about +a 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 conceal +it. And she did not know whether she liked or disliked that quick start +and flush. There was something either of guilt or of surprise remarkably +strong in it. He rose from his chair, leaving the blueprint fluttering in +the hands of his companion alone. + +"I am Vance Cornish," he told her. She could feel his eyes prying at her +as though he were trying to get at her more accurately. "What's Hollis +been up to now?" + +He turned and explained carelessly to his companion: "That's the young +scapegrace 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 of +trouble." + +"I'm sorry for that, really," said Vance. "But we are not responsible for +him." + +"I suppose you ain't," said Kate Pollard slowly. "But I'd like to talk to +the lady of the house." + +"Very sorry," and again he looked in his sharp way--like a fox, she +thought--and then glanced away as though there were no interest in her or +her topic. "Very sorry, but my sister is in--er--critically declining +health. I'm afraid she cannot see you." + +This repulse made Kate thoughtful. She was not used to such bluff talk +from men, however smooth or rough the exterior might be. And under the +quiet 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 pleased +to see him stir under the cool probe of her eyes. "How long did you live +with Terry?" + +"He was with us twenty-four years." He turned and explained casually to +Waters. "He was taken in as a foundling, you know. Quite against my +advice. And then, at the end of the twenty-four years, the bad blood of +his father came out, and he showed himself in his true colors. Fearful +waste of time to us all--of course, we had to turn him out." + +"Of course," nodded Waters sympathetically, and he looked wistfully down +at his blueprint. + +"Twenty-four years you lived with Terry," said the girl softly, "and you +don't like him, I see." + +Instantly and forever he was damned in her eyes. Anyone who could live +twenty-four years with Terry Hollis and not discover his fineness was +beneath 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 the +veranda, and now and then raising quick glances at her. Plainly he was +suspicious. 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 something +unpleasant 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, bad +enough. 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 a +moment. Just a moment. She is not well. I wish I could understand your +purpose!" + +The last was more to himself than to her. But she was already off her +horse. The man with the blueprint glared at her, and she passed across +the 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 a +big, solemn room, in one corner of which sat an old woman wrapped to the +chin in a shawl. The face was thin and bleak, and the eyes that looked at +Kate were dull. + +"This girl--" said Vance. "By Jove, I haven't asked your name, I'm +afraid." + +"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 be +spoken, if you please." + +"Of course not. Yet I thought--never mind. If you'll step downstairs with +me, Miss Pollard, and tell me what--" + +"Not a step," answered the girl firmly, and she had not moved her eyes +from the face of the elder woman. "Not a step with you. What I have to +say has got to be told to someone who loves Terry Hollis. I've found that +someone. I stick here till I've done talking." + +Vance Cornish gasped. But Elizabeth opened her eyes, and they +brightened--but coldly, it seemed to Kate. + +"I think I understand," said Elizabeth Cornish gravely. "He has entangled +the interest of this poor girl--and sent her to plead for him. Is that +so? If it's money he wants, let her have what she asks for, Vance. But I +can't talk to her of the boy." + +"Very well," said Vance, without enthusiasm. He stepped before her. "Will +you step this way, Miss Pollard?" + +"Not a step," she repeated, and deliberately sat down in a chair. "You'd +better leave," she told Vance. + +He considered her in open anger. "If you've come to make a scene, I'll +have 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, you +hate 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 to +hear 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't +hear--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 suddenly +submitting to the inevitable, turned on his heel and left the room. + +"Now," said Elizabeth, sitting erect again, "what is it? Why do you +insist 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, and +nothing of it escaped Kate Pollard. + +"I knew," she said gently, "that _two_ people couldn't live with Terry +for twenty-four years and both hate him, as your brother does. I can tell +you 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 saw +the hungry heart, and it stirred her. Yet she was by no means sure of a +triumph. She recognized the most formidable of all foes--pride. After +all, she wanted to humble that pride. She felt that all the danger in +which Terry Hollis now stood, both moral and physical, was indirectly the +result of this woman's attitude. And she struck her, deliberately +cruelly. + +"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 of +attention. + +"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 a +bank and stole fifty thousand dollars." + +The smile wavered and went out, but still the dull eyes of Elizabeth were +steady enough. Though perhaps that dullness was from pain. And Kate, +waiting eagerly, was chagrined to see that she had not broken through to +any softness of emotion. One sign of grief and trembling was all she +wanted before she made her appeal; but there was no weakness in Elizabeth +Cornish, it seemed. + +"You see I am listening," she said gravely and almost gently. "Although I +am really not well. And I hardly see the point of this long recital of +crimes. It was because I foresaw what he would become that I sent him +away." + +"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 the +subject, or as though it were too unimportant to be referred to at +length. + +"In brief, I saw from a hotel window Black Jack, his father, shot down in +the street; heard about the infant son he left, and adopted the child--on +a bet with my brother. To see if blood would tell or if I could make him +a 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 a +bad 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 she +dismissed 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 especially +they have a way of looking through the flesh of their kind and seeing the +heart. Kate Pollard came a little closer to her hostess. + +"You saw Black Jack die in the street," she queried, "fighting for his +life?" + +Elizabeth dreamed into the vague distance. + +"Riding down the street with his hair blowing--long black hair, you +know," she reminisced. "And holding the crowd back as one would hold back +a 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 you +took 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 than +surprise. But the girl went on steadily: + +"I know. You saw him with his hair blowing, fighting his way--he rode +into your heart. I know, I tell you! Maybe you've never guessed it all +these years. But has a single day gone when you haven't thought of the +picture?" + +The scornful, indignant denial died on the lips of Elizabeth Cornish. She +stared at Kate as though she were seeing a ghost. + +"Not one day!" cried Kate. "And so you took in Terry, and you raised him +and 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 such +talk," she said. + +"Ah," cried the girl, "don't you see that I have a right to talk? Because +I love him also, and I know that you love him, too." + +Elizabeth Cornish came to her feet, and there was a faint flush in her +cheeks. + +"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. "I +can't turn him. He laughs at me. I'm nothing to him, you see? And he +loves the new life. He loves the freedom. Besides, he thinks that there's +no hope. That he has to be what his father was before him. Do you know +why he thinks that? Because you turned him out. You thought he would turn +bad. And he respects you. He still turns to you. Ah, if you could hear +him speak of you! He loves you still!" + +Elizabeth Cornish dropped back into her chair, grown suddenly weak, and +Kate fell on her knees beside her. + +"Don't you see," she said softly, "that no strength can turn Terry back +now? 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. And +he's broken into a bank and taken money from a man who deserved to lose +it--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. And +he doesn't know his strength. And he's fine, Miss Cornish. Isn't he +always gentle and--" + +"Hush!" said Elizabeth Cornish. + +"He's just a boy; you can't bend him with strength, but you can win him +with 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, Miss +Cornish. And you'll come? You'll come as quickly as you can? You'll come +to 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 me +strength! I'll keep him till you come!" + +Outside the door, his ear pressed to the crack, Vance Cornish did not +wait to hear more. He knew the answer of Elizabeth before she spoke. And +all his high-built schemes he saw topple about his ears. Grief had been +breaking the heart of his sister, he knew. Grief had been bringing her +close 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 the +veranda, where Waters was chewing his cigar angrily. At sight of his host +he started up. He was a keen man, was Waters. He could sense money a +thousand miles away. And it was this buzzard keenness which had brought +him to the Cornish ranch and made him Vance's right-hand man. There was +much money to be spent; Waters would direct and plan the spending, and +his 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. That +damned girl--Waters, we're ruined." + +"Tush!" said Waters, smiling, though he had grown gray. "No one girl can +ruin two middle-aged men with our senses developed. Sit down, man, and +we'll figure a way out of this." + + + +CHAPTER 38 + + +The fine gray head, the hawklike, aristocratic face, and the superior +manner of Waters procured him admission to many places where the ordinary +man was barred. It secured him admission on this day to the office of +Sheriff McGuire, though McGuire had refused to see his best friends. + +A proof of the perturbed state of his mind was that he accepted the +proffered fresh cigar of Waters without comment or thanks. His mental +troubles 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 occasion +we 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 with +Elizabeth Cornish again. One such interview, as Vance Cornish had assured +him, 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 high +commission of Mr. Waters would cease. With no plan in mind, he had rushed +to the point of contact, and hoped to find some scheme after he arrived +there. As for Vance, the latter would promise money; otherwise he was a +shaken wreck of a man and of no use. But with money, Mr. Waters felt that +he 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 of +casual gossip on the veranda of the same hotel had placed him in +possession of about every fact, true or presumably true, that could be +learned, and with the knowledge a plan sprang into his fertile brain. The +worn, worried face of the sheriff had been like water on a dry field; he +felt that the seed of his plan would immediately spring up and bear +fruit. + +"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 the +sheriff's forehead wrinkle with pain. + +"He's like a ghost hauntin' me," declared McGuire, with an attempted +laugh that failed flatly. "Every time I turn around, somebody throws this +Hollis 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 keeping +your county clean of crime and scenes of violence." + +"Huh!" grunted the sheriff. + +"Everyone says," went on Waters, "that no one except a man named Minter +has 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 things +up." + +"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 raid +the bank in the middle of your town, and in spite of you and of special +guards, blow the door off a safe and gut the safe of its contents. Am I +right?" + +The sheriff merely scowled. + +"It ain't clear to me yet," he declared, "how you and me get together on +any topic we got in common. Looks sort of like we was just hearing one +old yarn over and over agin." + +"My dear sir," smiled Waters, "you have not allowed me to come to the +crux of my story. Which is: that you and I have one great object in +common--to dispose of this Terry Hollis, for I take it for granted that +if you were to get rid of him the people who criticize now would do +nothing but cheer you. Am I right?" + +"If I could get him," sighed the sheriff. "Mr. Waters, gimme time and +I'll get him, right enough. But the trouble with the gents around these +parts is that they been spoiled. I cleaned up all the bad ones so damn +quick that they think I can do the same with every crook that comes +along. 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 he +done the other day. But as far as evidence goes, I ain't got anything on +him--yet. But I'll get it!" + +"And in the meantime," said Waters brutally, "they say that you're +getting 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 I +can't get anything on this slippery kid right off!" + +He changed from purple to gray. To fail now and lose his position meant a +ruined 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 a +flash." + +He sneered at the thought of public opinion. + +"And you see," said Waters, "where I come in is that I have a plan for +getting 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's +older brother is the one who is rousing public opinion against you. Am I +right?" + +"The dog! Yes, you're right." + +"Then get Larrimer to send Terry Hollis an invitation to come down into +town and meet him face to face in a gun fight. I understand this Hollis +is 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. Sure +he'd come to town. And he'd clean up quick. But Larrimer ain't fool +enough to send such an invite." + +"You don't understand me," persisted Waters patiently. "What I mean is +this. Larrimer sends the challenge, if you wish to call it that. He takes +up a certain position. Say in a public place. You and your men, if you +wish, are posted nearby, but out of view when young Hollis comes. When +Terry Hollis arrives, the moment he touches a gun butt, you fill him full +of lead and accuse him of using unfair play against Larrimer. Any excuse +will do. The public want an end of young Hollis. They won't be particular +with 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 set +a 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's +thoughts without actually interrupting them. + +"You're not a youngster any more, sheriff, and if you lose out here, your +reputation is gone for good. You'll not have the time to rebuild it. Here +is a chance for you not only to stop the evil rumors, but to fortify your +past 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 about +method. 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 it +with Larrimer yourself later on. You shoot from concealment the moment +Hollis shows his face. It can be said that Larrimer did the shooting, and +beat 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 whom +the removal of Terry Hollis will be worth money. Five thousand dollars +cash, sheriff!" + +The sheriff moistened his lips and his eyes grew wild. He had lived long +and 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 of +English: + +MR. TERRY BLACK JACK: + +Sir, I got this to say. Since you done my brother dirt I bin looking for +a chans to get even and I ain't seen any chanses coming my way so Ime +going to make one which I mean that Ile be waiting for you in town today +and if you don't come Ile let the boys know that you aint only an ornery +mean 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 rest +of the boys shook their heads over it. + +"What I can't make out," said Joe Pollard, voicing the sentiments of the +rest, "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 the +latest she expected the arrival of Elizabeth Cornish, and so far it had +been easy to keep Terry at the house. The gang was gorged with the loot +of the Lewison robbery, and Terry's appetite for excitement had been +cloyed by that event also. This strange challenge from the older Larrimer +was the fly in the ointment. + +"It ain't hard to tell why he sent that challenge," she declared. "He has +some sneaking plan up his sleeve, Dad. You know Bud Larrimer. He hasn't +the nerve to fight a boy. How'll he ever manage to stand up to Terry +unless he's got hidden backing?" + +She herself did not know how accurately she was hitting off the +situation; but she was drawing it as black as possible to hold Terry from +accepting the challenge. It was her father who doubted her suggestion. + +"It sounds queer," he said, "but the gents of these parts don't make no +ambushes while McGuire is around. He's a clean shooter, is McGuire, and +he 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 maybe +he isn't so particular about how it's done. Dad, don't you let Terry make +a step toward town! I _know_ something would happen! And even if they +didn't ambush him, he would be outlawed even if he won the fight. No +matter how fair he may fight, they won't stand for two killings in so +short a time. You know that, Dad. They'd have a mob out here to lynch +him!" + +"You're right, Kate," nodded her father. "Terry, you better stay put." + +But Terry Hollis had risen and stretched himself to the full length of +his height, and extended his long arms sleepily. Every muscle played +smoothly up his arms and along his shoulders. He was fit for action from +the top of his head to the soles of his feet. + +"Partners," he announced gently, "no matter what Bud Larrimer has on his +mind, I've got to go in and meet him. Maybe I can convince him without +gun talk. I hope so. But it will have to be on the terms he wants. I'll +saddle up and lope into town." + +He started for the door. The other members of the Pollard gang looked at +one another and shrugged their shoulders. Plainly the whole affair was a +bad mess. If Terry shot Larrimer, he would certainly be followed by a +lynching mob, because no self-respecting Western town could allow two +members of its community to be dropped in quick succession by one man of +an otherwise questionable past. No matter how fair the gunplay, just as +Kate had said, the mob would rise. But on the other hand, how could Terry +refuse to respond to such an invitation without compromising his +reputation 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, and +man-ways are man-ways, and a girl like you can't understand. You keep out +of this mess. It's bad enough without having your hand added." + +She saw there was nothing to be gained in this direction. She turned to +the rest of the men; they watched her with blank faces. Not a man there +but would have done much for the sake of a single smile. But how could +they help? + +Desperately she ran to the door, jerked it open, and followed Terry to +the stable. He had swung the saddle from its peg and slipped it over the +back of El Sangre, and the great stallion turned to watch this +perennially 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 me +stay 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 against +Larrimer. But if he wants to talk about his brother's death, why--good +Lord, Kate, I have to go in and listen, don't I? I can't dodge that +responsibility!" + +"It's a trick, Terry. I swear it's a trick. I can feel it!" She dropped +her hand nervously on the heavy revolver which she wore strapped at her +hip, and fingered the gold chasing. Without her gun, ever since early +girlhood, 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 there +were parts of his nature which, plainly, she had not yet reached to. + +"What difference does it make, Kate?" His voice fell into a profound +gloom. "What difference? I can't change myself. I'm what I am. It's in +the blood. I was born to this. I can't help it. I know that I'll lose in +the end. But while I live I'll be happy. A little while!" + +She choked. But the sight of his drawing the cinches, the imminence of +his departure, cleared her mind again. + +"Give me two minutes," she begged. + +"Not one," he answered. "Kate, you only make us both unhappy. Do you +suppose 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 being +what I am, I have no right to say them to you--never, or to any other +woman! I'm born to be what I am. I tell you, Kate, the woman who raised +me, who was a mother to me, saw what I was going to be--and turned me out +like 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 lived +heartbroken since she turned you out. And now she's coming for you to--to +beg you to come back to her! Terry, that's how much she's given up hope +in you!" + +But he drew back, his face growing dark. + +"You've been to see her, Kate? That's where you went when you were away +those 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 my +own father, and that I want to beg her to take me back? Is that what she +thinks?" + +He struck his hand across his forehead and groaned. + +"God! I'd rather die than have her think it for a minute. Kate, how could +you do it? I'd have trusted you always to do the right thing and the +proud thing--and here you've shamed me!" + +He turned to the horse, and El Sangre stepped out of the stall and into a +shaft of sunlight that burned on him like blood-red fire. And beside him +young 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 swear +you are, Terry!" + +She stretched out her arms to him; but he turned to her with his hand on +the 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 going +to change you! I'm only a girl. And I can't stop you with a girl's +weapons. 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 a +hundred miles away, and bound farther off. That's final." + +"You're wrong," she cried hysterically. "You're going to stay here. You +may throw away your share in yourself. But I have a share that I won't +throw 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, she +must 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. El +Sangre reared, a red flash in the sunlight, and landed far away in the +shadow, trembling. But Terry Hollis had spun halfway around, swung by the +heavy, tearing impact of the big slug, and then sank to the floor, where +he sat clasping his torn thigh with both hands, his shoulder and head +sagging against the wall. + +Joe Pollard, rushing in with an outcry, found the gun lying sparkling in +the sunshine, and his daughter, hysterical and weeping, holding the +wounded man in her arms. + +"What--in the name of--" he roared. + +"Accident, Joe," gasped Terry. "Fooling with Kate's gun and trying a spin +with it. It went off--drilled me clean through the leg!" + +That night, very late, in Joe Pollard's house, Terry Hollis lay on the +bed with a dim light reaching to him from the hooded lamp in the corner +of the room. His arms were stretched out on each side and one hand held +that of Kate, warm, soft, young, clasping his fingers feverishly and +happily. And on the other side was the firm, cool pressure of the hand of +Aunt Elizabeth. + +His mind was in a haze. Vaguely he perceived the gleam of tears on the +face 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 opened +my eyes. She told me the truth. The reason I took you in was because I +loved that wild, fierce, gentle, terrible father of yours. If you have +done 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 my +senses in time--bless her--and now I have you back, dear boy!" + +He remembered smiling faintly and happily at that. And he said before he +slept: "It's a bit queer, isn't it, even two wise women can't show a man +that 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 toward +Kate. + +And the women raised their heads and looked at one another with filmy +eyes. They both understood what that feeble gesture meant. It told much +of the fine heart of Elizabeth--that she was able to smile at the girl +and forgive her for having stolen again what she had restored. + +It was the break-up of the Pollard gang, the sudden disaffection of their +newest and most brilliant member. Joe himself was financed by Elizabeth +Cornish 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 on +which Elizabeth and Terry both insisted. Neither did Denver Pete. He left +them in disgust and was never heard of again in those parts. And he +always thereafter referred to Terry as "a promising kid gone to waste." + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Black Jack, by Max Brand + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLACK JACK *** + +***** This file should be named 9925.txt or 9925.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/9/2/9925/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Richard Prairie, and Project +Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Black Jack + +Author: Max Brand + +Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9925] +[This file was first posted on October 31, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, BLACK JACK *** + + + + +E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Richard Prairie, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + +BLACK JACK + +Max Brand + +1922 + + + + + + + +CHAPTER 1 + + +It was characteristic of the two that when the uproar broke out Vance +Cornish raised his eyes, but went on lighting his pipe. Then his sister +Elizabeth 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 as +peaceful as ever with its storm-shaken houses staggering away down the +street. + +A boy was stirring up the dust of the street, enjoying its heat with his +bare toes, and the same old man was bunched in his chair in front of the +store. During the two days Elizabeth had been in town on her cattle- +buying trip, she had never see him alter his position. But she was +accustomed to the West, and this advent of sleep in the town did not +satisfy her. A drowsy town, like a drowsy-looking cow-puncher, might be +capable 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 yelled +down the street in a wailing chorus cut short by the rapid chattering of +revolvers. Vance ran to the window. Just below the hotel the street made +an 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. A +rider plunged into view now, his horse leaning far in to take the sharp +angle, and the dust skidding out and away from his sliding hoofs. The +rider 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 the +reins hanging over the horns of his saddle. His hands were occupied by a +pair of revolvers, and he was turned in the saddle. + +The head of the pursuing crowd lurched around the elbow-turn; fire spat +twice from the mouth of each gun. Two men dropped, one rolling over and +over in the dust, and the other sitting down and clasping his leg in a +ludicrous fashion. But the crowd was checked and fell back. + +By this time the racing horse of the fugitive had carried him close to +the hotel, and now he faced the front, a handsome fellow with long black +hair blowing about his face. He wore a black silk shirt which accentuated +the pallor of his face and the flaring crimson of his bandanna. And he +laughed 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, and +among them a different and more sinister sound like the striking of two +great hammers face on face, so that there was a cold ring of metal after +the explosion--at least one man had brought a rifle to bear. Now, as the +wild rider darted past the hotel, his hat was jerked from his head by an +invisible hand. He whirled again in the saddle and his guns raised. As he +turned, Elizabeth Cornish saw something glint across the street. It was +the gleam of light on the barrel of a rifle that was thrust out through +the window of the store. + +That long line of light wobbled, steadied, and fire jetted from the mouth +of 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 the +cantle. He was flung rolling in the dust, his arms flying weirdly. The +rifle disappeared from the window and a boy's set face looked out. But +before the limp body of the fugitive had stopped rolling, Elizabeth +Cornish dropped into a chair, sick of face. Her brother turned his back +on the mob that closed over the dead man and looked at Elizabeth in +alarm. + +It was not the first time he had seen the result of a gunplay, and for +that matter it was not the first time for Elizabeth. Her emotion upset +him more than the roar of a hundred guns. He managed to bring her a glass +of water, but she brushed it away so that half of the contents spilled on +the 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 his +neck. But--what in the world! Did you know the fellow?" + +He blinked at her, his amazement growing. The capable hands of Elizabeth +were pressed to her breast, and out of the thirty-five years of +spinsterhood which had starved her face he became aware of eyes young and +dark, and full of spirit; by no means the keen, quiet eyes of Elizabeth +Cornish. + +"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 she +had seen, no matter how long she lived. Subconsciously she was fighting +to keep the street voices out of her mind. They were saying things she +did not wish to hear, things she would not hear. Finally, she recovered +enough to stand up and shut the window. That brought her a terrible +temptation 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 remained +obscurely in the bottom of her vision, and made her think of something +she had seen in the woods--a colony of ants around a dead beetle. +Presently the door opened and Vance came back. He still seemed very +worried, but she forced herself to smile at him, and at once his concern +disappeared; it was plain that he had been troubled about her and not in +the slightest by the fate of the strange rider. She kept on smiling, but +for the first time in her life she really looked at Vance without +sisterly 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 twice +at Vance in a crowd. She knew suddenly that her brother was simply a +well-mannered mediocrity. + +"Thank the Lord you're yourself again, Elizabeth," her brother said first +of all. "I thought for a moment--I don't know what!" + +"Just the shock, Vance," she said. Ordinarily she was well-nigh brutally +frank. Now she found it easy to lie and keep on smiling. "It was such a +horrible thing to see!" + +"I suppose so. Caught you off balance. But I never knew you to lose your +grip 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 unevenness +had come into her voice. + +"Oh, dead as a doornail, Elizabeth. Very neat shot. Youngster that +dropped him; boy named Joe Minter. Six thousand dollars for Joe. Nice +little 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. The +celebrated 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 out +when he was sixteen, they say, and he's been raising the devil ever +since. You should have seen them pick him up--as if he were asleep, and +not dead. What a body! Lithe as a panther. No larger than I am, but they +say he was a giant with his hands." + +He was lighting his cigarette as he said this, and consequently he did +not see her eyes close tightly. A moment later she was able to make her +expression 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 do +something for her." + +"You can't," replied her brother, with unnecessary brutality. "Because +she's dead. A little after the youngster was born. I believe Black Jack +broke 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 the +mountain saloons, and then a knife in the back." + +The meager body of Elizabeth stiffened. She was finding it less easy to +maintain 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 raise +him like a thief--he'll be a thief. And the thief's son can be raised to +an honest manhood. I know it!" + +She was seeing Black Jack, as he had raced down the street with the black +hair blowing about his face. Of such stuff, she felt, the knights of +another age had been made. Vance was raising a forefinger in an +authoritative way he had. + +"My dear, before that baby is twenty-five--that was his father's +age--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 had +enough 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, barren +bosom, and then her brother found himself silenced. At the same time he +was a little irritated, for there was an imputation in her speech that +she had been carrying the burden which his own shoulders should have +supported. Which was so true that he could not answer, and therefore he +cast 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 a +rather vicious pleasure in calling her bluff, but to his amazement she +did not call him back. He opened the door slowly. Still she did not +speak. 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, a +little more blocky of cheek, but he remained astonishingly young. At +forty-nine the lumpish promise of his youth was quite gone. He was in a +trim and solid middle age. His hair was thinned above the forehead, but +it gave him more dignity. On the whole, he left an impression of a man +who has done things and who will do more before he is through. + +He shifted his feet from the top of the porch railing and shrugged +himself deeper into his chair. It was marvelous how comfortable Vance +could make himself. He had one great power--the ability to sit still +through any given interval. Now he let his eye drift quietly over the +Cornish ranch. It lay entirely within one grasp of the vision, spilling +across the valley from Sleep Mountain, on the lower bosom of which the +house stood, to Mount Discovery on the north. Not that the glance of +Vance Cornish lurched across this bold distance. His gaze wandered as +slowly as a free buzzes across a clover field, not knowing on which +blossom 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 the +Blue Mountains of the north, half a dozen miles across and ten long of +grazing 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 dense +yellow-green thickets on the upper mountain slopes. And so north and +north the eye of Vance Cornish wandered and climbed until it rested on +the 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 for +the ownership of one man. Vance Cornish, on the porch of the house, felt +like 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 and +Elizabeth, thickly plastered with debts. The son would have sold the +place for what they could clear. He went East to hunt for education and +pleasure; his sister remained and fought the great battle by herself. She +consecrated 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 she +been a tithe younger and her brother a mature man, it would have been +different. As it was, she felt herself placed in a maternal position with +Vance. She sent him away to school, rolled up her sleeves and started to +order chaos. In place of husband, children--love and the fruits of love-- +she accepted the ranch. The dam between the rapids and the waterfall was +the child of her brain; the plowed fields of the central part of the +valley 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 his +interest. He chose to learn his business lessons on Wall Street. +Elizabeth paid the bills, but she checked the sums against his interest +in the ranch. And so it went on. Vance would come out to the ranch at +intervals and show a brief, feverish interest, plan a new set of +irrigation canals, or a sawmill, or a better road out over the Blue +Mountains. But he dropped such work half-done and went away. + +Elizabeth said nothing. She kept on paying his bills, and she kept on +cutting down his interest in the old Cornish ranch, until at the present +time he had only a finger-tip hold. Root and branch, the valley and all +that was in it belonged to Elizabeth Cornish. She was proud of her +possession, though she seldom talked of her pride. Nevertheless, Vance +knew, 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, why +should he care in whose name the ranch remained so long as his bills were +paid? He had not worked, but in recompense he had remained young. +Elizabeth had labored all her youth away. At forty-nine he was ready to +begin the most important part of his career. At sixty his sister was a +withered old ghost of a woman. + +He fell into a pleasant reverie. When Elizabeth died, he would set in +some tennis courts beside the house, buy some blooded horses, cut the +road wide and deep to let the world come up Bear Creek Valley, and retire +to the life of a country gentleman. + +His sister's voice cut into his musing. She had two tones. One might be +called her social register. It was smooth, gentle--the low-pitched and +controlled voice of a gentlewoman. The other voice was hard and sharp. It +could drive hard and cold across a desk, and bring businessmen to an +understanding that here was a mind, not a woman. + +At present she used her latter tone. Vance Cornish came into a shivering +consciousness 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 see +that 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 that +in the past half-dozen years his best smiles often failed to mellow her +expression. 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 against +him. For she went on: "Which leads to what I have to say. You're going +back 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 clean +up on the last bunch of Herefords." + +When she folded her hands, she was most dangerous, he knew. And now the +bony fingers linked and she shrugged the shawl more closely around her +shoulders. + +"We're partners, aren't we?" smiled Vance. + +"Partners, yes. You have one share and I have a thousand. But--you don't +want 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 put +up for them except your last shreds of property. That's why I say you'll +have 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 if +he became serious, deadly serious for ten consecutive minutes with his +sister, he would be ruined. He kept on with his semi-jovial tone. + +"There are two arts, Elizabeth. One is making money and the other is +spending it. You've mastered one and I've mastered the other. Which +balances 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 the +dark green leaves. The breeze rolled across the trees in a long, rippling +flash of light. But Elizabeth did not look down. Her glance was fixed on +the changeless snow of Mount Discovery's summit. + +"As long as you have something to spend, spending is a very important +art, Vance. But when the purse is empty, it's a bit useless, it seems to +me." + +"Well, then, I'll have to mortgage my future. As a matter of fact, I +suppose I could borrow what I want on my prospects." + +A veritable Indian yell, instantly taken up and prolonged by a chorus of +similar shouts, cut off the last of his words. Round the corner of the +house shot a blood-bay stallion, red as the red of iron under the +blacksmith's hammer, with a long, black tail snapping and flaunting +behind him, his ears flattened, his beautiful vicious head outstretched +in an effort to tug the reins out of the hands of the rider. Failing in +that effort, he leaped into the air like a steeplechaser and pitched down +upon stiffened forelegs. + +The shock rippled through the body of the rider and came to his head with +a snap that jerked his chin down against his breast. The stallion rocked +back on his hind legs, whirled, and then flung himself deliberately on +his back. A sufficiently cunning maneuver--first stunning the enemy with +a blow and then crushing him before his senses returned. But he landed on +nothing save hard gravel. The rider had whipped out of the saddle and +stood 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 thing +to watch. As he brought his forequarters off the earth, he lunged at the +rider with open mouth. A sidestep that would have done credit to a +pugilist sent the youngster swerving past that danger. He leaped to the +saddle 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, according +to the gallantry of the fight. + +The bay was in the air more than he was on the ground, eleven or twelve +hundred pounds of might, writhing, snapping, bolting, halting, sunfishing +with devilish cunning, dropping out of the air on one stiff foreleg with +an accompanying sway to one side that gave the rider the effect of a +cudgel blow at the back of the head and then a whip-snap to part the +vertebrae. Whirling on his hind legs, and again flinging himself +desperately on the ground, only to fail, come to his feet with the +clinging burden once more maddeningly in place, and go again through a +maze of fence-rowing and sun-fishing until suddenly he straightened out +and bolted down the slope like a runaway locomotive on a downgrade. A +terrifying spectacle, but the rider sat erect, with one arm raised high +above his head in triumph, and his yell trailing off behind him. From a +running gait the stallion fell into a smooth pace--a true wild pacer, his +hoofs beating the ground with the force and speed of pistons and hurling +himself forward with incredible strides. Horse and rider lurched out of +sight 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 hands +like 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 wildcat +out of the saddle? He clings as if he had claws. But--where did he get +that red devil?" + +"Terence ran him down--in the mountains--somewhere," she answered, +speaking as one who had only half heard the question. "Two months of +constant trailing to do it, I think. But oh, you're right! The horse is a +devil! And sometimes I think--" + +She stopped, shuddering. Vance had returned to the ranch only the day +before after a long absence. More and more, after he had been away, he +found it difficult to get in touch with things on the ranch. Once he had +been 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, "why +don't you forbid these pranks?" + +She looked at him as if in surprise. + +"Forbid Terry?" she echoed, and then smiled. Decidedly this was her first +tone, a soft tone that came from deep in her throat. Instinctively Vance +contrasted it with the way she had spoken to him. But it was always this +way when Terry was mentioned. For the first time he saw it clearly. It +was amazing how blind he had been. "Forbid Terence? Vance, that devil of +a horse is part of his life. He was on a hunting trip when he saw Le +Sangre--" + +"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 a +hilltop against the sky. And he literally went mad. Actually, he struck +out on foot with his rifle and lived in the country and never stopped +walking until he wore down Le Sangre somehow and brought him back +hobbled--just skin and bones, and Terence not much more. Now Le Sangre is +himself again, and he and Terence have a fight--like that--every day. I +dream 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 horse +out 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. "And +I've learned to bear pain." + +He swallowed. Also, he was beginning to grow irritated. He had never +before had a talk with Elizabeth that contained so many reefs that +threatened shipwreck. He returned to the gist of their conversation +rather too bluntly. + +"But to continue, Elizabeth, any banker would lend me money on my +prospects." + +"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's +a 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. Your +prospects begin with my death, of course." + +He had no answer, but bit his lip nervously and wished the ordeal would +come to an end. + +"Vance," she went on, "I'm glad to have this talk with you. It's +something you have to know. Of course I'll see that during my life or my +death you'll be provided for. But as for your main prospects, do you know +where they are?" + +"Well?" + +She was needlessly brutal about it, but as she had told him, her +education 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 was +erect. Her step was still full of spring and decision, as she led the way +into the house. It was a big, solid, two-story building which the +mightiest wind could not shake. Henry Cornish had merely founded the +house, just as he had founded the ranch; the main portion of the work had +been done by his daughter. And as they passed through, her stern old eye +rested peacefully on the deep, shadowy vistas, and her foot fell with +just pride on the splendid rising sweep of the staircase. They passed +into the roomy vault of the upper hall and went down to the end. She took +out a big key from her pocket and fitted it into the lock; then Vance +dropped 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 practically +unentered 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 from +the solemn old room and the brown, varnished woodwork which he +remembered. Cream-tinted paint now made the walls cool and fresh. The +solemn engravings no longer hung above the bookcases. And the bookcases +themselves had been replaced with built-in shelves pleasantly filled with +rich bindings, black and red and deep yellow-browns. A tall cabinet stood +open at one side filled with rifles and shotguns of every description, +and another cabinet was loaded with fishing apparatus. The stiff-backed +chairs had given place to comfortable monsters of easy lines. Vance +Cornish, as one in a dream, peered here and there. + +"God bless us!" he kept repeating. "God bless us! But where's there a +trace of Father?" + +"I left it out," said Elizabeth huskily, "because this room is meant +for--but let's go back. Do you remember that day twenty-four years ago +when 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 and +called 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 with +the secret, Vance. But you remember we argued about it, and you said that +blood would out; that the boy would turn out wrong; that before he was +twenty-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 baby +in my arms, it became a matter of theory, plus, and chiefly plus. I kept +remembering what you had said, and I was afraid. That was why I worked up +the Colby idea." + +"That's easy to see." + +"It wasn't so easy to do. But I heard of the last of an old Virginia +family who had died of consumption in Arizona. I traced his family. He +was the last of it. Then it was easy to arrange a little story: Terence +Colby had married a girl in Arizona, died shortly after; the girl died +also, and I took the baby. Nobody can disprove what I say. There's not a +living soul who knows that Terence is the son of Jack Hollis--except you +and me." + +"How about the woman I got the baby from?" + +"I bought her silence until fifteen years ago. Then she died, and now +Terry is convinced that he is the last representative of the Colby +family." + +She laughed with excitement and beckoned him out of the room and into +another--Terry's room, farther down the hall. She pointed to a large +photograph 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 old +family 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 his +hands on about the Colbys. Discovered the year they landed in Virginia; +how they fought in the Revolution; how they fought and died in the Civil +War. Oh, he knows every landmark in the history of 'his' family. Of +course, I encouraged him." + +"I know," chuckled Vance. "Whenever he gets in a pinch, I've heard you +say: 'Terry, what should a Colby do?'" + +"And," cut in Elizabeth, "you must admit that it has worked. There isn't +a prouder, gentler, cleaner-minded boy in the world than Terry. Not +blood. It's the blood of Jack Hollis. But it's what he thinks himself to +be 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 know +how 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 is +one 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 I +know." + +"A very hard blow, eh," said Vance, "if he were robbed of the Colby +illusion and had Black Jack put in its place as a cold fact? But of +course we'll never tell him." + +Her color was never high. Now it became gray. Only her eyes remained +burning, vivid, young, blazing out through the mask of age. + +"Remember you said his blood would tell before he was twenty-five; that +the blood of Black Jack would come to the surface; that he would have +shot a man?" + +"Still harping on that, Elizabeth? What if he does?" + +"I'd disown him, throw him out penniless on the world, never see him +again." + +"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 simply +a theory gone wrong. You'll cut him out of your life as if he were an +algebraic 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 on +the night of his twenty-fifth birthday, I'm going to take him into my +father's room and turn it over to him." + +He had listened to her patiently, a little wearied by her unusual flow of +words. Now he came out of his apathy with a jerk. He laid his hand on +Elizabeth's shoulder and turned her so that the light shone full in her +face. Then he studied her. + +"What do you mean by that, Elizabeth?" + +"Vance," she said steadily, but with a touch of pity in her voice, "I +have waited for a score of years, hoping that you'd settle down and try +to 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 leave +you an annuity, Vance, that will take care of you in comfort; but I leave +everything else to Terry Colby. That's why I've changed the room. The +moment it grows dark ten days from today, I'm going to take Terry by the +hand 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 new +man looked down at her. The firm flesh of his face became loose. His +whole body was flabby. She had the feeling that if she pushed against his +chest with the weight of her arm, he would topple to the floor. That +weakness gradually passed. A peculiar strength of purpose grew in its +place. + +"Of course, this is a very shrewd game, Elizabeth. You want to wake me +up. You're using the spur to make me work. I don't blame you for using +the bluff, even if it's a rather cruel one. But, of course, it's +impossible 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 an +interloper, a foundling, the child of a murderer, a vagabond, had been +made the heir to his estate. But you aren't serious, Elizabeth; I +understand." + +He swallowed his pride, for panic grew in him in proportion to the length +of time she maintained her silence. + +"As a matter of fact, I don't blame you for giving me a scare, my dear +sister. I have been a shameless loafer. I'm going to reform and lift the +burden of business off your shoulders--let you rest the remainder of your +life." + +It was the worst thing he could have said. He realized it the moment he +had spoken. This forced, cowardly surrender was worse than brazen +defiance, and he saw her lip curl. An idler is apt to be like a sullen +child, except that in a grown man the child's sulky spite becomes a dark +malice, all-embracing. For the very reason that Vance knew he was +receiving what he deserved, and that this was the just reward for his +thriftless years of idleness, he began to hate Elizabeth with a cold, +quiet hatred. There is something stimulating about any great passion. Now +Vance felt his nerves soothed and calmed. His self-possession returned +with 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 the +result of your life labors in my hands--entirely foolish. I admit that +it'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 out +very well--in spite of his blood. I hope so. The Lord knows you've given +him every chance and the best start in the world. I wish him luck!" + +He reached out his hand, and her bloodless fingers closed strongly over +it. + +"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 out +of nothing, everything poured into his hands--and now within ten days of +his goal! Rather exciting, isn't it? Suppose he should stumble at the +very 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 might +fall--that he might do what I prophesied so long ago--shoot a man before +he's twenty-five?" + +She shrugged the supposition calmly away. + +"My faith in him is based as strongly as the rocks, Vance. But if he +fell, 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 he +shrugged 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 the +terrace from the river road on Le Sangre. And a changed horse he was. One +ear was forward as if he did not know what lay in store for him, but +would try to be on the alert. One ear flagged warily back. He went +slowly, lifting his feet with the care of a very weary horse. Yet, when +the wind fluttered a gust of whirling leaves beside him, he leaped aside +and stood with high head, staring, transformed in the instant into a +creature 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 about +his forehead, for his hat was pushed back after the manner of one who has +done a hard day's work and is ready to rest. He came close to the +veranda, 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, Uncle +Vance. A beauty, eh?" + +Elizabeth said nothing at all. But she rocked herself back and forth a +trifle in her chair as she nodded. She glanced over the terrace, hoping +that others might be there to see the triumph of her boy. Then she looked +back 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 other +work, 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. As +long as I wear spurs, he'll fight me till he gets his teeth in me or +splashes my skull to bits with his heels. Otherwise he'll keep on +fighting till he drops. But as soon as I take off the spurs and stop +tormenting 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 horse +stiffened with a shudder, and that forward look of a horse about to bolt +came 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, the +mind of Vance Cornish raced back to another picture--a man with long +black hair blowing about his face and a gun in either hand, sweeping +through a dusty street with shots barking behind him. It came suddenly as +a 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 long +life and happiness across the birthday dinner table." + +He marvelled at the ease with which he could make himself smile in her +face. + +"You noticed that--his gentleman's agreement with Le Sangre? I've made +him detest fighting with the idea that only brute beasts fight--men argue +and agree." + +"I've noticed that he never has trouble with the cow-punchers." + +"They've seen him box," chuckled Elizabeth. "Besides, Terry isn't the +sort that troublemakers like to pick on. He has an ugly look when he's +angry." + +"H'm," murmured Vance. "I've noticed that. But as long as he keeps to his +fists, he'll do no harm. But what is the reason for surrounding him with +guns, Elizabeth?" + +"A very good reason. He loves them, you know. Anything from a shotgun to +a derringer is a source of joy to Terence. And not a day goes by that he +doesn'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 gun +he must never enter a gun fight. The advantage would be too much on his +side against any ordinary man. That appeals to Terry's sense of fair +play. 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 the +late afternoon. Bear Creek ran dull and dark in the shadow, and Mount +Discovery was robed in blue to the very edge of its shining crown of +snow. In this dimmer, richer light the Cornish ranch had never seemed so +desirable to Vance. It was not a ranch; it was a little kingdom. And +Vance was the dispossessed heir. + +He knew that he was being watched, however, and all that evening he was +at his best. At the dinner table he guided the talk so that Terence Colby +was the lion of the conversation. Afterward, when he was packing his +things in his room for his journey of the next day, he was careful to +sing at the top of his voice. He reaped a reward for this cautious +acting, for the next morning, when he climbed into the buckboard that was +to take him down the Blue Mountain road and over to the railroad, his +sister 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 I +want you to be here when he steps into his own." + +In this he found enough to keep him thoughtful all the way to the +railroad while the buckskins grunted up the grade and then spun away down +the long slope beyond. It was one of those little ironies of fate that he +should 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 no +tenderness. Hereafter he would act his part as well as he could to +extract the last possible penny out of her. And in the meantime he must +concentrate on tripping up Terence Colby, alias Hollis. + +Vance saw nothing particularly vicious in this. He had been idle so long +that he rejoiced in a work which was within his mental range. It included +scheming, working always behind the scenes, pulling strings to make +others jump. And if he could trip Terry and actually make him shoot a man +on or before that birthday, he had no doubt that his sister would +actually throw the boy out of her house and out of her life. A woman who +could give twenty-four years to a theory would be capable of grim things +when the theory went wrong. + +It was early evening when he climbed off the train at Garrison City. He +had not visited the place since that cattle-buying trip of twenty-four +years ago that brought the son of Black Jack into the affairs of the +Cornish family. Garrison City had become a city. There were two solid +blocks of brick buildings next to the station, a network of paved +streets, and no less than three hotels. It was so new to the eye and so +obviously full of the "booster" spirit that he was appalled at the idea +of prying through this modern shell and getting back to the heart and the +memory of the old days of the town. + +At the restaurant he forced himself upon a grave-looking gentleman across +the 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 hotel +shook his head with positive antagonism. + +"Of course, Garrison City has its past," he admitted, "but we are living +it down, and have succeeded pretty well. I think I've heard of a ruffian +of the last generation named Jack Hollis; but I don't know anything, and +I don't care to know anything, about him. But if you're interested in +Garrison City, I'd like to show you a little plot of ground in a place +that is going to be the center of the--" + +Vance Cornish made his mind a blank, let the smooth current of words slip +off his memory as from an oiled surface, and gave up Garrison City as a +hopeless job. Nevertheless, it was the hotel proprietor who dropped a +valuable hint. + +"If you're interested in the early legends, why don't you go to the State +Capitol? They have every magazine and every book that so much as mentions +any place in the state." So Vance Cornish went to the capitol and entered +the 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 something +in 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 the +account of an eyewitness of any of those stirring holdups or train +robberies. + +And then he began on the old files of magazines. And still nothing. He +was about to give up with four days of patient labor wasted when he +struck 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 had +discovered the beauty of the deserts of the Southwest. But there was +more--much more. It told how, in his wandering across the desert, he had +hunted for something more than raw-colored sands and purple mesas +blooming in the distance. + +He had searched for a human being to fit into the picture and give the +softening touch of life. But he never found the face for which he had +been looking. And then luck came and tapped him on the shoulder. A lone +rider 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 was +the face for which he had been searching. He told how they fried bacon +and ate it together; he told of the soft voice and the winning smile of +the rider; he told of his eyes, unspeakably soft and unspeakably bold, +and the agile, nervous hands, forever shifting and moving in the +firelight. + +The next morning he had asked his visitor to sit for a picture, and his +request had been granted. All day he labored at the canvas, and by night +the work was far enough along for him to dismiss his visitor. So the +stranger asked for a small brush with black paint on it, and in the +corner of the canvas drew in the words "Yours, Black Jack." Then he rode +into the night. + +Black Jack! Lawrence Montgomery had made up his pack and struck straight +back for the nearest town. There he asked for tidings of a certain Black +Jack, and there he got what he wanted in heaps. Everyone knew Black +Jack--too well! There followed a brief summary of the history of the +desperado and his countless crimes, unspeakable tales of cunning and +courage and merciless vengeance taken. + +Vance Cornish turned the last page of the article, and there was the +reproduction of the painting. He held his breath when he saw it. The +outlaw sat on his horse with his head raised and turned, and it was the +very replica of Terence Colby as the boy had waved to them from the back +of Le Sangre. More than a family, sketchy resemblance--far more. + +There was the same large, dark eye; the same smile, half proud and half +joyous; the same imperious lift of the head; the same bold carving of the +features. There were differences, to be sure. The nose of Black Jack had +been more cruelly arched, for instance, and his cheekbones were higher +and more pronounced. But in spite of the dissimilarities the resemblance +was more than striking. It might have stood for an actual portrait of +Terence Colby masquerading in long hair. + +When the full meaning of this photograph had sunk into his mind, Vance +Cornish closed his eyes. "Eureka!" he whispered to himself. + +There was something more to be done. But it was very simple. It merely +consisted in covertly cutting out the pages of the article in question. +Then, carefully, for fear of loss, he jotted down the name and date of +the magazine, folded his stolen pages, and fitted them snugly into his +breast 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 said +that he was in the position of a man with a dangerous charge for a gun +and 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 in +Craterville. Five days out of the ten before the twenty-fifth birthday of +Terence had elapsed, and Vance was still far from his goal, but he felt +that 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 into +existence for no reason that can be discovered, and cling to life +generations after they should have died. But Craterville held one thing +of which Vance Cornish was in great need, and that was Sheriff Joe +Minter, familiarly called Uncle Joe. His reason for wanting the sheriff +was perfectly simple. Uncle Joe Minter was the man who killed Black Jack +Hollis. + +He had been a boy of eighteen then, shooting with a rifle across a window +sill. That shot had formed his life. He was now forty-two and he had +spent the interval as the professional enemy of criminals in the +mountains. For the glory which came from the killing of Black Jack had +been sweet to the youthful palate of Minter, and he had cultivated his +taste. He became the most dreaded manhunter in those districts where +manhunting was most common. He had been sheriff at Craterville for a +dozen years now, and still his supremacy was not even questioned. + +Vance Cornish was lucky to find the sheriff in town presiding at the head +of 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 of +black hair framed a long, stern face, the angles of which had been made +by years. But there was no sign of weakness. He had grown dry, not +flabby. His mouth was a thin, straight line, and his fighting chin jutted +out in profile. + +He rose from his place to greet Vance Cornish. Indeed, the sheriff acted +the part of master of ceremonies at the hotel, having a sort of silent +understanding with the widow who owned the place. It was said that the +sheriff would marry the woman sooner or later, he so loved to talk at her +table. 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. He +arranged a chair for Vance at his right, and presently the talk rose +above the murmur to which it had been depressed by the arrival of this +important stranger. The increasing noise made a background. It left Vance +alone with the sheriff. + +"And how do you find your work, sheriff?" asked Vance; for he knew that +Uncle Joe Minter's great weakness was his love of talk. Everyone in the +mountains knew it, for that matter. + +"Dull," complained Minter. "Men ain't what they used to be, or else the +law is a heap stronger." + +"The men who enforce the law are," said Vance. + +The sheriff absorbed this patent compliment with the blank eye of +satisfaction and rubbed his chin. + +"But they's been some talk of rustling, pretty recent. I'm waiting for it +to grow and get ripe. Then I'll bust it." + +He made an eloquent gesture which Vance followed. He was distinctly +pleased with the sheriff. For Minter was wonderfully preserved. His face +seemed five years younger than his age. His body seemed even younger-- +round, smooth, powerful muscles padding his shoulders and stirring down +the length of his big arms. And his hands had that peculiar light +restlessness of touch which Vance remembered to have seen--in the hands +of 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 since +the Cornishes moved in; and they ain't been any call for a gent in my +line 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 there +in 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 description +of the game in the hills around the ranch. That, he knew, would bring the +sheriff if anything would. But he mentioned the invitation no more. There +were particular reasons why he must not press it on the sheriff any more +than on others in Craterville. + +The next morning, before traintime, Vance went to the post office and +left the article on Black Jack addressed to Terence Colby at the Cornish +ranch. The addressing was done on a typewriter, which completely removed +any means of identifying the sender. Vance played with Providence in only +one way. He was so eager to strike his blow at the last possible moment +that he asked the postmaster to hold the letter for three days, which +would land it at the ranch on the morning of the birthday. Then he went +to the train. + +His self-respect was increasing by leaps and bounds. The game was still +not won, but, starring with absolutely nothing, in six days he had +planted a charge which might send Elizabeth's twenty-four years of labor +up in smoke. + +He got off the train at Preston, the station nearest the ranch, and took +a hired team up the road along Bear Creek Gorge. They debouched out of +the Blue Mountains into the valley of the ranch in the early evening, and +Vance found himself looking with new eyes on the little kingdom. He felt +the happiness, indeed, of one who has lost a great prize and then put +himself in a fair way of winning it back. + +They dipped into the valley road. Over the tops of the big silver spruces +he traced the outline of Sleep Mountain against the southern sky. Who but +Vance, or the dwellers in the valley, would be able to duly appreciate +such beauty? If there were any wrong in what he had done, this thought +consoled him: the ends justified the means. + +Now, as they drew closer, through the branches he made out glimpses of +the dim, white front of the big house on the hill. That big, cool house +with the kingdom spilled out at its feet, the farming lands, the pastures +of the hills, and the rich forest of the upper mountains. Certainty came +to Vance Cornish. He wanted the ranch so profoundly that the thought of +losing it became impossible. + + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +But while he had been working at a distance, things had been going on +apace at the ranch, a progress which had now gathered such impetus that +he found himself incapable of checking it. The blow fell immediately +after dinner that same evening. Terence excused himself early to retire +to the mysteries of a new pump-gun. Elizabeth and Vance took their coffee +into the library. + +The night had turned cool, with a sharp wind driving the chill through +every crack; so a few sticks were sending their flames crumbling against +the big back log. The lamp glowing in the corner was the only other +light, and when they drew their chairs close to the hearth, great tongues +of shadows leaped and fell on the wall behind them. Vance looked at his +sister with concern. There was a certain complacency about her this +evening that told him in advance that she had formed a new plan with +which 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 her +thin, homely face illuminated irregularly and by flashes. He kept +watching 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 she +turned 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 dropped +his chin in his hand, partly for comfort and partly to veil the sneer. If +she 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 of +it. But the preparation was merely like tensing one's muscles against a +fall. 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 become +of his six days of work? What would become of his cunning and his +forethought? All destroyed at a blow. For if she adopted the boy, the +very law would keep her from denying him afterward. For a moment it +seemed 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 into +that hollow, ringing sound. + +"Approve? It's a queer question to ask me. But let it go. I know I +couldn't change you." + +"I know that you have a right to advise," she said gently. "You are my +father'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 her +face. 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, that +something might happen before that time. I've actually lain awake at +night and thought about it! And I want to forestall all chances. I want +to 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. And +with consummate bitterness of soul he submitted to his fate. + +"I suppose you're right. Call him down now and I'll be present when you +ask him to join the circle--the family circle of the Cornishes, you +know." + +He could not school all the bitterness out of his voice, but she seemed +too glad of his bare acquiescence to object to such trifles. She sent Wu +Chi to call Terence down to them. He had apparently been in his shirt +sleeves working at the gun. He came with his hands still faintly +glistening from their hasty washing, and with the coat which he had just +bundled into still rather bunched around his big shoulders. He came and +stood against the massive, rough-finished stones of the fireplace looking +down at Elizabeth. There had always been a sort of silent understanding +between him and Vance. They never exchanged more words and looks than +were absolutely necessary. Vance realized it more than ever as he looked +up to the tall athletic figure. And he realized also that since he had +last looked closely at Terence the latter had slipped out of boyhood and +into manhood. There was that indescribable something about the set of the +chin 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 a +little, his hand falling away from the stone against which he had been +leaning. But Vance looked more closely at his sister. He could see the +gleam of worship in her eyes. + +"And now I want you to be something more. I want you to be my boy in the +eyes of the law, so that when anything happens to me, your place won't be +threatened." + +He was straighter than ever. + +"I want to adopt you, Terence!" + +Somehow, in those few moments they had been gradually building to a +climax. It was prodigiously heightened now by the silence of the boy. The +throat of Vance tightened with excitement. + +"I will be your mother, in the eyes of the law," she was explaining +gently, 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 wondered +at it. But he wondered more at the stiff-standing form of Terence, and +his silence; until he saw the tender smile vanish from the face of +Elizabeth and alarm come into it. All at once Terence had dropped to one +knee before her and taken her hands. And now it was he who was talking +slowly, gently. + +"All my life you've given me things, Aunt Elizabeth. You've given me +everything. Home, happiness, love--everything that could be given. So +much that you could never be repaid, and all I can do is to love you, you +see, and honor you as if you were my mother, in fact. But there's just +one thing that can't be given. And that's a name!" + +He paused. Elizabeth was listening with a stricken face, and the heart of +Vance thundered with his excitement. Vaguely he felt that there was +something fine and clean and honorable in the heart of this youth which +was being laid bare; but about that he cared very little. He was getting +at facts and emotions which were valuable to him in the terms of dollars +and cents. + +"It makes me choke up," said Terence, "to have you offer me this great +thing. It's a fine name, Cornish. But you know that I can't do it. It +would be cowardly--a sort of rotten treason for me to change. It would be +wrong. I know it would be wrong. I'm a Colby, Aunt Elizabeth. Every time +that name is spoken, I feel it tingling down to my fingertips. I want to +stand straighter, live cleaner. When I looked at the old Colby place in +Virginia last year, it brought the tears to my eyes. I felt as if I were +a product of that soil. Every fine thing that has ever been done by a +Colby is a strength to me. I've studied them. And every now and then when +I come to some brave thing they've done, I wonder if I could do it. And +then I say to myself that I _must_ be able to do just such things or else +be a shame to my blood. + +"Change my name? Why, I've gone all my life thanking God that I come of a +race 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 do +some fine big thing one of these days. Think of it! I'm the last of a +race. I'm the end of it. The last of the Colbys! Why, when you think of +it, you see how I can't possibly change, don't you? If I lost that, I'd +lose the best half of myself and my self-respect! You understand, don't +you? Not that I slight the name of Cornish for an instant. But even if +names can be changed, blood can't be changed!" + +She turned her head. She met the gleaming eyes of Vance, and then let her +glance 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 a +dog. 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, past +control, 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 ever +heard Terry say. But it frightens me, Vance. It frightens me to know that +I've formed the character and the pride and the self-respect of that boy +on--a lie! Pray God that he never learns the truth!" + + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +There were not many guests. Elizabeth had chosen them carefully from +families which had known her father, Henry Cornish, when, in his +reckless, adventurous way, he had been laying the basis of the Cornish +fortune in the Rockies. Indeed, she was a little angry when she heard of +the 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 fully +into the spirit of the thing, and that his heart was in the right place +as far as this birthday party was concerned, and she could not do +otherwise than accept his explanation. + +Some of the bidden guests, however, came from a great distance, and as a +matter of course a few of them arrived the day before the celebration and +filled the quiet rooms of the old house with noise. Elizabeth accepted +them with resignation, and even pleasure, because they all had pleasant +things to say about her father and good wishes to express for the +destined heir, Terence Colby. It was carefully explained that this +selection of an heir had been made by both Elizabeth and Vance, which +removed all cause for remark. Vance himself regarded the guests with +distinct 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 family +precedents out here." + +It touched her shrewdly. More than once she had felt that Terry was on +the verge of becoming a complacent prig. So she countered with a sharp +thrust. + +"You have to remember that you're a Westerner born and bred, my dear. A +very Westerner yourself!" + +"Birth is an accident--birthplaces, I mean," smiled Terence. "It's the +blood 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 a +squirrel and was laughing down through the branches at a raw-boned cousin +on the ground beneath her. + +"And what of it?" said Elizabeth. "That girl is pretty enough to please +any man; and she's the type that makes a wife." + +Terry rubbed his chin with his knuckles thoughtfully. It was the one +family habit that he had contracted from Vance, much to the irritation of +the latter. + +"After all," said Terry, with complacency, "what are good looks with bad +grammar?" + +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 little +older, you'll get sense. If you want white hands and good grammar, how do +you expect to find a wife in the mountains?" + +Terry answered with unshaken, lordly calm. "I haven't thought about the +details. They don't matter. But a man must have standards of criticism." + +"Standards your foot!" cried Aunt Elizabeth. "You insufferable young +prig. That very girl laughing down through the branches--I'll wager she +could set your head spinning in ten seconds if she thought it worth her +while to try." + +"Perhaps," smiled Terence. "In the meantime she has freckles and a +vocabulary 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! Where +are you going now?" + +"Out to see El Sangre." + +He went whistling out of the door, and she followed him with confused +feelings of anger, pride, joy, and fear. She went to a side window and +saw him go fearlessly into the corral where the man-destroying El Sangre +was kept. And the big stallion, red fire in the sunshine, went straight +to him and nosed at a hip pocket. They had already struck up a perfect +understanding. Deeply she wondered at it. + +She had never loved the mountains and their people and their ways. It had +been a battle to fight. She had fought the battle, won, and gained a +hollow victory. And watching Terry caress the great, beautiful horse, she +knew 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 as +El Sangre has done. You need teaching." + +When she turned from the window, she found Vance watching her. He had a +habit of obscurely melting into a background and looking out at her +unexpectedly. All at once she knew that he had been there listening +during all of her talk with Terence. Not that the talk had been of a +peculiarly private nature, but it angered her. There was just a semblance +of eavesdropping about the presence of Vance. For she knew that Terence +unbosomed himself to her as he would do in the hearing of no other human +being. However, she mastered her anger and smiled at her brother. He had +taken all these recent changes which were so much to his disadvantage +with 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 her +completely. 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 antiquated +style, Vance, keeps me at arm's length." + +"A stiff style because he wrote so rapidly. But there's the greatest body +and 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 for +physical 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 well +and shoot well. If a man can't do that, he ceases to be a man in Terry's +eyes. 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 into +the conversation than he planned; now he retreated carefully. "But +another year or so may help him." + +He retreated before she could answer, but he left her thoughtful, as he +hoped to do. He had a standing theory that the only way to make a woman +meditate is to keep her from talking. And he wanted very much to make +Elizabeth meditate the evil in the son of Black Jack. Otherwise all his +plans 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 and +the sheriff together on the birthday and guide the two explosives until +they met on the subject of the death of Black Jack. Either Terry would +kill the sheriff, or the sheriff would kill Terry. Vance hoped for the +latter, but rather expected the former to be the outcome, and if it were, +he was inclined to think that Elizabeth would sooner or later make +excuses for Terry and take him back into the fold of her affections. +Accordingly, his work was, in the few days that intervened, to plant all +the 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 big +veranda. The mail was delivered, as a rule, just before dusk, one of the +cow-punchers riding down for it. Grave fears about the loss of that all- +important missive to Terry haunted him, for the postmaster was a +doddering old fellow who was quite apt to forget his head. Consequently +he was vastly relieved when the mail arrived and Elizabeth brought the +familiar 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 to +separate 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 rather +touchy about the thing. I want people to know that you and I have agreed +on making Terry the heir to the ranch. I don't want anyone to suspect +that 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 the +envelope." + +"But wait a minute, Elizabeth. It might anger Terry to have even his +business 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 over +the matter. "Do you know, Vance, that sometimes I feel as if the whole +world 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's +festivities. Aunt Elizabeth shifted the burden of the entertainment onto +the capable shoulders of Vance, who could please these Westerners when he +chose. Tonight he decidedly chose. Elizabeth had never see him in such +high spirits. He could flirt good-humoredly and openly across the table +at Nelly, or else turn and draw an anecdote from Nelly's father. He kept +the reins in his hands and drove the talk along so smoothly that +Elizabeth could sit in gloomy silence, unnoticed, at the farther end of +the table. Her mind was up yonder in the room of Terry. + +Something had happened, and it had come through that long business +envelope with the typewritten address that seemed so harmless. One +reading of the contents had brought Terry out of his chair with an +exclamation. Then, without explanation of any sort, he had gone to his +room and stayed there. She would have followed to find out what was the +matter, but the requirements of dinner and her guests kept her +downstairs. + +Immediately after dinner Vance, at a signal from her, dexterously herded +everyone into the living room and distributed them in comfort around the +big fireplace; Elizabeth Cornish bolted straight for the room of Terence. +She knocked and tried the door. To her astonishment, the knob turned, but +the 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 things +about Terry were great things to Elizabeth. In twenty-four years he had +never locked his door. What could it mean? + +It was a moment before she could call, and she waited breathlessly. She +was reassured by a quiet voice that answered her: "Just a moment. I'll +open." + +The tone was so matter-of-fact that her heart, with one leap, came back +to normal and tears of relief misted her eyes for an instant. Perhaps he +was up here working out a surprise for the next day--he was full of +tricks and surprises. That was unquestionably it. And he took so long in +coming to the door because he was hiding the thing he had been working +on. As for food, Wu Chi was his slave and would have smuggled a tray up +to him. Presently the lock turned and the door opened. + +She could not see his face distinctly at first, the light was so strong +behind him. Besides, she was more occupied in looking for the tray of +food which would assure her that Terry was not suffering from some mental +crisis that had made him forget even dinner. She found the tray, sure +enough, but the food had not been touched. + +She turned on him with a new rush of alarm. And all her fears were +realized. Terry had been fighting a hard battle and he was still +fighting. 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 an +article clipped out of a magazine. She looked down at it with unseeing +eyes. The sheets were already much crumbled. Terry turned them to a full- +page picture, and Elizabeth found herself looking down into the face of +Black Jack, proud, handsome, defiant. + +Had Vance been there, he might have recognized her actions. As she had +done one day twenty-four years ago, now she turned and dropped heavily +into a chair, her bony hands pressed to her shallow bosom. A moment later +she 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 tell +by 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, are +you?" + +"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 with +short 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 mental +processes through which he had been going. Who in all the reaches of the +mountain desert had ever before dreamed of terming the killing of the +notorious 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 sharply +on his face and on the photograph which he held beside his head. He +caught up a sombrero and jammed it jauntily on his head. He tilted his +face high, with resolute chin. And all at once there were two Black +Jacks, not one. He evidently saw all the admission that he cared for in +her face. He took off the hat with a dragging motion and replaced the +photograph on the table. + +"I tried it in the mirror," he said quietly. "I wasn't quite sure until I +tried 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 old +blood!" + +He made himself smile at her, and Elizabeth trembled. "If I could +explain--" she began. + +"Ah, what is there to explain, Aunt Elizabeth? Except that you have been +a thousand times kinder to me than I dreamed before. Why, I--I actually +thought that you were rather honored by having a Colby under your roof. I +really 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 her +mournful eyes on his face. + +"Whatever your name may be, that doesn't change the man who wears the +name." + +He laughed softly. "And you've been teaching me steadily for twenty-four +years that blood will tell? You can't change like this. Oh, I understand +it perfectly. You determined to make me over. You determined to destroy +my heritage and put the name of the fine old Colbys in its place. It was +a brave thing to try, and all these years how you must have waited, and +waited to see how I would turn out, dreading every day some outbreak of +the bad blood! Ah, you have a nerve of steel, Aunt Elizabeth! How have +you 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 send +for me?" + +"I've been busy doing a thing that no one could help me with. I've been +burning my dreams." He pointed to a smoldering heap of ashes on the +hearth. + +"Terry!" + +"Yes, all the Colby pictures that I've been collecting for the past +fifteen years. I burned 'em. They don't mean anything to anyone else, and +certainly they have ceased to mean anything to me. But when I came to +Anthony Colby--the eighteen-twelve man, you know, the one who has always +been my hero--it went pretty hard. I felt as if--I were burning my own +personality. As a matter of fact, in the last couple of hours I've been +born over again." + +Terry paused. "And births are painful, Aunt Elizabeth!" + +At that she cried out and caught his hand. "Terry dear! Terry dear! You +break my heart!" + +"I don't mean to. You mustn't think that I'm pitying myself. But I want +to know the real name of my father. He must have had some name other than +Black 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. Blood +will tell. I know that I'm not all bad, and there must have been good in +Black Jack. I want to know all about him. I want to know about--his +crimes." + +He labored through a fierce moment of silent struggle while her heart +went helplessly out to him. + +"Because--I had a hand in every one of those crimes! Everything that he +did 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 do +that? Will you wait till tomorrow night, Terry? I'm going to have a long +talk with you then, about many things. And I want you to keep this in +mind always. No matter how long you live, the influence of the Colbys +will never go out of your life. And neither will my influence, I hope. If +there 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 have +entered into your make-up. They're just as much a part of you as his +blood." + +"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 in +the shadowy hall. Then he touched her arm, suddenly grown serious. + +"What's wrong, Elizabeth?" + +Her voice was low, vibrating with fierceness. And Vance blessed the +dimness of the hall, for he could feel the blood recede from his face and +the sweat stand on his forehead. + +"Vance, if you've done what I think you've done, you're lower than a +snake, and more poisonous and more treacherous. And I'll cut you out of +my heart and my life. You know what I mean?" + +It was really the first important crisis that he had ever faced. And now +his heart grew small, cold. He knew, miserably, his own cowardice. And +like all cowards, he fell back on bold lying to carry him through. It was +a triumph that he could make his voice steady--more than steady. He could +even throw the right shade of disgust into it. + +"Is this another one of your tantrums, Elizabeth? By heavens, I'm growing +tired of 'em. You continually throw in my face that you hold the strings +of 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 carried +home to her; there was just a sufficient edge of truth to wound her. Had +there been much light, she could have read his face; the dimness of the +hall was saving Vance, and he knew it. + +"God knows I'd like to believe that you haven't had anything to do with +it. But you and I are the only two people in the world who know the +secret of it--" + +He pretended to guess. "It's something about Terence? Something about his +father?" + +Again she was disarmed. If he were guilty, it was strange that he should +approach the subject so openly. And she began to doubt. + +"Vance, he knows everything! Everything except the real name of Black +Jack!" + +"Good heavens!" + +She strained her eyes through the shadows to make out his real +expression; but there seemed to be a real horror in his restrained +whisper. + +"It isn't possible, Elizabeth!" + +"It came in that letter. That letter I wanted to open, and which you +persuaded me not to!" She mustered all her damning facts one after +another. "And it was postmarked from Craterville. Vance, you have been in +Craterville lately!" + +He seemed to consider. + +"Could I have told anyone? Could I, possibly? No, Elizabeth, I'll give +you my word of honor that I've never spoken a syllable about that subject +to 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 her +recede from her aggressiveness. + +"It was dated after you left Craterville, of course. And--I can't stand +imagining 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 Jack +that happens to look as much like Terry as two peas." + +"Then I have it! If the picture looks like Terry, someone took it for +granted that he'd be interested in the similarity. That's why it was +sent. Unless they told him that he was really Black Jack's son. Did the +person who sent the letter do that?" + +"There was no letter. Only a magazine clipping and the photograph of the +painting." + +They were both silent. Plainly she had dismissed all idea of her +brother'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. Sooner +or 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'll +help me to keep Terry in hand for the next few days? You see, he declared +that 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, my +dear." + +She pressed his hand in silence. + +"I'm going up to talk with him now," he said. "I'm going to do what I can +with him. You go in and talk. And don't let them see that anything is +wrong." + +The door had not been locked again. He entered at the call of Terry and +found him leaning over the hearth stirring up the pile of charred paper +to make it burn more freely. A shadow crossed the face of Terry as he saw +his visitor, but he banished it at once and rose to greet him. In his +heart Vance was a little moved. He went straight to the younger man and +took his hand. + +"Elizabeth has told me," he said gently, and he looked with a moist eye +into the face of the man who, if his plans worked out, would be either +murderer or murdered before the close of the next day. "I am very sorry, +Terence." + +"I thought you came to congratulate me," said Terry, withdrawing his +hand. + +"Congratulate you?" echoed Vance, with unaffected astonishment. + +"For having learned the truth," said Terry. "Also, for having a father +who 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 in +that way, I do congratulate you, Terence!" + +"You've always hated me, Uncle Vance," Terry declared. "I've known it all +these years. And I'll do without your congratulations." + +"You're wrong, Terry," said Vance. He kept his voice mild. "You're very +wrong. But I'm old enough not to take offense at what a young spitfire +says." + +"I suppose you are," retorted Terry, in a tone which implied that he +himself would never reach that age. + +"And when a few years run by," went on Vance, "you'll change your +viewpoint. In the meantime, my boy, let me give you this warning. No +matter what you think about me, it is Elizabeth who counts." + +"Thanks. You need have no fear about my attitude to Aunt Elizabeth. You +ought to know that I love her, and respect her." + +"Exactly. But you're headstrong, Terry. Very headstrong. And so is +Elizabeth. Take your own case. She took you into the family for the sake +of a theory. Did you know that?" + +The boy stiffened. "A theory?" + +"Quite so. She wished to prove that blood, after all, was more talk than +a vital influence. So she took you in and gave you an imaginary line of +ancestors with which you were entirely contented. But, after all, it has +been 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. "Perhaps +you're right. I don't know. Perhaps you're right." + +"And if her theory is proved wrong--look out, Terry! She'll throw you out +of 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. I +have 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 he +retired 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 not +be punished. He would turn Terry into a corpse or a killer, and in either +case the youngster would never dream who had dealt the blow. + +No wonder, then, as he went downstairs, that he stepped onto the veranda +for a few moments. The moon was just up beyond Mount Discovery; the +valley unfolded like a dream. Never had the estate seemed so charming to +Vance Cornish, for he felt that his hand was closing slowly around his +inheritance. + + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +The sleep of the night seemed to blot out the excitement of the preceding +evening. A bright sun, a cool stir of air, brought in the next morning, +and certainly calamity had never seemed farther from the Cornish ranch +than it did on this day. All through the morning people kept arriving in +ones and twos. Every buckboard on the place was commissioned to haul the +guests around the smooth roads and show them the estate; and those who +preferred were furnished with saddle horses from the stable to keep their +own mounts fresh for their return trip. Vance took charge of the wagon +parties; Terence himself guided the horsemen, and he rode El Sangre, a +flashing 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, he +was 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 for +his great results. No less a person than Sheriff Joe Minter galloped up +and threw his reins before the veranda. He approached Elizabeth with a +high flourish of his hat and a profound bow, for Uncle Joe Minter +affected the mannered courtesy of the "Southern" school. Vance had them +in profile from the side, and his nervous glance flickered from one to +the other. The sheriff was plainly pleased with what he had seen on his +way up Bear Creek. He was also happy to be present at so large a +gathering. But to Elizabeth his coming was like a death. Her brother +could tell the difference between her forced cordiality and the real +thing. She had his horse put up; presented him to the few people whom he +had not met, and then left him posing for the crowd of admirers. Life to +the 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 here +for the party; he hardly knows us." + +"No, no! Not that! But don't you remember? Don't you remember what Joe +Minter did?" + +"Good Lord!" gasped Vance, apparently just recalling. "He killed Black +Jack! 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 man +you'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 insult +with gunplay. We must simply keep them apart. Keep the sheriff from +talking." + +"Keep rain from falling!" groaned Elizabeth. "Vance, if you won't do +anything, 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 with +Machiavellian smoothness. "If Terry saw the man who killed his father, +all his twenty-four years of training would go up in smoke and the blood +of 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 think +he 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 would +I. But if the sheriff stays here, I feel that I'm going to win the bet +that I made twenty-four years ago. You remember? That Terry would shoot a +man before he was twenty-five?" + +"Have I ever forgotten?" she said huskily. "Have I ever let it go out of +my mind? But it isn't the danger of Terry shooting. It's the danger of +Terry being shot. If he should reach for a gun against the sheriff--that +professional mankiller--Vance, something has to be done!" + +"Right," he nodded. "I wouldn't trust Terry in the face of such a +temptation 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've +spent twenty-four years training him. If he isn't what he ought to be +now, 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 after +what I've done for him, then he's a hopeless case. The sheriff shall +stay! The sheriff shall stay!" + +She kept repeating it, as though the repetition of the phrase might bring +her courage. And then she went back among her guests. + +As for Vance, he remained skillfully in the background that day. It was +peculiarly vital, this day of all days, that he should not be much in +evidence. No one must see in him a controlling influence. + +In the meantime he watched his sister with a growing admiration and with +a growing concern. Instantly she had a problem on her hands. For the +moment Terence heard that the great sheriff himself had joined the party, +he was filled with happiness. Vance watched them meet with a heart +swelling with happiness and surety of success. Straight through a group +came Terry, weaving his way eagerly, and went up to the sheriff. Vance +saw 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 least +determined to be present at it. She came up with Terence and presented +him. + +"Sheriff Minter, this is Terence Colby." + +"I've heard of you, Colby," said the sheriff kindly. And he waited for a +response 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 drifting +around a tolerable long time, I guess." + +"Why," said Terry, with a sort of outburst, "I've simply eaten up +everything 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 who +might learn how broadly the fame of their sheriff was spread. + +"That Canning fellow who travelled out West and ran into you and was +along 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 all +that gent's questions, I recollect. Yep, he was along when I took the +Garrison 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. Perhaps +you'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 hand +at 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 story +by--the kind of stories I got to tell," he declared. "Some of these days +I'll take you along with me on a trail, son, if you'd like--and most like +I'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 a +revolver, too." + +"I practice hard," said Terry frankly. "I love guns." + +"Good things to love, and good things to hate, too," philosophized the +sheriff. "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 with +a hoss under him, and a pair of Colts strapped to his waist, and made his +own 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 get +together. 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 El +Sangre, 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 his +mane 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 see +you. You can take the sheriff out to see El Sangre later. Besides, half a +dozen 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 real +Sheriff Minter. Do you mind?" + +"Pshaw," said the sheriff. "I ain't no kind of a hand at talking to the +womenfolk. 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 won +the first engagement, but Vance was still confident. The dinner table +would tell the tale. + + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +Elizabeth left the ordering of the guests at the table to Vance, and she +consulted 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 a +small porch, and below the porch was the garden which had been the pride +of Henry Cornish. Beside the tall glass doors which led out onto the +porch she reviewed the seating plans of Vance. "You at this end and I at +the other," he said. "I've put the sheriff beside you, and right across +from the sheriff is Nelly. She ought to keep him busy. The old idiot has +a weakness for pretty girls, and the younger the better, it seems. Next +to the sheriff is Mr. Gainor. He's a political power, and what time the +sheriff doesn't spend on you and on Nelly he certainly will give to +Gainor. The arrangement of the rest doesn't matter. I simply worked to +get the sheriff well-pocketed and keep him under your eye." + +"But why not under yours, Vance? You're a thousand times more diplomatic +than I am." + +"I wouldn't take the responsibility, for, after all, this may turn out to +be 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'll +have them practically facing each other." + +It was the main thing he was striving to attain. He placated her +carefully. + +"I had to. There's a danger. But the advantage is huge. You'll be there +between them, you might say. You can keep the table talk in hand at that +end. Flash me a signal if you're in trouble, and I'll fire a question +down the table at the sheriff or Terry, and get their attention. In the +meantime you can draw Terry into talk with you if he begins to ask the +sheriff what you consider leading questions. In that way, you'll keep the +talk a thousand leagues away from the death of Black Jack." + +He gained his point without much more trouble. Half an hour later the +table was surrounded by the guests. It was a table of baronial +proportions, but twenty couples occupied every inch of the space easily. +Vance found himself a greater distance than he could have wished from the +scene of danger, and of electrical contact. + +At least four zones of cross-fire talk intervened, and the talk at the +farther end of the table was completely lost to him, except when some new +and amazing dish, a triumph of Wu Chi's fabrication, was brought on, and +an appreciative wave of silence attended it. + +Or again, the mighty voice of the sheriff was heard to bellow forth in +laughter of heroic proportions. + +Aside from that, there was no information he could gather except by his +eyes. And chiefly, the face of Elizabeth. He knew her like a book in +which he had often read. Twice he read the danger signals. When the great +roast was being removed, he saw her eyes widen and her lips contract a +trifle, and he knew that someone had come very close to the danger line +indeed. Again when dessert was coming in bright shoals on the trays of +the Chinese servants, the glance of his sister fixed on him down the +length of the table with a grim appeal. He made a gesture of +helplessness. Between them four distinct groups into which the table talk +had divided were now going at full blast. He could hardly have made +himself heard at the other end of the table without shouting. + +Yet that crisis also passed away. Elizabeth was working hard, but as the +meal progressed toward a close, he began to worry. It had seemed +impossible that the sheriff could actually sit this length of time in +such an assemblage without launching into the stories for which he was +famous. Above all, he would be sure to tell how he had started on his +career as a manhunter by relating how he slew Black Jack. + +Once the appalling thought came to Vance that the story must have been +told during one of those moments when his sister had shown alarm. The +crisis might be over, and Terry had indeed showed a restraint which was a +credit to Elizabeth's training. But by the hunted look in her eyes, he +knew that the climax had not yet been reached, and that she was +continually fighting it away. + +He writhed with impatience. If he had not been a fool, he would have +taken that place himself, and then he could have seen to it that the +sheriff, with dexterous guiding, should approach the fatal story. As it +was, how could he tell that Elizabeth might not undo all his plans and +cleverly keep the sheriff away from his favorite topic for an untold +length of time? But as he told his sister, he wished to place all the +seeming responsibility on her own shoulders. Perhaps he had played too +safe. + +The first ray of hope came to him as coffee was brought in. The +prodigious eating of the cattlemen and miners at the table had brought +them to a stupor. They no longer talked, but puffed with unfamiliar +awkwardness at the fine Havanas which Vance had provided. Even the women +talked less, having worn off the edge of the novelty of actually dining +at the table of Elizabeth Cornish. And since the hostess was occupied +solely with the little group nearest her, and there was no guiding mind +to pick up the threads of talk in each group and maintain it, this duty +fell more and more into the hands of Vance. He took up his task with +pleasure. + +Farther and farther down the table extended the sphere of his mild +influence. He asked Mr. Wainwright to tell the story of how he treed the +bear so that the tenderfoot author could come and shoot it. Mr. +Wainwright responded with gusto. The story was a success. He varied it by +requesting young Dobel to describe the snowslide which had wiped out the +Vorheimer shack the winter before. + +Young Dobel did well enough to make the men grunt at the end, and he +brought several little squeals of horror from the ladies. + +All of this was for a purpose. Vance was setting the precedent, and they +were becoming used to hearing stories. At the end of each tale the +silence of expectation was longer and wider. Finally, it reached the +other end of the table, and suddenly the sheriff discovered that tales +were going the rounds, and that he had not yet been heard. He rolled his +eye with an inward look, and Vance knew that he was searching for some +smooth 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 with +the accuracy of a marksman, and beat up a drumfire of responses from the +ladies 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 Vance +began to despair of ever effecting his goal, the silence began again as +lady after lady ran out of material for the nonce. And as the silence +spread, the sheriff was visibly gathering steam. + +Again Elizabeth cut in. But this time there was only a sporadic +chattering in response. Coffee was steaming before them, Wu Chi's +powerful, thick, aromatic coffee, which only he knew how to make. They +were in a mood, now, to hear stories, that tableful of people. An +expected ally came to the aid of Vance. It was Terence, who had been +eating 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 Johnny +Garden. But I've never had the straight of it. Won't you tell us how it +happened?" + +"Oh," protested the sheriff, "it don't amount to much." + +Elizabeth cast one frantic glance at her brother, and strove to edge into +the interval of silence with a question directed at Mr. Gainor. But he +shelved that question; the whole table was obviously waiting for the +great 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 tell +you just how it come about." + +There followed a long story of how Johnny Garden had announced that he +would ride down and shoot up the sheriff's own town, and then get away on +the sheriff's own horse--and how he did it. And how the sheriff was +laughed at heartily by the townsfolk, and how the whole mountain district +joined in the laughter. And how he started out single-handed in the +middle of winter to run down Johnny Garden, and struck through the +mountains, was caught above the timberline in a terrific blizzard, kept +on in peril of his life until he barely managed to reach the timber again +on the other side of the ridge. How he descended upon the hiding-place of +Johnny Garden, found Johnny gone, but his companions there, and made a +bargain with them to let them go if they would consent to stand by and +offer 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, they +stood aside and let Johnny and the sheriff fight it out. How the sheriff +beat Johnny to the draw, but was wounded in the left arm while Johnny +fired a second shot as he lay dying on the floor of the lean-to. How the +sheriff's wound was dressed by the companions of the dead Johnny, and how +he was safely dismissed with honor, as between brave men, and how +afterwards he hunted those same men down one by one. + +It was quite a long story, but the audience followed it with a breathless +interest. + +"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 the +son of a minister brung up plumb peaceful. Now, would you?" + +And again, to the intense joy of Vance, it was Terry who brought the +subject back, and this time the subject of all subjects which Elizabeth +dreaded, 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 a +glance of frantic and weary appeal, to which he responded with a gesture +which indicated that the cause was lost. + +"I was brung up mighty proper. I had a most amazing lot of prayers at the +tip of my tongue when I wasn't no more'n knee-high to a grasshopper. But +when 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 to +smother it, and stop me by saying: 'Don't!' Which don't accomplish +nothing with young gents that got any spirit. Not a damn thing--asking +your 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 and +getting pretty near ready to bust. + +"Well, sirs, pretty soon--we was living in Garrison City them days, when +Garrison wasn't near the town that it is now--along comes word that Jack +Hollis is around. A lot of you younger folks ain't never heard nothing +about him. But in his day Jack Hollis was as bad as they was made. They +was nothing that Jack wouldn't turn to real handy, from shootin' up a +town to sticking up a train or a stage. And he done it all just about as +well. He was one of them universal experts. He could blow a safe as neat +as you'd ask. And if it come to a gun fight, he was greased lightning +with a flying start. That was Jack Hollis." + +The sheriff paused to draw breath. + +"Perhaps," said Elizabeth Cornish, white about the lips, "we had better +go 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 point +of utter desperation. And on the way into the living room unquestionably +she would be able to divert Terry to something else. Vance held his +breath. + +And it was Terry who signed his own doom. + +"We're very comfortable here, Aunt Elizabeth. Let's not go in till the +sheriff has finished his story." + +The sheriff rewarded him with a flash of gratitude, and Vance settled +back in his chair. The end could not, now, be far away. + + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +"I was saying," proceeded the sheriff, "that they scared their babies in +these 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 stories +about the generosity of--" + +He was anxious to put in the name of Black Jack, since the sheriff was +sticking so close to "Jack Hollis," which was a name that Terry had not +yet heard for his dead father. But before he could get out the name, the +sheriff, angry at the interruption, resumed the smooth current of his +tale with a side flash at Vance. + +"Not all bad, you say? Generous? Sure he was generous. Them that live +outside the law has got to be generous to keep a gang around 'em. Not +that Hollis ever played with a gang much, but he had hangers-on all over +the mountains and gents that he had done good turns for and hadn't gone +off and talked about it. But that was just common sense. He knew he'd +need friends that he could trust if he ever got in trouble. If he was +wounded, 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 apt +to cotton to. He was free with his money. He dressed like a dandy. He'd +gamble with hundreds, and then give back half of his winnings if he'd +broke the gent that run the bank. Them was the sort of things that Jack +Hollis would do. And I had my head full of him. Well, about the time that +he come to the neighborhood, I sneaked out of the house one night and +went off to a dance with a girl that I was sweet on. And when I come +back, I found Dad waiting up for me ready to skin me alive. He tried to +give me a clubbing. I kicked the stick out of his hands and swore that +I'd leave and never come back. Which I never done, living up to my word +proper. + +"But when I found myself outside in the night, I says to myself: 'Where +shall I go now?' + +"And then, being sort of sick at the world, and hating Dad particular, I +decided to go out and join Jack Hollis. I was going to go bad. Mostly to +cut 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 sure +not to be no officer of the law. Besides, they didn't go out single and +hunt for Hollis. They went in gangs of a half a dozen at a time, or more +if they could get 'em. And even then they mostly got cleaned up when they +cornered Hollis. Yes, sir, he made life sad for the sheriffs in them +parts that he favored most. + +"I found Jack toasting bacon over a fire. He had two gents with him, and +they brung me in, finding me sneaking around like a fool kid instead of +walking right into camp. Jack sized me up a minute. He was a fine-looking +boy, was Hollis. He gimme a look out of them fine black eyes of his which +I won't never forget. Aye, a handsome scoundrel, that Hollis!" + +Elizabeth Cornish sank back in her chair and covered her eyes with her +hands for a moment. To the others it seemed that she was merely rubbing +weary 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 with +sparkling 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 I +knew that he was a no-good, man-killing, heartless sort. I told him right +off that I wanted to join him. I even up and give him an exhibition of +shooting. + +"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 to +fight your way.' + +"'Any fool can fight,' says Jack Hollis. 'But a gent with any sense don't +have to fight. You can lay to that, son!' + +"'Don't call me son,' says I. 'I'm older than you was when you started +out.' + +"I'd had my heart busted before I started,' says Jack Hollis to me. 'Are +you 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 rest +of that night. The next day I loafed around town not hardly noways +knowing what I was going to do. + +"Then I was loafing around with my rifle, like I was going out on a +hunting trip that afternoon. And pretty soon I heard a lot of noise +coming down the street, guns and what not. I look out the window and +there comes Jack Hollis, hellbent! Jack Hollis! And then it pops into my +head that they was a big price, for them days, on Jack's head. I picked +up 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 her +in amazement. She mustered a smile. The story went on. + +"When Jack turned to blaze away at them that was piling out around the +corner of the street, I let the gun go, and I drilled him clean. Great +sensation, gents, to have a life under your trigger. Just beckon one mite +of an inch and a life goes scooting up to heaven or down to hell. I never +got over seeing Hollis spill sidewise out of that saddle. There he was a +minute before better'n any five men when it come to fighting. And now he +wasn't nothing but a lot of trouble to bury. Just so many pounds of +flesh. You see? Well, sir, the price on Black Jack set me up in life and +gimme my start. After that I sort of specialized in manhunting, and I've +kept on ever since." + +Terry leaned across the table, his left arm outstretched to call the +sheriff'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's +tale. But there was something in the tone of the boy that cut through the +talk to its root. People were suddenly looking at him out of eyes which +were very wide indeed. And it was not hard to find a reason. His handsome +face was colorless, like a carving from the stone, and under his knitted +brows his black eyes were ominous in the shadow. The sheriff frankly +gaped at him. It was another man who sat across the table in the chair +where 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 mostly +called 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 of +one 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 the +sheriff, and it was obvious that he was making his speech to one pair of +ears 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 my +name. After what the sheriff has just told you it may be of interest to +know that my real name is Hollis. Terence Hollis is my name and my father +was Jack Hollis, commonly known as Black Jack, it seems from the story of +the sheriff. I also wish to say that I am announcing my parentage not +because I wish to apologize for it--in spite of the rather remarkable +narrative of the sheriff--but because I am proud of it." + +He lifted his head while he spoke. And his eye went boldly, calmly down +the table. + +"This could not have been expected before, because none of you knew my +father's name. I confess that I did not know it myself until a very short +time ago. Otherwise I should not have listened to the sheriff's story +until the end. Hereafter, however, when any of you are tempted to talk +about Black or Jack Hollis, remember that his son is alive--and in good +health!" + +He hung in his place for an instant as though he were ready to hear a +reply. But the table was stunned. Then Terry turned on his heel and left +the room. + +It was the signal for a general upstarting from the table, a pushing back +of chairs, a gathering around Elizabeth Cornish. She was as white as +Terry had been while he talked. But there was a gathering excitement in +her eye, and happiness. The sheriff was full of apologies. He would +rather have had his tongue torn out by the roots than to have offended +her or the young man with his story. + +She waved the sheriff's apology aside. It was unfortunate, but it could +not have been helped. They all realized that. She guided her guests into +the living room, and on the way she managed to drift close to her +brother. + +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 man +stunned or walking in his sleep. Not until he stepped into the familiar +room did the blood begin to return to his face, and with the warmth there +was a growing sensation of uneasiness. + +Something was wrong. Something had to be righted. Gradually his mind +cleared. The thing that was wrong was that the man who had killed his +father was now under the same roof with him, had shaken his hand, had sat +in bland complacency and looked in his face and told of the butchery. + +Butchery it was, according to Terry's standards. For the sake of the +price on the head of the outlaw, young Minter had shoved his rifle across +a window sill, taken his aim, and with no risk to himself had shot down +the wild rider. His heart stood up in his throat with revulsion at the +thought of it. Murder, horrible, and cold-blooded, the more horrible +because 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 of +light on the barrels. Then he knew. He selected his favorite Colt and +drew it out. It was loaded, and the action in perfect condition. Many and +many an hour he had practiced and blazed away hundreds of rounds of +ammunition with it. It responded to his touch like a muscular part of his +own body. + +He shoved it under his coat, and walking down the stairs again the chill +of the steel worked through to his flesh. He went back to the kitchen and +called 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 what +you'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 that +Mr. Harkness is waiting for them outside and wishes to see them on +business of the most urgent nature. It will only be the matter of a +moment. Now go. Gainor and the sheriff. Don't forget." + +He received a scared glance, and then went out onto the veranda and sat +down to wait. + +That was the right way, he felt. His father would have called the sheriff +to the door, in a similar situation, and after one brief challenge they +would have gone for their guns. But there was another way, and that was +the 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 a +hum of the screen as it slammed. Steps approached him. He got up from the +chair and faced them, Gainor and the sheriff. The sheriff had +instinctively put on his hat, like a man who does not understand the open +air with an uncovered head. But Gainor was uncovered, and his white hair +glimmered. + +He was a tall, courtly old fellow. His ceremonious address had won him +much political influence. Men said that Gainor was courteous to a dog, +not because he respected the dog, but because he wanted to practice for a +man. He had always the correct rejoinder, always did the right thing. He +had a thin, stern face and a hawk nose that gave him a cast of ferocity +in 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 my +business is very urgent, and I have a very particular reason for not +wishing to have it known that I have called you out." + +The moment he rose out of the chair and faced them, Gainor had stopped +short. He was quite capable of fast thinking, and now his glance +flickered from Terry to the sheriff and back again. It was plain that he +had shrewd suspicions as to the purpose behind that call. The sheriff was +merely confused. He flushed as much as his tanned-leather skin permitted. +As for Terry, the moment his glance fell on the sheriff he felt his +muscles jump into hard ridges, and an almost uncontrollable desire to go +at the throat of the other seized him. He quelled that desire and fought +it 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 picture +of the sheriff out of his brain. But the desire to leap at the tall man +was as consuming as the passion for water in the desert. And with a +shudder of horror he found himself without a moral scruple. Just behind +the thin partition of his will power there was a raging fury to get at +Joe Minter. He wanted to kill. He wanted to snuff that life out as the +life of Black Jack Hollis had been snuffed. + +He excluded the sheriff deliberately from his attention and turned fully +upon Gainor. + +"Mr. Gainor, will you be kind enough to go over to that grove of spruce +where the three of us can talk without any danger of interruption?" + +Of course, that speech revealed everything. Gainor stiffened a little and +the tuft of beard which ran down to a point on his chin quivered and +jutted out. The sheriff seemed to feel nothing more than a mild surprise +and curiosity. And the three went silently, side by side, under the +spruce. They were glorious trees, strong of trunk and nobly proportioned. +Their tops were silver-bright in the sunshine. Through the lower branches +the light was filtered through layer after layer of shadow, until on the +ground there were only a few patches of light here and there, and these +were no brighter than silver moonshine, and seemed to be without heat. +Indeed, in the mild shadow among the trees lay the chill of the mountain +air which seems to lurk in covert places waiting for the night. + +It might have been this chill that made Terry button his coat closer +about him and tremble a little as he entered the shadow. The great trunks +shut out the world in a scattered wall. There was a narrow opening here +among the trees at the very center. The three were in a sort of gorge of +which the solemn spruce trees furnished the sides, the cold blue of the +mountain skies was just above the lofty tree-tips, and the wind kept the +pure fragrance of the evergreens stirring about them. The odor is the +soul of the mountains. A great surety had come to Terry that this was the +last place he would ever see on earth. He was about to die, and he was +glad, 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, who +was very grave, indeed, and returned his look with one of infinite pity, +as though he knew and understood and acquiesced, but was deeply grieved +that it must be so. + +"Gentlemen," said Terry, making his voice light and cheerful as he felt +that 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 slightest +chance of killing this professional manslayer, but at least he would do +his best--for the sake of Black Jack's memory. But to think that his +life--his mind--his soul--all that was dear to him and all that he was +dear to, should ever lie at the command of the trigger of this hard, +crafty, vain, and unimportant fellow! He writhed at the thought. It made +him stand stiffer. His chin went up. He grew literally taller before +their eyes, and such a look came on his face that the sheriff +instinctively fell back a pace. + +"Mr. Gainor," said Terry, as though his contempt for the sheriff was too +great to permit his speaking directly to Minter, "will you explain to the +sheriff that my determination to have satisfaction does not come from the +fact 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 that +thought, there is only one thing to do. One of us must not leave this +place!" Gainor bowed, but the sheriff gaped. + +"By the eternal!" he scoffed. "This sounds like one of them duels of the +old days. This was the way they used to talk!" + +"Gentlemen," said Gainor, raising his long-fingered hand, "it is my +solemn duty to admonish you to make up your differences amicably." + +"Whatever that means," sneered the sheriff. "But tell this young fool +that's trying to act like he couldn't see me or hear me--tell him that I +don'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 to +say I'm sorry that I done all that talking right to his face. But farther +than 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 you +that, and don't you never forget it!" + +Mr. Gainor had remained with his hand raised during this outbreak. Now he +turned to Terry. + +"You have heard?" he said. "I think the sheriff is going quite a way +toward you, Mr. Colby." + +"Hollis!" gasped Terry. "Hollis is the name, sir!" + +"I beg your pardon," said Gainor. "Mr. Hollis it is! Gentlemen, I assure +you that I feel for you both. It seems, however, to be one of those +unfortunate affairs when the mind must stop its debate and physical +action must take up its proper place. I lament the necessity, but I admit +it, even though the law does not admit it. But there are unwritten laws, +sirs, unwritten laws which I for one consider among the holies of +holies." + +Palpably the old man was enjoying every minute of his own talk. It was +not his first affair of this nature. He came out of an early and more +courtly generation where men drank together in the evening by firelight +and carved one another in the morning with glimmering bowie knives. + +"You are both," he protested, "dear to me. I esteem you both as men and +as good citizens. And I have done my best to open the way for peaceful +negotiations toward an understanding. It seems that I have failed. Very +well, 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 tree +trunk 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 white +handkerchief. 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 shall +shoot down unquestioningly, like a dog. I give you my solemn word for +it!" + +And his eye informed them that he would enjoy the job. + +He continued smoothly: "This contest shall accord with the only terms by +which a duel with guns can be properly fought. You will stand back to +back with your guns not displayed, but in your clothes. At my word you +will start walking in the opposite directions until my command 'Turn!' +and at this command you will wheel, draw your guns, and fire until one +man falls--or both!" + +He sent his revolver through a peculiar, twirling motion and shook back +his 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 to +revive the happiness of her guests, but she herself was a prey to the +same subdued excitement which showed in the faces of the others. A +restraint had been taken away by the disappearance of both the storm +centers of the dinner--the sheriff and Terry. Therefore it was possible +to talk freely. And people talked. But not loudly. They were prone to +gather in little familiar groups and discuss in a whisper how Terry had +risen and spoken before them. Now and then someone, for the sake of +politeness, strove to open a general theme of conversation, but it died +away like a ripple on a placid pond. + +"But what I can't understand," said Elizabeth to Vance when she was able +to maneuver him to her side later on, "is why they seem to expect +something more." + +Vance was very grave and looked tired. The realization that all his +cunning, all his work, had been for nothing, tormented him. He had set +his trap and baited it, and it had worked perfectly--save that the teeth +of the trap had closed over thin air. At the denouement of the sheriff's +story there should have been the barking of two guns and a film of +gunpowder smoke should have gone tangling to the ceiling. Instead there +had been the formal little speech from Terry--and then quiet. Yet he had +to mask and control his bitterness; he had to watch his tongue in talking +with his sister. + +"You see," he said quietly, "they don't understand. They can't see how +fine Terry is in having made no attempt to avenge the death of his +father. I suppose a few of them think he's a coward. I even heard a +little talk to that effect!" + +"Impossible!" cried Elizabeth. + +She had not thought of this phase of the matter. All at once she hated +the sheriff. + +"It really is possible," said Vance. "You see, it's known that Terry +never fights if he can avoid it. There never has been any real reason for +fighting until today. But you know how gossip will put the most unrelated +facts together, and make a complete story in some way." + +"I wish the sheriff were dead!" moaned Elizabeth. "Oh, Vance, if you only +hadn't gone near Craterville! If you only hadn't distributed those +wholesale invitations!" + +It was almost too much for Vance--to be reproached after so much of the +triumph was on her side--such a complete victory that she herself would +never dream of the peril she and Terry had escaped. But he had to control +his irritation. In fact, he saw his whole life ahead of him carefully +schooled and controlled. He no longer had anything to sell. Elizabeth had +made a mock of him and shown him that he was hollow, that he was living +on her charity. He must all the days that she remained alive keep +flattering 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, who +disliked him pointedly, would then be the master, and he would face the +bitter necessity of cajoling the youngster whom he detested. A fine life, +truly! An almost noble anguish of the spirit came upon Vance. He was +urged to the very brink of the determination to thrust out into the world +and 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 to +be wholehearted in the Western way, my dear, and show that I had entered +into the spirit of things." + +"As a matter of fact," sighed Elizabeth, "you nearly ruined Terry's +life--and mine!" + +"Very near," said the penitent Vance. "But then--you see how well it has +turned out? Terry has taken the acid test, and now you can trust him +under any--" + +The words were literally blown off ragged at his lips. Two revolver shots +exploded at them. No one gun could have fired them. And there was a +terrible significance in the angry speed with which one had followed the +other, blending, so that the echo from the lofty side of Sleep Mountain +was but a single booming sound. In that clear air it was impossible to +tell the direction of the noise. + +Everyone in the room seemed to listen stupidly for a repetition of the +noises. But there was no repetition. + +"Vance," whispered Elizabeth in such a tone that the coward dared not +look 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 which +one?" + +That was it. Who had fallen--Terry, or the sheriff? A long, heavy step +crossed 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 to +my room to put some things together; and I'll go into town with any man +who wishes to arrest me. Decide that between yourselves." + +With that he turned and walked away with a step as deliberately unhurried +as his approach had been. The manner of the boy was more terrible than +the 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 was +being 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 as +formidable in the opinion of the mountains as some Achilles. It was +incredible 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 so +dreaded as that deep-throated murmur of angry, honest men. That murmur +from half a dozen law-abiding citizens will put the fear of death in the +hearts of a hundred outlaws. The rumble grew, spread: "Foul play." And +they 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, after +all. The time is not quite up--and you win the bet!" + +Vance shook his head as though in protest and struck his hand across his +face. 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 gave +wings 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 do +what 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. Before +Vance could answer, there was a confusion in the hall, running feet here +and there. They heard the hard, shrill voice of Wu Chi chattering +directions and the guttural murmurs of his fellow servants as they +answered. 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 through +it!" + +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 thrust +for the big doors that led into the hall. They cast the doors back and +came directly upon the tall, white-headed figure of Gainor. + + + +CHAPTER 15 + + +Gainor's dignity split the force of their rush. They recoiled as water +strikes on a rock and divides into two meager swirls. And when one or two +went 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 them +with a force of knowledge of things that they did not know. They were +remembering that this man had gone out with the sheriff to meet, +apparently, his death. And yet Gainor, a well-tried friend of the +sheriff, seemed unexcited. They had to answer his question, and how could +they lie when he saw them rushing through a door with revolvers coming to +brown, skillful hands? It was someone from the rear who made the +confession. + +"We're going to get young Black Jack!" + +That was it. The speech came out like the crack of a gun, clearing the +atmosphere. It told every man exactly what was in his own mind, felt but +not confessed. They had no grudge against Terry, really. But they were +determined to hang the son of Black Jack. Had it been a lesser deed, they +might have let him go. But his victim was too distinguished in their +society. He had struck down Joe Minter; the ghost of the great Black Jack +himself seemed to have stalked out among them. + +"You're going to get young Terry Hollis?" interpreted Gainor, and his +voice rose and rang over them. Those who had slipped past him on either +side came back and faced him. In the distance Elizabeth had not stirred. +Vance kept watching her face. It was cold as ice, unreadable. He could +not believe that she was allowing this lynching party to organize under +her own roof--a lynching party aimed at Terence. It began to grow in him +that he had gained a greater victory than he imagined. + +"If you aim at Terry," went on Gainor, his voice even louder, "you'll +have 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 stir +and murmur around Elizabeth. + +"Gentlemen," said Gainor, shaking his white hair back again in his +imposing 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 is +now badly wounded. I think that is all. Does anybody want to ask +questions about what has happened?" + +There was a bustle in the group of men. They were putting +away the weapons, not quite sure what they could do next. + +"I am going to tell you exactly what has happened," said Gainor. "You +heard the unfortunate things that passed at the table today. What the +sheriff said was not said as an insult; but under the circumstances it +became necessary for Terence Hollis to resent what he had heard. As a man +of 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 at +such things. The way of Gainor was a generation old. But there was +something so imposing about the old fellow, something which breathed the +very spirit of honor and fair play, that they could not argue the point. + +"Accordingly Mr. Hollis sent for the sheriff. Not to bring him outdoors +and shoot him down in a sudden gunplay, nor to take advantage of him +through a surprise--as a good many men would have been tempted to do, my +friends, for the sheriff has a wide reputation as a handler of guns of +all sorts. No, sir, he sent for me also, and he told us frankly that the +bad blood between him and the sheriff must be spent. You understand? By +the Lord, my friends, I admired the fine spirit of the lad. He expected +to be shot rather than to drop the sheriff. I could tell that by his +expression. But his eye did not falter. It carried me back to the old +days--to old days, sirs!" + +There was not a murmur in the entire room. The eye of Elizabeth Cornish +was fire. Whether with anger or pride, Vance could not tell. But he began +to worry. + +"We went over to the group of silver spruce near the house. I gave them +the directions. They came and stood together, back to back, with their +revolvers not drawn. They began to walk away in opposite directions at my +command. + +"When I called 'Turn,' they wheeled. My gun was ready to shoot down the +first man guilty of foul play--but there was no attempt to turn too soon, +before the signal. They whirled, snatching out their guns--and the +revolver 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 sheriff +could 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 as +he snapped about, the revolver was in his hand, not raised to draw a +bead, 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. He +dropped the muzzle of his gun--and waited. By heaven, my heart went out +to him. It was magnificent." + +The thin, strong hand of Elizabeth closed on the arm of Vance. "That was +a 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 to +flicker 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 beat +the sheriff to the trigger. The two shots came almost together, but the +sheriff was already falling when he pulled his trigger, and his aim was +wild. + +"He dropped on one side, the revolver flying out of his hand. I started +forward, and then I stopped. By heaven, the sheriff had stretched out his +arm and picked up his gun again. He was not through fighting. + +"A bulldog spirit, you say? Yes! And what could I do? It was the +sheriff's right to keep on fighting as long as he wished. And it was the +right of Terence to shoot the man full of holes the minute his hand +touched the revolver again. + +"I could only stand still. I saw the sheriff raise his revolver. It was +an effort of agony. But he was still trying to kill. And I nerved myself +and waited for the explosion of the gun of Terence. I say I nerved myself +for 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 in +the eye! + +"At that I shouted to him, I don't know what. I shouted to the sheriff +not to fire. Too late. The muzzle of the gun was already tilting up, the +barrel was straightening. And then the gun fell from Minter's hand and he +dropped 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 I +have ever seen in my life, and I have seen fine things done by gentlemen +before. There may be unpleasant associations with the name of Terry's +father. 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 a +gentleman, my friends! There is nothing for us to do. If the sheriff is +unfortunate and the wound should prove fatal, Terence will give himself +up to the law. If he lives, he will be the first to tell you to keep your +hands off the boy!" + +He ended in a little silence. But there was no appreciative burst of +applause from those who heard him. The fine courage of Terence was, to +them, merely the iron nerve of the man-killer, the keen eye and the +judicious mind which knew that the sheriff would collapse before he fired +his second shot. And his courtesy before the first shot was simply the +surety of the man who knew that no matter what advantage he gave to his +enemy, his own speed of hand would more than make up for it. + +Gainor, reading their minds, paid no more heed to them. He went straight +across the room and took the hand of Elizabeth. + +"Dear Miss Cornish," he said so that all could hear, "I congratulate you +for the man you have given us in Terence Hollis." + +Vance, watching, saw the tears of pleasure brighten the eyes of his +sister. + +"You are very kind," she said. "But now I must see Sheriff Minter and be +sure that everything is done for him." + +It seemed that the party took this as a signal for dismissal. As she went +across the room, there were a dozen hasty adieus, and soon the guests +were streaming towards the doors. + +Vance and Elizabeth and Gainor went to the sheriff. He had been installed +in a guest room. His eyes were closed, his arms outstretched. A thick, +telltale bandage was wrapped about his breast. And Wu Chi, skillful in +such matters from a long experience, was sliding about the room in his +whispering slippers. The sheriff did not open his eyes when Elizabeth +tried his pulse. It was faint, but steady. + +He had been shot through the body and the lungs grazed, for as he +breathed there was a faint bubble of blood that grew and swelled and +burst on his lips at every breath. But he lived, and he would live unless +there were an unnecessary change for the worse. They went softly out of +the room again. Elizabeth was grave. Mr. Gainor took her hand. + +"I think I know what people are saying now, and what they will say +hereafter. If Terry's father were any other than Hollis, this affair +would soon he forgotten, except as a credit to him. But even as it is, he +will live this matter down. I want to tell you again, Miss Cornish, that +you have reason to be proud of him. He is the sort of man I should be +proud to have in my own family. Madam, good-by. And if there is anything +in which I can be of service to you or to Terence, call on me at any time +and to any extent." + +And he went down the hall with a little swagger. Mr. Gainor felt that he +had 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 for +him in the library." + + + +CHAPTER 16 + + +Vance went gloomily to the room of Terry and called him out. The boy was +pale, but perfectly calm, and he looked older, much older. + +"There was a great deal of talk," said Vance--he must make doubly sure of +Terence now. "And they even started a little lynching party. But we +stopped all that. Gainor made a very nice little speech about you. And +now 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 of +you because of the way Gainor talked. You can't do anything wrong in my +sister'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'm +afraid 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 to +blurt that out to Elizabeth, do you? Let her think it was the +overwhelming passion of the moment; something like that. A woman likes to +be 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 a +moment." + +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 and +behind you in more ways than you'd ever guess." + +He received a grateful glance as they went down the broad stairs +together. At the door to the library Vance turned away, but Elizabeth +called to him and asked him in. He entered behind Terence Hollis, and +found Elizabeth sitting in her father's big chair under the window, +looking extremely fragile and very erect and proud. Across her lap was a +legal-looking document. + +Vance knew instantly that it was the will she had made up in favor of +Terence. He had been preparing himself for the worst, but at this his +heart sank. He lowered himself into a chair. Terence had gone straight to +Elizabeth. + +"I know I've done a thing that will cut you deeply, Aunt Elizabeth," he +said. "I'm not going to ask you to see any justice on my side. I only +want 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 of +Elizabeth was hard as iron. It brought a corresponding stiffening of +Terence. + +"I'm done," he said, with a certain ring to his voice that Vance was glad +to 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 thing +I'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 emotion +from Terence, her brother could not tell. But he knew that something of +importance was in the air. He scented it as clearly as the smoke of a +forest fire. + +"I thought," she said in her new and icy manner, "that that would be your +one regret." + +She looked suddenly up at Terence. + +"Twenty-four years," she said, "have passed since I took you into my +life. At that time I was told that I was doing a rash thing, a dangerous +thing--that before your twenty-fifth birthday the bad blood would out; +that you would, in short, have shot a man. And the prophecy has come +true. By an irony of chance it has happened on the very last day. And by +another irony you picked your victim from among the guests under my +roof!" + +"Victim?" cried Terry hoarsely. "Victim, Aunt Elizabeth?" + +"If you please," she said quietly, "not that name again, Terence. I wish +you to know exactly what I have done. Up to this time I have given you a +place in my affections. I have tried to the best of my skill to bring you +up with a fitting education. I have given you what little wisdom and +advice I have to give. Today I had determined to do much more. I had a +will made out--this is it in my hands--and by the terms of this will I +made you my heir--the heir to the complete Cornish estate aside from a +comfortable annuity to Vance." + +She looked him in the eye, ripped the will from end to end, and tossed +the fragments into the fire. There was a sharp cry from Vance, who sprang +to his feet. It was the thrill of an unexpected triumph, but his sister +took it for protest. + +"Vance, I haven't used you well, but from now on I'm going to change. As +for you, Terence, I don't want you near me any longer than may be +necessary. Understand that I expect to provide for you. I haven't raised +you merely to cast you down suddenly. I'm going to establish you in +business, see that you are comfortable, supply you with an income that's +respectable, and then let you drift where you will. + +"My own mind is made up about your end before you take a step across the +threshold of my house. But I'm still going to give you every chance. I +don't want to throw you out suddenly, however. Take your time. Make up +your mind what you want to do and where you are going. Take all the time +you wish for such a conclusion. It's important, and it needs time for +such a decision. When that decision is made, go your way. I never wish to +hear from you again. I want no letters, and I shall certainly refuse to +see you." + +Every word she spoke seemed to be a heavier blow than the last, and +Terence bowed under the accumulated weight. Vance could see the boy +struggle, waver between fierce pride and desperate humiliation and +sorrow. To Vance it was clear that the stiff pride of Elizabeth as she +sat in the chair was a brittle strength, and one vital appeal would break +her to tears. But the boy did not see. Presently he straightened, bowed +to her in the best Colby fashion, and turned on his heel. He went out of +the room and left Vance and his sister facing one another, but not +meeting each other's glances. + +"Elizabeth," he said at last, faintly--he dared not persuade too much +lest she take him at his word. "Elizabeth, you don't mean it. It was +twenty-four years ago that you passed your word to do this if things +turned out as they have. Forget your promise. My dear, you're still +wrapped up in Terry, no matter what you have said. Let me go and call him +back. 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 she +lifted her hand, he willingly sank back into his chair. + +"You're a very kind soul, Vance. I never knew it before. I'm appreciating +it 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 by +what 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 the +Cornish 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 long +to wait; after this blow she would go swiftly to her grave. + +He had barely reached that conclusion when the door opened again. Terry +stood before them in the old, loose, disreputable clothes of a cow- +puncher. The big sombrero swung in his hand. The heavy Colt dragged down +in 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'm +leaving with nothing of yours. I've already taken too much. If I live to +be a hundred, I'll never forgive myself for taking your charity these +twenty-four years. For what you've spent maybe I can pay you back one of +these days, in money. But for all the time and--patience--you've spent on +me I can never repay you. I know that. At least, here's where I stop +piling up a debt. These clothes and this gun come out of the money I made +punching cows last year. Outside I've got El Sangre saddled with a saddle +I bought out of the same money. They're my start in life, the clothes +I've got on and the gun and the horse and the saddle. So I'm starting +clean--Miss Cornish!" + +Vance saw his sister wince under that name from the lips of Terry. But +she 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 ridden +before. To be sure, it was not the first time that El Sangre had +stretched to the full his mighty strength, but on those other occasions +he had fought the burst of speed, straining back in groaning stirrup +leathers, with his full weight wresting at the bit. Now he let the rein +play to such a point that he was barely keeping the power of the stallion +in touch. He lightened his weight as only a fine horseman can do, +shifting a few vital inches forward, and with the burden falling more +over his withers, El Sangre fled like a racer down the valley. Not that +he was fully extended. His head was not stretched out as a cow-pony's +head is stretched when he runs; he held it rather high, as though he +carried in his big heart a reserve strength ready to be called on for any +emergency. For all that, it was running such as Terry had never known. + +The wind became a blast, jerking the brim of his sombrero up and +whistling in his hair. He was letting the shame, the grief, the thousand +regrets of that parting with Aunt Elizabeth be blown out of his soul. His +mind was a whirl; the thoughts became blurs. As a matter of fact, Terry +was being reborn. + +He had lived a life perfectly sheltered. The care of Elizabeth Cornish +had surrounded him as the Blue Mountains and Sleep Mountain surrounded +Bear Valley and fenced off the full power of the storm winds. The reality +of life had never reached him. Now, all in a day, the burden was placed +on his back, and he felt the spur driven home to the quick. No wonder +that he winced, that his heart contracted. + +But now that he was awakening, everything was new. Uncle Vance, whom he +had always secretly despised, now seemed a fine character, gentle, +cultured, thoughtful of others. Aunt Elizabeth Cornish he had accepted as +a 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. The +sorrow of it, that only the loss of that love should have brought him +realization of it. Vague thoughts and aspirations formed in his mind. He +yearned toward some large and heroic deed which should re-establish +himself in her respect. He wished to find her in need, in great trouble, +free her from some crushing burden with one perilous effort, lay his +homage 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 seemed +to him inevitable that he should resent the story of the sheriff and +shoot him down or be shot down himself. All that he regretted was that he +had remained mute before Aunt Elizabeth, unable to explain to her a thing +which he felt so keenly. And for the first time he realized the flinty +basis of her nature. The same thing that enabled her to give half a +lifetime to the cherishing of a theory, also enabled her to cast all the +result of that labor out of her life. It stung him again to the quick +every time he thought of it. There was something wrong. He felt that a +hundred hands of affection gave him hold on her. And yet all those grips +were brushed away. + +The torment was setting him on fire. And the fire was burning away the +smug complacency which had come to him during his long life in the +valley. + +When El Sangre pulled out of his racing gallop and struck out up a slope +at his natural gait, the ground-devouring pace, Terry Hollis was panting +and twisting in the saddle as though the labor of the gallop had been +his. They climbed and climbed, and still his mind was involved in a haze +of thought. It cleared when he found that there were no longer high +mountains before him. He drew El Sangre to a halt with a word. The great +stallion turned his head as he paused and looked back to his master with +a confiding eye as though waiting willingly for directions. And all at +once the heart of Terence went out to the blood-bay as it had never gone +before to any creature, dumb or human. For El Sangre had known such pain +as he himself was learning at this moment. El Sangre was giving him true +trust, true love, and asking him for no return. + +The stallion, following his own will, had branched off from the Bear +Creek trail and climbed through the lower range of the Blue Peaks. They +were standing now on a mountain-top. The red of the sunset filled the +west and brought the sky close to them with the lower drifts of stained +clouds. Eastward the winding length of Bear Creek was turning pink and +purple. The Cornish ranch had never seemed so beautiful to Terry as it +was at this moment. It was a kingdom, and he was leaving, the +disinherited heir. + +He turned west to the blare of the sunset. Blue Mountains tumbled away in +lessening ranges--beyond was Craterville, and he must go there today. +That was the world to him just then. And something new passed through +Terry. The world was below him; it lay at his feet with its hopes and its +battles. 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 butt +of his revolver. It was a prophetic gesture, but there, again, was +something that Terry Hollis did not understand. + +He called to El Sangre softly. The stallion responded with the faintest +of whinnies to the vibrant power in the voice of the master; and at that +smooth, effortless pace, he glided down the hillside, weaving dexterously +among the jagged outcroppings of rock. A period had been placed after +Terry's old life. And this was how he rode into the new. + +The long and ever-changing mountain twilight began as he wound through +the lower ranges. And when the full dark came, he broke from the last +sweep of foothills and El Sangre roused to a gallop over the level toward +Craterville. + +He had been in the town before, of course. But he felt this evening that +he had really never seen it before. On other days what existed outside of +Bear Valley did not very much matter. That was the hub around which the +rest of the world revolved, so far as Terry was concerned. It was very +different now. Craterville, in fact, was a huddle of broken-down houses +among a great scattering of boulders with the big mountains plunging up +on every side to the dull blue of the night sky. + +But Craterville was also something more. It was a place where several +hundred human beings lived, any one of whom might be the decisive +influence 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 would +he meet? What should he see? A sudden kindness toward others poured +through Terry Hollis. After all, every man might be a treasure to him. A +queer choking came in his throat when he thought of all that he had +missed by his contemptuous aloofness. + +One thing gave him check. This was primarily the sheriff's town, and by +this time they knew all about the shooting. But what of that? He had +fought fairly, almost too fairly. + +He passed the first shapeless shack. The hoofs of El Sangre bit into the +dust, choking and red in daylight, and acrid of scent by the night. All +was very quiet except for a stir of voices in the distance here and +there, always kept hushed as though the speaker felt and acknowledged the +influence of the profound night in the mountains. Someone came down the +street carrying a lantern. It turned his steps into vast spokes of +shadows that rushed back and forth across the houses with the swing of +the 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 blind +him. Terry passed on without a word and heard the other mutter behind +him: "Some damn stranger!" + +Perhaps strangers were not welcome in Craterville. At least, it seemed so +when he reached the hotel after putting up his horse in the shed behind +the old building. Half a dozen dark forms sat on the veranda talking in +the subdued voices which he had noted before. Terry stepped through the +lighted doorway. There was no one inside. + +"Want something?" called a voice from the porch. The widow Rickson came +in 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 out +with a shrill ring of her voice. Terry noted that the talking on the +porch was cut off as though a hand had been clapped over the mouth of +every man. + +He recalled that the widow had been long a friend of the sheriff and he +was 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 had +been horrified, suspicious, before. + +"Sure I got a room. Best in the house, if you want it. And--you'll be +hungry, Mr.--Hollis?" + +He wondered why she insisted so savagely on that newfound name? He +admitted that he was very hungry from his ride, and she led him back to +the kitchen and gave him cold ham and coffee and vast slices of bread and +butter. + +She did not talk much while he ate, and he noted that she asked no +questions. Afterwards she led him through the silence of the place up to +the second story and gave him a room at the corner of the building. He +thanked her. She paused at the door with her hand on the knob, and her +eyes fixed him through and through with a glittering, hostile stare. A +wisp of gray hair had fallen across her cheek, and there it was plastered +to the skin with sweat, for the evening was, warm. + +"No trouble," she muttered at length. "None at all. Make yourself to +home, Mr.--Hollis!" + + + +CHAPTER 18 + + +When the door closed on her, Terry remained standing in the middle of the +room watching the flame in the oil lamp she had lighted flare and rise at +the corner, and then steady down to an even line of yellow; but he was +not seeing it; he was listening to that peculiar silence in the house. It +seemed to have spread over the entire village, and he heard no more of +those casual noises which he had noticed on his coming. + +He went to the window and raised it to let whatever wind was abroad enter +the musty warmth of the room. He raised the sash with stealthy caution, +wondering at his own stealthiness. And he was oddly glad when the window +rose 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 out +with shrill laughter and dodged about the corner of the house, escaping +after some mischief. + +After that the silence again, except that before long a murmur began on +the veranda beneath him where the half-dozen obscure figures had been +sitting when he entered. Why should they be mumbling to themselves? He +thought he could distinguish the voice of the widow Rickson among the +rest, but he shrugged that idle thought away and turned back into his +room. He sat down on the side of the bed and pulled off his boots, but +the minute they were off he was ill at ease. There was something +oppressive about the atmosphere of this rickety old hotel. What sort of a +world 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 the +feeling that there was danger in the air of Craterville--for him--there +came a nervous setting of the muscles, a desire to close on someone and +throttle the secret of this hostility. At this point he heard a light +tapping at the door. Terry sat bolt upright on the bed. + +There are all kinds of taps. There are bold, heavy blows on the door that +mean danger without; there are careless, conversational rappings; but +this was a furtive tap, repeated after a pause as though it contained a +code message. + +First there was a leap of fear--then cold quiet of the nerves. He was +surprised at himself. He found himself stepping into whatever adventure +lay 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 half +the width of the room away. It had come to him as he spoke that it might +be 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 made +a faint whisper in the air, oddly like a sigh. And there was no click of +the lock either in the opening or the closing. Which meant an +incalculably swift and dexterous manipulation with the fingers. Terry +found himself facing a short-throated man with heavy shoulders; he wore a +shapeless black hat bunched on his head as though the whole hand had +grasped the crown and shoved the hat into place. It sat awkwardly to one +side. And the hat typified the whole man. There was a sort of shifty +readiness about him. His eyes flashed in the lamplight as they glanced at +the bed, and then flicked back toward Terry. And a smile began somewhere +in his face and instantly went out. It was plain that he had understood +the maneuver. + +He continued to survey Terry insolently for a moment without announcing +himself. Then he stated: "You're him, all right!" + +"Am I?" said Terry, regarding this unusual visitor with increasing +suspicion. "But I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage." + +The big-shouldered man raised a stubby hand. He had an air of one who +deprecates, and at the same time lets another into a secret. He moved +across the room with short steps that made no sound, and gave him a +peculiar appearance of drifting rather than walking. He picked up a chair +and 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 made +no more noise than a phantom. + +"You're him, all right," he repeated, balancing back in the chair. But he +gathered his toes under him, so that he remained continually poised in +spite 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 to +read features beneath a mask. Terry could see his visitor's face more +clearly now. It was square, with a powerfully muscled jaw and features +that had a battered look. Suddenly he teetered forward in his chair and +dropped 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 a +little. But I think it'll be all words and no action. Four-flushers, most +of 'em. Besides, they say you bumped old Minter for a goal; and they +don't like the idea of messing up with you. They'll just talk. If they +try anything besides their talk--well, you and me can fix 'em!" + +Terry slipped into the only other chair which the room provided, but he +slid far down in it, so that his holster was free and the gun butt +conveniently 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 done +the Silver Junction job with old Black Jack, and a lot more jobs, when +you come to that!" + +He laughed again. "They were getting sort of warm for me out in the big +noise. So I grabbed me a side-door Pullman and took a trip out to the old +beat. 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't +you 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 rotten +lay, all right. If I'd known about that, I'd of--but I didn't. Well, let +it 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's +a 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 of +sat--cool as ice--with a gang under him talking about stretching his +neck. And now, bo, hark to me sing! I got the job fixed and--But wait a +minute. What you been doing all these years? Black Jack was known when he +was your age!" + +With a peculiar thrill of awe and of aversion Terry watched the face of +the man who had known his father so well. He tried to make himself +believe that twenty-four years ago Denver might have been quite another +type of man. But it was impossible to re-create that face other than as a +bulldog in the human flesh. The craft and the courage of a fighter were +written 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 and +bust Minter for your first crack. You began late, son, but you may go +far. 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 smooth +with a cannon. And fast as a snake's tongue. But they say you beat him +fair 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 something +done, go to Black Jack. Bam! There it was done clean for you and no talk +afterward. 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 was +not that he felt any consuming shame because he was the son of Black Jack +Hollis. But there was a sort of foster parenthood to which he owed a +clean-minded allegiance--the fiction of the Colby blood. He had +worshipped that thought for twenty years. He could not discard it in an +instant. + +Denver was breezing on in his quick, husky voice, so carefully toned that +it 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 a +peterman 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 it +come to the gorilla stuff, he was there a million, though. And when there +was a call for fast, quick, soft work, Black Jack was the man. Kid, I can +see that you're cut right on his pattern. And here's where you come in +with me. Right off the bat there's going to be velvet. Later on I'll +educate 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. The +store safe. You know what's in it? I'll tell you. Ten thousand cold. Ten +thousand bucks, boy. Well, well, and how did it get there? Because a lot +of the boobs around here have put their spare cash in the safe for +safekeeping!" + +He tilted his chin and indulged in another of his yawning, silent bursts +of laughter. + +"And you never seen a peter like it. Tin, kid, tin. I could turn it +inside out with a can opener. But I ain't long on a kit just now. I'm on +the hog for fair, as a matter of fact. Well, I don't need a kit. I got +some sawdust and I can make the soup as pretty as you ever seen. We'll +blow the safe, kid, and then we'll float. Are you on?" + +He paused, grinning with expectation, his face gradually becoming blank +as 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 the +peter, 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 mighty +good 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 to +keep 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-arm +stuff except when you got to use it. Going to try scratching, kid? Is +that 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't +you 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't +get away from it." + +Terry tugged his shirt open at the throat; he was stifling. "Perhaps," he +said. + +"It's the easy way," went on Denver. "Well, maybe you ain't ripe yet, but +when 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 in +that safe. But if you take it, the widow will be ruined. She runs the +hotel and the store, too, you know." + +"Why, you poor boob," groaned Denver, "don't you know she's the old dame +that's trying to get you mobbed?" + +"I suppose so. But she was pretty fond of the sheriff, you know. I don't +blame her for carrying a grudge. Now, about the money, Denver; I happen +to have a little with me. Take what you want." + +Denver took the proffered money without a word, counted it with a deftly +stabbing forefinger, and shoved the wad into his hip pocket. + +"All right," he said, "this'll sort of sweeten the pot. You don't need +it?" + +"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'll +stay on your trail till I have you." + +Again there was a long moment of silence, then, "Black Jack!" muttered +Denver. "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 got +left?" 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 you +got 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. From +his shoes to his skin everything he had belonged to his partners. His +ghost'll haunt you if you're turning me down, kid. Why, ain't you the +heir 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 into +Terry'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 was +going 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. Keep +it up if you can. I know damned well that you can't. I've seen 'em try +before. But they always slip. Keep it up, Black Jack, but if you ever +change 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 door +in the air, and no click of the lock. + + + +CHAPTER 19 + + +The door had hardly closed on him when Terence wanted to run after him +and call him back. There was a thrill still running in his blood since +the time the yegg had leaned so close and said: "That wasn't Black Jack's +way!" + +He wanted to know more about Black Jack, and he wanted to hear the story +from the lips of this man. A strange warmth had come over him. It had +seemed for a moment that there was a third impalpable presence in the +room--his father listening. And the thrill of it remained, a ghostly and +yet a real thing. + +But he checked his impulse. Let Denver go, and the thought of his father +with him. For the influence of Black Jack, he felt, was quicksand pulling +him down. The very fact that he was his father's son had made him shoot +down one man. Again the shadow of Black Jack had fallen across his path +today and tempted him to crime. How real the temptation had been, Terry +did not know until he was alone. Half of ten thousand dollars would +support him for many a month. One thing was certain. He must let his +father remain simply a name. + +Going to the window in his stocking feet, he listened again. There were +more voices murmuring on the veranda of the hotel now, but within a few +moments forms began to drift away down the street, and finally there was +silence. Evidently the widow had not secured backing as strong as she +could have desired. And Terry went to bed and to sleep. + +He wakened with the first touch of dawn along the wall beside his bed and +tumbled out to dress. It was early, even for a mountain town. The +rattling at the kitchen stove commenced while he was on the way +downstairs. And he had to waste time with a visit to El Sangre in the +stable before his breakfast was ready. + +Craterville was in the hollow behind him when the sun rose, and El Sangre +was taking up the miles with the tireless rhythm of his pace. He had +intended searching for work of some sort near Craterville, but now he +realized that it could not be. He must go farther. He must go where his +name was not known. + +For two days he held on through the broken country, climbing more than he +dropped. Twice he came above the ragged timber line, with its wind-shaped +army of stunted trees, and over the tiny flowers of the summit lands. At +the end of the second day he came out on the edge of a precipitous +descent 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 scamper +down what was almost the sheer face of a cliff--a beautiful bit of +acrobatics. They found foothold on ridges a couple of inches deep, hardly +visible to the eye from above. Plunging down a straight drop without a +sign of a ledge for fifty feet below them, they broke the force of the +fall and slowed themselves constantly by striking their hoofs from side +to side against the face of the cliff. And so they landed, with bunched +feet, on the first broad terrace below and again bounced over the ledge +and so out of sight. + +He dined on wild mutton that evening. In the morning he hunted along the +edge 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 his +glory. If he had not the agility of the mountain sheep, he was well-nigh +as level-headed in the face of tremendous heights. He knew how to pitch +ten feet down to a terrace and strike on his bunched hoofs so that the +force of the fall would not break his legs or unseat his rider. Again he +understood how to drive in the toes of his hoofs and go up safely through +loose gravel where most horses, even mustangs, would have skidded to the +bottom of the slope. And he was wise in trails. Twice he rejected the +courses which Terry picked, and the rider very wisely let him have his +way. The result was that they took a more winding, but a far safer +course, and arrived before midmorning in the bottomlands. + +The first ranch house he applied to accepted him. And there he took up +his 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 an +addition, and let him go his way. + +He was happy enough. He had not the leisure for thought or for +remembering better times. If he had leisure here and there, he used it +industriously in teaching El Sangre the "cow" business. The stallion +learned 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 horses +hitched onto his line could not pull El Sangre over his mark, and broke +the rope instead. There was much work, too, in teaching him to turn in +the cow-pony fashion, dropping his head almost to the ground and bunching +his feet altogether. For nothing of its size that lives is so deft in +dodging as the cow-pony. That part of El Sangre's education was not +completed, however, for only the actual work of a round-up could give him +the faultless surety of a good cow-pony. And, indeed, the ranchman +declared him useless for real roundup work. + +"A no-good, high-headed fool," he termed El Sangre, having sprained his +bank account with an attempt to buy the stallion from Terry the day +before. + +At the end of a fortnight the first stranger passed, and ill-luck made it +a man from Craterville. He knew Terry at a glance, and the next morning +the rancher called Terry aside. + +The work of that season, he declared, was going to be lighter than he had +expected. 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 the +straight of it?" + +The sudden pallor of the other was a confession. + +"What's names to me?" he declared. "Nothing, partner. I take a man the +way I find him. And I've found you all right. The reason I got to let you +go is what I said." + +But Terry grinned mirthlessly. + +"You know I'm the son of Black Jack Hollis," he insisted. "You think that +if you keep me you'll wake up some morning to find your son's throat cut +and your cattle gone. Am I right?" + +"Listen to me," the rancher said uncertainly. "I know how you feel about +losing a job so suddenly when you figured it for a whole season. Suppose +I give you a whole month's pay and--" + +"Damn your money!" said Terry savagely. "I don't deny that Black Jack was +my father. I'm proud of it. But listen to me, my friend. I'm living +straight. I'm working hard. I don't object to losing this job. It's the +attitude behind it that I object to. You'll not only send me away, but +you'll spread the news around--Black Jack's son is here! Am I a plague +because of that name?" + +"Mr. Hollis," insisted the rancher in a trembling voice, "I don't mean to +get you all excited. Far as your name goes, I'll keep your secret. I give +you 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 revolver +at his side. + +"Do you think so?" said Terry. "Here's one thing that you may not have +thought 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 turn +me off because I'm the son of Black Jack; and that's the very thing that +will make me the son of Black Jack in more than name. Did you ever stop +to realize that?" + +"Mr. Hollis," quavered the rancher, "I guess you're right. If you want to +stay on here, stay and welcome, I'm sure." + +And his eye hunted for help past the shoulder of Terry and toward the +shed, where his eldest son was whistling. Terry turned away in mute +disgust. 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 was +closed, and through the window he caught a glimpse of a rifle. Ten +minutes later El Sangre was stepping away across the range at a pace that +no mount in the cattle country could follow for ten miles. + + + +CHAPTER 20 + + +There was an astonishing deal of life in the town, however. A large +company had reopened some old diggings across the range to the north of +Calkins, and some small fragments of business drifted the way of the +little cattle town. Terry found a long line of a dozen horses waiting to +be shod before the blacksmith shop. One great wagon was lumbering out at +the farther end of the street, with the shrill yells of the teamster +calling 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 a +stir of busy life was everywhere in the town. The hotel and store +combined was flooded with sound, and the gambling hall across the street +was alive even at midday. + +It was noon, and Terry found that the dining room was packed to the last +chair. The sweating waiter improvised a table for him in the corner of +the hall and kept him waiting twenty minutes before he was served with +ham and eggs. He had barely worked his fork into the ham when a familiar +voice hailed him. + +"Got room for another at that table?" + +He looked up into the grinning face of Denver. For some reason it was a +shock 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 a +chair and seated himself in his usual noiseless way. + +When he rearranged the silver which the waiter placed before him, there +was not the faintest click of the metal. And Terry noted, too, a certain +nice justness in every one of Denver's motions. He was never fiddling +about with his hands; when they stirred, it was to do something, and when +the thing was done, the hands became motionless again. + +His eyes did not rove; they remained fixed for appreciable periods +wherever they fell, as though Denver were finding something worth +remembering in the wall, or in a spot on the table. When his glance +touched on a face, it hung there in the same manner. After a moment one +would forget all the rest of his face, brutal, muscular, shapeless, and +see only the keen eyes. + +Terry found it difficult to face the man. There was need to be excited +about something, to talk with passion, in order to hold one's own in the +presence of Denver, even when the chunky man was silent. He was not +silent now; he seemed in a highly cheerful, amiable mood. + +"Here's luck," he said. "I didn't know this God-forsaken country could +raise 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 never +did. Suddenly he was frank, because it seemed utterly futile to attempt +to mask one's real thoughts from this fellow. + +"I don't know," he said, "that it would surprise me if you _had_ been +tailing me. I imagine you're apt to do queer things, Denver." + +Denver hissed, very softly and with such a cutting whistle to his breath +that 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 an +impression of the most intense watchfulness--as though, while he stared +straight before him, he had sent other and mysterious senses exploring +for him. He seemed suddenly satisfied that all was well, and as he +relaxed, Terry became aware of a faint gleam of perspiration on the brow +of 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's +horse sense," said Denver. + +"No offense," answered Terry, with the utmost good nature. + +"Call me Shorty if you want," said Denver. In the meantime he was +regarding Terry more and more closely. + +"Your old man would of made a fight out of it if I'd said as much to him +as 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 and +powder, ready to explode. He probed his own nature. He had never been +particularly quick of temper--until lately. But he began to wonder if his +equable disposition might not rise from the fact that his life in Bear +Valley had been so sheltered. He had been crossed rarely. In the outer +world it was different. That very morning he had been tempted wickedly to +take 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 flare +up and be over it in a minute. Maybe you remember things and pack a +grudge with you." + +"Perhaps," said Terry, grown strangely meek. "I hardly know." + +Indeed, he thought, how little he really knew of himself. Suddenly he +said: "So you simply happened over this way, Shorty?" + +"Sure. Why not? I got a right to trail around where I want. Besides, what +would there be in it for me--following you?" + +"I don't know," said Terry gravely. "But I expect to find out sooner or +later. What else are you up to over here?" + +"I have a little job in mind at the mine," said Denver. "Something that +may give the sheriff a bit of trouble." He grinned. + +"Isn't it a little--unprofessional," said Terry dryly, "for you to tell +me these things?" + +"Sure it is, bo--sure it is! Worst in the world. But I can always tell a +gent that can keep his mouth shut. By the way, how many jobs you been +fired 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 learned +my name, he seemed to be afraid I'd start shooting up his place one of +these 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 your +hands." + +"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're +like 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 jokes +about 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 front +of 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 your +dad?" From the air he secured an imaginary morsel between stubby thumb +and 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 he +got 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 on +the ground and rode off. Next we heard, the guy was working for a +Chinaman that run a restaurant. Black Jack had taken all the fight out of +him." + +That scene out of the past drifted vividly back before Terry's eyes. He +saw 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 the +shock of the two strong bodies, and saw the other turn to pulp under the +grip 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 his +dead father's mood. During this moment of brooding he had been looking +down, and he did not notice the glance of Denver fasten upon him with an +almost hypnotic fervor, as though he were striving to reach to the very +soul of the younger man and read what was written there. When Terry +looked 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 for +yourself. It'll be that way with this work idea of yours. You've lost one +job. 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 departed +from the ranch that morning. The certainty of Denver that he would find +it impossible to stay by his program of honest work had made a strong +impression upon his imaginative mind, as though the little safecracker +really 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 balanced +between a desire to stay near the town and work out his destiny there, or +else drift far away. Distance, however, seemed to have no barrier against +rumor. After two days of hard riding, he had placed a broad gap between +himself and the Cornish ranch, yet in a short time rumor had overtaken +him, casually, inevitably, and the force of his name was strong enough to +take away his job. + +Standing in the middle of the street he looked darkly over the squat +roofs of the town to the ragged mountains that marched away against the +horizon--a bleak outlook. Which way should he ride? + +A loud outburst of curses roared behind him, a whip snapped above him, he +stepped aside and barely from under the feet of the leaders as a long +team wound by with the freight wagon creaking and swaying and rumbling +behind it. The driver leaned from his seat in passing and volleyed a few +crackling remarks in the very ear of Terry. It was strange that he did +not resent it. Ordinarily he would have wanted to, climb onto that seat +and roll the driver down in the dust, but today he lacked ambition. Pain +numbed him, a peculiar mental pain. And, with the world free before him +to roam in, he felt imprisoned. + +He turned. Someone was laughing at him from the veranda of the hotel and +pointing him out to another, who laughed raucously in turn. Terry knew +what was in their minds. A man who allowed himself to be cursed by a +passing teamster was not worthy of the gun strapped at his thigh. He +watched their faces as through a cloud, turned again, saw the door of the +gambling hall open to allow someone to come out, and was invited by the +cool, dim interior. He crossed the street and passed through the door. + +He was glad, instantly. Inside there was a blanket of silence; beyond the +window the sun was a white rain of heat, blinding and appalling. But +inside his shoes took hold on a floor moist from a recent scrubbing and +soft 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 this +hour of the day. And the room seemed so large, the tables were so +numerous, that Terry wondered how so small a town could support it. Then +he remembered the mine and everything was explained. People who dug gold +like dirt spent it in the same spirit. Half a dozen men were here and +there, playing in what seemed a listless manner, save when you looked +close. + +Terry slumped into a big chair in the darkest corner and relaxed until +the coolness had worked through his skin and into his blood. Presently he +looked about him to find something to do, and his eye dropped naturally +on the first thing that made a noise--roulette. For a moment he watched +the spinning disk. The man behind the table on his high stool was +whirling the thing for his own amusement, it seemed. Terry walked over +and looked on. + +He hardly knew the game. But he was fascinated by the motions of the +ball; one was never able to tell where it would stop, on one of the +thirty-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 the +click of the ball. + +And now he noted that the wheel had stopped the last four times on the +odd. He jerked a five-dollar gold piece out of his pocket and placed it +on the even. The wheel spun, clicked to a stop, and the rake of the +croupier slicked his five dollars away across the smooth-worn top of the +table. + +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 the +even. + +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 was +no temptation. Not a word had been spoken to him since he entered the +place. There was no excitement, no music, none of the drink and song of +which he had heard so much in robbing men of their cooler senses. It was +only his little system that tempted him on. + +He did not know that all gambling really begins with the creation of a +system that will beat the game. And when a man follows a system, he is +started on the most cold-blooded gambling in the world. + +Again the disk stopped, and the ball clicked softly and the ten dollars +slid 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 with +some trepidation again. Thirty dollars wagered. The wheel spun--the money +disappeared under the rake. + +Terry felt like setting his teeth. Instead, he smiled. He drew out his +last five dollars and wagered it with a coldness that seemed to make sure +of loss, on a single number. The wheel spun, clicked; he did not even +watch, and was turning away when a sound of a little musical shower of +gold 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 the +table, scooped up his winnings carelessly and bent a kinder eye upon the +wheel. 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 guilty +chill in the small of his back, half expecting reproaches to be shouted +after him for leaving the game when he was so far ahead of it. But +apparently the machine which won without remorse lost without complaint. + +At the door he made half a pace into the white heat of the sunlight. Then +he paused, a cool edging of shadow falling across one shoulder while the +heat burned through the shirt of the other. Why go on? + +Across the street the man on the veranda of the hotel began laughing +again and pointing him out. Terry himself looked the fellow over in an +odd fashion, not with anger or with irritation, but with a sort of cold +calculation. The fellow was trim enough in the legs. But his shoulders +were fat from lack of work, and the bulge of flesh around the armpits +would probably make him slow in drawing a gun. + +He shrugged his own lithe shoulders in contempt and turned. The man on +the stool behind the roulette wheel was yawning until his jaw muscles +stood 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 the +wheel fascinated him. He placed five dollars, saw the wheel win, took in +his winnings without emotion. + +While he scooped the two coins up, he did not see the croupier turn his +head and shoot a single glance to a fat, squat man in the corner of the +room, a glance to which the fat man responded with the slightest of nods +and smiles. He was the owner. And he was not particularly happy at the +thought of some hundred and fifty dollars being taken out of his treasury +by some chance stranger. + +Terry did not see the glance, and before long he was incapable of seeing +anything saving the flash of the disk, the blur of the alternate colors +as they spun together. He paid no heed to the path of the sunlight as it +stretched 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 he +gave the sun at his feet no more than a casual glance. It was metallic +gold that he was fascinated by and the whims and fancies of that singular +wheel. Twice that afternoon his fortune had mounted above three thousand +dollars--once it mounted to an even six thousand. He had stopped to count +his winnings at this point, and on the verge of leaving decided to make +it an even ten thousand before he went away. And five minutes later he +was gambling with five hundred in his wallet. + +When the sunlight grew yellow, other men began to enter the room. Terry +was still at his post. He did not see them. There was no human face in +the world for him except the colorless face of the croupier, and the +long, pale eyelashes that lifted now and then over greenish-orange eyes. +And Terry did not heed when he was shouldered by the growing crowd around +the wheel. + +He only knew that other bets were being placed and that it was a +nuisance, for the croupier took much longer in paying debts and +collecting winnings, so that the wheel spun less often. + +Meantime he was by no means unnoticed. A little whisper had gone the +rounds that a real plunger was in town. And when men came into the hall, +their attention was directed automatically by the turn of other eyes +toward six feet of muscular manhood, heavy-shouldered and erect, with a +flare of a red silk bandanna around his throat and a heavy sombrero worn +tilted a little to one side and back on his head. + +"He's playing a system," said someone. "Been standing there all afternoon +and making poor Pedro--the thief!--sweat and shake in his boots." + +In fact, the owner of the place had lost his complacence and his smile +together. He approached near to the wheel and watched its spin with a +face turned sallow and flat of cheek from anxiety. For with the setting +of the sun it seemed that luck flooded upon Terry Hollis. He began to bet +in chunks of five hundred, alternating between the red and the odd, and +winning with startling regularity. His winnings were now shoved into an +awkward canvas bag. Twenty thousand dollars! That had grown from the +fifty. + +No wonder the crowd had two looks for Terry. His face had lost its color +and grown marvellously expressionless. + +"The real gambler's look," they said. + +His mouth was pinched at the corners, and otherwise his expression never +varied. + +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 the +shoulder and whirled around. The crowd saw the tall man draw his right +foot back, balance, lift a trifle on his toes, and then a balled fist +shot up, caught the broad-faced man under the chin and dumped him in a +crumpled heap half a dozen feet away. They picked him up and took him +away, a stunned wreck. Terry had turned back to his game, and in ten +seconds had forgotten what he had done. + +But the crowd remembered, and particularly he who had twice laughed at +Terry from the veranda of the hotel. + +The heap in the canvas sack diminished, shrank--he dumped the remainder +of the contents into his pocket. He had been betting in solid lumps of a +thousand for the past twenty minutes, and the crowd watched in amazement. +This was drunken gambling, but the fellow was obviously sober. Then a +hand 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 of +build: a magnificent big head, heavily marked features, a short-cropped +black 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 this +reticence with a faint smile. + +"I got a name around here for keeping my mouth shut and not butting in on +another gent's game. But I always noticed that when a gent is in a losing +run, half the time he don't know it. Maybe that might be the way with +you. 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 eat +with me." + +He went willingly, suddenly aware of a raging appetite and a dinner long +postponed. The man of the black beard was extremely friendly. + +"One of the prettiest runs I ever see, that one you made," he confided +when 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 hour +before. Just passing through these parts?" + +"I'm looking for a job," said Terry. "Can you tell me where to start +hunting? Cows are my game." + +The other paused a moment and surveyed his companion. There seemed just a +shade of doubt in his eyes. They were remarkably large and yellowish +gray, those eyes of Joe Pollard, and now and again when he grew +thoughtful they became like clouded agate. They had that color now as he +gazed at Terry. Eventually his glance cleared. + +"I got a little work of my own," he declared. "My range is all clogged up +with 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 his +past 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 an +indescribable basic firmness. His eyes, for example, in their habit of +looking straight at one, reminded him of the eyes of Denver. His voice +was steady and deep and mellow, and one felt that it might be expanded to +an enormous volume. Such a man would not fly off into snap judgments and +become alarmed because an employee had a past or a strange name. + +They paid a short visit to the gambling hall after dinner, and then got +their horses. Pollard was struck dumb with admiration at the sight of the +blood-bay. + +"Maybe you been up the Bear Creek way?" he asked Terry. + +And when the latter admitted that he knew something of the Blue Mountain +country, the rancher exclaimed: "By the Lord, partner, I'd say that hoss +is 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 and +crossed his companion with one of his searching glances, but returned no +reply. Presently, however, he sent his own capable Steeldust into a sharp +gallop; El Sangre roused to a flowing pace and held the other even +without the slightest difficulty. At this Pollard drew rein with an +exclamation. + +"El Sangre as sure as I live!" he declared. "Ain't nothing else in these +parts that calls itself a hoss and slides over the ground the way El +Sangre 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. And +thereafter during the ride his glance continually drifted toward the +brilliant bay--brilliant even in the pallor of the clear mountain +starlight. + +He explained this by saying after a time: "I been my whole life in these +parts without running across a hoss that could pack me the way a man +ought to be packed on a hoss. I weigh two hundred and thirty, son, and it +busts the back of a horse in the mountains. Now, you ain't a flyweight +yourself, and El Sangre takes you along like you was a feather." + +Steeldust was already grunting at every sharp rise, and El Sangre had not +even broken out in perspiration. + +A mile or so out of the town they left the road and struck onto a mere +semblance of a trail, broad enough, but practically as rough as nature +chose to make it. This wound at sharp and ever-changing angles into the +hills, and presently they were pressing through a dense growth of +lodgepole pine. + +It seemed strange to Terry that a prosperous rancher with an outfit of +any size should have a road no more beaten than this one leading to his +place. But he was thinking too busily of other things to pay much heed to +such surmises and small events. He was brooding over the events of the +afternoon. If his exploits in the gaming hall should ever come to the ear +of Aunt Elizabeth, he was certain enough that he would be finally damned +in her judgment. Too often he had heard her express an opinion of those +who lived by "chance and their wits," as she phrased it. And the thought +of it irked him. + +He roused himself out of his musing. They had come out from the trees and +were in sight of a solidly built house on the hill. There was one thing +which struck his mind at once. No attempt had been made to find level for +the foundation. The log structure had been built apparently at random on +the slope. It conformed, at vast waste of labor, to the angle of the base +and the irregularities of the soil. This, perhaps, made it seem smaller +than it was. They caught the scent of wood smoke, and then saw a pale +drift of the smoke itself. + +A flurry of music escaped by the opening of a door and was shut out by +the closing of it. It was a moment before Terry, startled, had analyzed +the sound. Unquestionably it was a piano. But how in the world, and why +in the world, had it been carted to the top of this mountain? + +He glanced at his companion with a new respect and almost with a +suspicion. + +"Up to some damn doings again," growled the big man. "Never got no peace +nor 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 of +the 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 his +horse and found the rancher waiting for him when he came out. Inside the +shed he had found ample bins of barley and oats and good grain hay. And +in the stalls his practiced eye scanned the forms of a round dozen fine +horses with points of blood and bone that startled him. + +Coming to the open again, he probed the darkness as well as he could to +gain some idea of the ranch which furnished and supported all these +evidences of prosperity. But so far as he could make out, there was only +a jumble of ragged hilltops behind the house, and before it the slope +fell away steeply to the valley far below. He had not realized before +that they had climbed so high or so far. + +Joe Pollard was humming. Terry joined him on the way to the house with a +deepened sense of awe; he was even beginning to feel that there was a +touch or two of mystery in the make-up of the man. + +Proof of the solidity with which the log house was built was furnished at +once. Coming to the house, there was only a murmur of voices and of +music. The moment they opened the door, a roar of singing voices and a +jangle of piano music rushed into their ears. + +Terry found himself in a very long room with a big table in the center +and a piano at the farther end. The ceiling sloped down from the right to +the left. At the left it descended toward the doors of the kitchen and +storerooms; at the right it rose to the height of two full stories. One +of these was occupied by a series of heavy posts on which hung saddles +and bridles and riding equipment of all kinds, and the posts supported a +balcony onto which opened several doors--of sleeping rooms, no doubt. As +for the wall behind the posts, it, too, was pierced with several +openings, but Terry could not guess at the contents of the rooms. But he +was amazed by the size of the structure as it was revealed to him from +within. The main room was like some baronial hall of the old days of war +and plunder. A role, indeed, into which it was not difficult to fit the +burly Pollard and the dignity of his beard. + +Four men were around the piano, and a girl sat at the keys, splashing out +syncopated music while the men roared the chorus of the song. But at the +sound of the closing of the door all five turned toward the newcomers, +the girl looking over her shoulder and keeping the soft burden of the +song still running. + + + +CHAPTER 23 + + +So turned, Terry could not see her clearly. He caught a glimmer of red +bronze hair, dark in shadow and brilliant in high lights, and a sheen of +greenish eyes. Otherwise, he only noted the casual manner in which she +acknowledged 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 of +warning, though this, no doubt, could be attributed to his wish to +silently explain away the idiosyncrasy of Terry in using his first name +only. He was presented in turn to the four men, and thought them the +oddest collection he had ever laid eyes on. + +Slim Dugan was tall, but not so tall as he looked, owing to his very +small head and narrow shoulders. His hair was straw color, excessively +silky, and thin as the hair of a year-old child. There were other points +of interest in Slim Dugan; his feet, for instance, were small as the feet +of a girl, accentuated by the long, narrow riding boots, and his hands +seemed to be pulled out to a great and unnecessary length. They made up +for it by their narrowness. + +His exact opposite was Marty Cardiff, chunky, fat, it seemed, until one +noted the roll and bulge of the muscles at the shoulders. His head was +settled into his fat shoulders somewhat in the manner of Denver's, Terry +thought. + +Oregon Charlie looked the part of an Indian, with his broad nose and high +cheekbones, flat face, slanted dark eyes; but his skin was a dead and +peculiar white. He was a down-headed man, and one could rarely imagine +him opening his lips to speak; he merely grunted as he shook hands with +the 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 jovial +red; his hair was red also, and there was red hair on the backs of his +freckled hands. + +All these men met Terry with cordial nods, but there was a carelessness +about their demeanor which seemed strange to Terry. In his experience, +the men of the mountains were a timid or a blustering lot before +newcomers, uneasy, and anxious to establish their place. But these men +acted as if meeting unknown men were a part of their common, daily +experience. 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. "They +been getting pretty thick on the range, you know." + +"You came in just wrong," complained Kate, while the men turned four +pairs of grave eyes upon Terry and seemed to be judging him. "I got +Oregon singing at last, and he was doing fine. Got a real voice, Charlie +has. Regular branded baritone, I'll tell a man." + +"Strike up agin for us, Charlie," said Pollard good-naturedly. "You don't +never make much more noise'n a grizzly." + +But Charlie looked down at his hands and a faint spot of red appeared in +his cheek. Obviously he was much embarrassed. And when he looked up, it +was to fix a glance of cold suspicion upon Terry, as though warning him +not to take this talk of social acquirements as an index to his real +character. + +"Get us some coffee, Kate," said Pollard. "Turned off cold coming up the +hill." + +She did not rise. She had turned around to her music again, and now she +acknowledged the order by lifting her head and sending a shrill whistle +through the room. Her father started violently. + +"Damn it, Kate, don't do that!" + +"The only thing that'll bring Johnny on the run," she responded +carelessly. + +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 his +head as he halted and looked about in alarm. + +"Coffee for the boss and the new hand," said Kate, without turning her +head, 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. "You +can't scare the poor devil out of his skin like that every time you want +coffee. 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 here +and play." + +Her father swelled a moment in rage, but he subsided again without +audible protest. Only he sent a scowl at Terry as though daring him to +take notice of this insolence. As for the other men, they had scattered +to various parts of the room and remained there, idly, while the boss and +the new hand drank the scalding coffee of Johnny. All this time Pollard +remained deep in thought. His meditations exploded as he banged the empty +cup 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 hard +ridges along his arms, but glancing at the other four, he found that they +were taking the violence of Pollard quite as a matter of course. One was +whittling, another rolled a cigarette, and all of them, if they took any +visible 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, but +to the unutterable astonishment of Terry she was quietly looking her +father up and down. Pollard sprang to his feet and struck the table so +that 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 and +make allowances." + +It brought the heavy fist smashing on the table again. And an ugly +feeling rose in Hollis that the big fellow might put hands on his +daughter. + +"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 had +been such an easy dignity about her sitting at the piano that she had +seemed tall to Terry. Now that she stood up, he was surprised to see that +she was not a shade more than average height, beautifully and strongly +made. + +"You've gone about far enough with your little joke," said the girl, and +her 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, as +that 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 a +similar outbreak from the father, but the latter relaxed as suddenly as +his daughter had become furious. + +"There you go," he complained, with a sort of heavy whine. "Always flying +off the handle. Always turning into a wildcat when I try to reason with +you!" + +"Reason!" cried the girl. "Reason!" + +Joe Pollard grew downcast under her scorn. And Terry, sensing that the +crisis of the argument had passed, watched the other four men in the +room. They had not paid the slightest attention to the debate during its +later phases. And two of them--Slim and huge Phil Marvin--had begun to +roll dice on a folded blanket, the little ivories winking in the light +rapidly 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 you +never bear with a gent?" + +The tigerish alertness passed from Kate Pollard. She was filled all at +once with a winning gentleness and, crossing to her father, took his +heavy hands in hers. + +"I reckon I'm a bad one," she accused herself. "I try to get over +tantrums--but--I can't help it! Something--just sort of grabs me by the +throat when I get mad. I--I see red." + +"Hush up, honey," said the big man tenderly, and he ran his thick fingers +over her hair. "You ain't so bad. And all that's bad in you comes out of +me. 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 been +actin'." + +"Oh!" + +Plainly she was recalled to the presence of the stranger for the first +time in many minutes and, dropping her chin in her hand, she studied the +new arrival. + +He found it difficult to meet her glance. The Lord had endowed Terry +Hollis with a remarkable share of good looks, and it was not the first +time that he had been investigated by the eyes of a woman. But in all his +life he had never been subjected to an examination as minute, as +insolently 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 at +her, making himself examine her in equal detail. Seeing her so close, he +was aware of a marvellously delicate olive-tanned skin with delightful +tints 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 again +it seemed to Terry that Joe Pollard made an imperceptible sign, such as +he 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 she +broke in: "Crooked game he's running, isn't it?" + +"I thought so till today. Then I seen Terry, here, trim Pedro for a flat +twenty thousand!" + +"Oh," nodded the girl. Again her gaze reverted leisurely to the stranger +and 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 desiring +mightily to discover just what was going on behind the changing green of +her eyes. He was shocked when he discovered. It came like the break of +high dawn in the mountains of the Big Bend. Suddenly she had smiled +openly, frankly. "Hard luck, partner!" + +A little shivering sense of pleasure ran through him. He knew that he had +been 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 the +room waited, a little tense, with lifted heads. Slim was studying the +last throw that Phil Marvin had made. Terry could not but wonder what +significance 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 when +he feels like it. That's Pete's way." + +"Watching us, maybe," growled Joe Pollard, with a shade of uneasiness +still. "Damned funny gent, Pete is. Watches a man like a cat; watches a +gopher hole all day, maybe. And maybe the gent he watches is a friend +he's known for ten years. Well--let Pete go. They ain't no explaining +him." + +Through the last part of his talk, and through the heaviness of his +voice, cut another tone, lighter, sharper, venomous: "Phil, you gummed +them dice that last time!" + +Joe Pollard froze in place; the eyes of the girl widened. Terry, looking +across 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 Phil +Marvin 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 was +coiled, 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 had +heard of it before, but never seen it. As for Phil, it was plain that he +was 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, but +there was none of that fear which comes in the faces of ordinary men when +strife between men is at hand. And suddenly Terry knew that every one of +the five men in the room was an old familiar of danger, every one of them +a past master of gun fighting! + + + +CHAPTER 24 + + +The uneasy wait continued for a moment or more. The whisper of Joe +Pollard 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 of +surprise. + +"Slim, keep away from your gun!" + +She spoke as she whirled from her chair to her feet. It was strange to +see her direct all her attention to Slim, when Phil Marvin seemed the one +about to draw. + +"I ain't even nearin' my gun," asserted Slim truthfully. "It's Phil +that's got a strangle hold on his." + +"You're waiting for him to draw," said the girl calmly enough. "I know +you, 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 the +moment and jerked the gun from its holster. Then she faced Slim. +Obviously Phil was not displeased to have the matter taken out of his +hands; obviously Slim was not so pleased. He looked coldly up to the +girl. + +"This is between him and me," he protested. "I don't need none of your +help, 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 crooking +the 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 that +ugly look in your eyes. I know you, partner!" + +And to the unutterable astonishment of Terry, the man pulled his gun from +its holster and passed it up to her, his eyes fighting hers, his hand +moving 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 at +them dice!" + +She held them up to the light--then dropped them into a pocket of her +skirt. "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 the +progress of the trial, all saving Joe Pollard, who sat with his elbows +braced in sprawling fashion on the table, at ease, his eyes twinkling +contentedly at the girl. Why she refused to examine the dice at once was +plain to Terry. If they proved to have been gummed, it would mean a gun +fight with the men at a battling temperature. In the morning when they +had cooled down, it might be a different matter. Terry watched her in +wonder. His idea of an efficient woman was based on Aunt Elizabeth, cold +of 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 of +passion, of quick insight, of lightning guesses. He could see the play of +eager emotion in her face as she studied Phil Marvin. And how could she +do 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, how +many 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, shook +his 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 and +dropped 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 thinks +you didn't win that coin square. Is Slim's friendship worth two hundred +to you, or ain't it? Besides, you ain't lying down to nobody. Why, you +big squarehead, Phil, don't we all know that you'd fight a bull with your +bare 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 was +sneering in return. It seemed that she had failed. Even if she forced +Phil to return the money, he and Slim would hate each other as long as +they lived. And Terry gained a keen impression that if the hatred +continued, one of them would die very soon indeed. Her solution of the +problem was a strange one. She faced them both. + +"You two big sulky babies!" she exclaimed. "Slim, what did Phil do for +you down in Tecomo? Phil, did Slim stand by you last April--you know the +time? 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 little +distance from each other, one eyeing the other shrewdly. At the door they +hesitated. Finally, Phil lurched forward and went out first. Slim glided +after. + +"By heaven!" groaned Pollard as the door closed. "There goes two good +men! Kate, what put this last fool idea into your head?" + +She did not answer for a moment, but dropped into a chair as though +suddenly 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 she +passed 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 bother +me!" + +He turned his shoulder on her. As for the girl, she remained a moment, +looking thoughtfully at the broad back of Pollard. Then her glance +shifted 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 fully +on his new employee, and when Terry suggested that it was time for him to +turn in, his suggestion was hospitably put to one side. Pollard began +talking genially of the mountains, of the "varmints" he expected Terry to +clean out, and while he talked, he took out a broad silver dollar and +began flicking it in the air and catching it in the calloused palm of his +hand. + +"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 on +the table. + +"You win," said Pollard. "Well, you're a lucky gent, Terry, but I'll go +you ten you can't call it again." + +But again Terry called heads, and again the coin chimed, steadied, and +showed the Grecian goddess. The rancher doubled his bet. He lost, +doubled, lost again, doubled again, lost. A pile of money had appeared by +magic 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 and +laughing together. + +"What d'you know about that?" Pollard exclaimed softly. "She guessed +right. 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 had +won. He began to grow excited. On the next throw he lost. A moment later +his little pile of winnings had disappeared. And now he had forgotten the +face of Joe Pollard, forgotten the room, forgotten everything except the +thick thumb that snapped the coin into the air. The cold, quiet passion +of the gambler grew in him. He was losing steadily. Out of his wallet +came in a steady stream the last of his winnings at Pedro's. And still he +played. 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 agate +eyes dwelt kindly on the face of Terry, and mysteriously as well. "That +ain't nothing. Nothing between friends. You don't know the style of a man +I 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 mysterious +providence seemed to send all the luck the way of the heavy, tanned thumb +of Pollard. + +"That's my limit," he announced abruptly, rising. + +"No, no!" Pollard spread out his big hand on the table. "You got the red +hoss, 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 of +cash if you win. If you lose, you're just out that much hossflesh, and +I'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 to +support his head. It seemed to Terry that the big man made some odd +motion with his hidden fingers. At any rate, the four men who lounged on +the farther side of the room now rose and slowly drifted in different +directions. Oregon Charlie wandered toward the door. Slim sauntered to +the 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 the +posts, and finally, chunky Marty Cardiff strolled to the kitchen door and +appeared to study the hinges. + +All these things were done casually, but Terry, his attention finally off +the game, caught a meaning in them. Every exit was blocked for him. He +was trapped at the will of Joe Pollard! + + + +CHAPTER 25 + + +Looking back, he could understand everything easily. The horse was the +main objective of Pollard. He had won the money so as to tempt Terry to +gamble with the value of the blood-bay. But by fair means or foul he +intended to have El Sangre. And now, the moment his men were in place, a +change came over Pollard. He straightened in the chair. A slight +outthrust 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 voice +was raised so that it would undubitably reach the ears of the farthest of +the four men. "I don't mind letting a gambling debt ride when a gent +ain't got anything more to put up for covering his money. But when a gent +has got more, I figure he'd ought to cover with it." + +Unreasoning anger swelled in the throat of Terry Hollis; the same blind +passion which had surged in him before he started up at the Cornish table +and revealed himself to the sheriff. And the similarity was what sobered +him. It was the hunger to battle, to kill. And it seemed to him that +Black 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 toward +him. The chances of Terry were diminished, nine out of ten, for each of +those four, he shrewdly guessed, was a practiced gunman. Cold reason came +to Terry's assistance. + +"I told you when I was broke," he said gently. "I told you that I was +through. You told me to go on." + +"I figured you was kidding me," said Pollard harshly. "I knew you still +had El Sangre back. Son, I'm a kind sort of a man, I am. I got a name for +it." + +In spite of himself a faint and cruel smile flickered at the corners of +his mouth as he spoke. He became grave again. + +"But they's some things I can't stand. They's some things that I hate +worse'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't +that more'n fair?" + +He no longer took pains to disguise his voice. It was hard and heavy and +rang into the ear of Terry. And the latter, feeling that his hour had +come, looked deliberately around the room and took note of every guarded +exit, 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 hand +had disappeared beneath the table. + +"Suppose I throw the coin this time?" he suggested. + +"By God!" thundered Pollard, springing to his feet and throwing off the +mask completely. "You damned skunk, are you accusin' me of crooking the +throw of the coin?" + +Terry waited for the least moment--waited in a dull wonder to find +himself unafraid. But there was no fear in him. There was only a cold, +methodical calculation of chances. He told himself, deliberately, that no +matter how fast Pollard might be, he would prove the faster. He would +kill 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 a +picture. + +"Pollard," he said, more gently than before, "you'll have to eat that +talk!" + +A flash of bewilderment crossed the face of Pollard--then rage--then that +slight contraction of the features which in some men precedes a violent +effort. + +But the effort did not come. While Terry literally wavered on tiptoe, his +nerves straining for the pull of his gun and the leap to one side as he +sent 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 the +second story, his legs spread apart, his hands shoved deep into his +trouser 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 turned +to 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 tell +you, boys. It's the kid that dropped old Minter. It's the kid that beat +foxy Joe Minter to the draw. It's young Hollis. Why, you damned blind +men, look at his face! It's the son of Black Jack. It's Black Jack +himself come back to us!" + +Joe Pollard had let his hand fall away from his gun. He gaped at Terry as +though he were seeing a ghost. He came a long pace nearer and let his +arms fall on the table, where they supported his weight. + +"Black Jack," he kept whispering. "Black Jack! God above, are you Black +Jack's son?" + +And the bewildered Terry answered: + +"I'm his son. Whatever you think, and be damned to you all! I'm his son +and I'm proud of it. Now get your gun!" + +But Joe Pollard became a great catapult that shot across the table and +landed beside Terry. Two vast hands swallowed the hands of the younger +man 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 cleaned +up 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 dragged +the 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 from +the 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 in +the shoulders. But you got the look. I might of knowed you by the look in +your eyes. Hey, Slim, damn your good-for-nothing hide, drag Johnny here +pronto by the back of the neck!" + +Johnny, the Chinaman, appeared, blinking at the lights. Joe Pollard +clapped 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 the +cellar, you yaller old sinner, and get out the oldest bourbon I got +there. You savvy? Pretty damned pronto--hurry up--quick--old keg. Git +out!" + +Johnny was literally hurled out of the room toward the kitchen, trailing +a crackle of strange-sounding but unmistakable profanity behind him. And +Joe Pollard, perching his bulk on the edge of the table, introduced Terry +to the boys again, for Oregon had come back with word that Kate would be +out soon. + +"Here's Denver Pete. You know him already, and he's worth his weight in +any man's company. Here's Slim Dugan, that could scent a big coin +shipment a thousand miles away. Phil Marvin ain't any slouch at stalling +a gent with a fat wallet and leading him up to be plucked. Marty Cardiff +ain't half so tame as he looks, and he's the best trailer that ever +squinted at a buzzard in the sky; he knows this whole country like a +book. And Oregon Charlie is the best all-around man you ever seen, from +railroads 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 remarked +quietly: "All very pretty, partner, but Terry figures he walks the +straight and narrow path. Savvy?" + +"Just a kid's fool hunch!" snorted Joe Pollard. "Didn't your dad show me +the ropes? Wasn't it him that taught me all I ever knew? Sure it was, and +I'm going to do the same for you, Terry. Damn my eyes if I ain't! And +here I been sitting, trimming you! Son, take back the coin. I was sure +playing 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, not +gambling. I was gold-digging! Take back the stuff!" + +"If I was fool enough to lose it that way, it'll stay lost," answered +Terry. + +"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 the +subject. + +"Let it go, then. They's plenty of loose coin rolling about this day. If +you got a thin purse today, I'll make it fat for you in a week. But think +of me stumbling on to you!" + +It was the first time that Terry had a fair opportunity to speak, and he +made the best of it. + +"It's very pleasant to meet you--on this basis," he said. "But as for +taking up--er--road life--" + +The lifted hand of Joe Pollard made it impossible for him to complete his +sentence. + +"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 a +blow in the dark: "When I met up with the original Black Jack, I was +slavin' my life away with a pick trying to turn ordinary quartz into pay +dirt. Making a fool of myself, that's what I was doing. Along comes Black +Jack. He needed a man. He picks me up and takes me along with him. I +tried 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't +stealing from an honest man. And they's about one gent in three with +money that's come by it honest, in this part of the world. The rest is +just plain thieves, but they been clever enough to cover it up. Pick on +that 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 was +a 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 out +with the loot. If they was some dirty dog that had jumped a claim and was +making a pile of coin out of it, Black Jack would drop out of the sky +onto him and take the gold." + +Terry listened, fascinated. He was having the workings of his father's +mind re-created for him and spread plainly before his eyes. And there was +a certain terror and also a certain attractiveness about what he +discovered. + +"It sounds, maybe, like an easy thing to do, to just stick on the trail +of them that you know are worse crooks than you. But it ain't. I've tried +it. 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 the +money I owe you--" + +Before he could complete his sentence, a door opened on the far side of +the room, and Kate Pollard entered again. She had risen from her bed in +some haste to answer the summons of her father. Her bright hair poured +across her shoulders, a heavy, greenish-blue dressing gown was drawn +about her and held close with one hand at her breast. She came slowly +toward them. And she seemed to Terry to have changed. There was less of +the masculine about her than there had been earlier in the evening. Her +walk was slow, her eyes were wide as though she had no idea what might +await her, and the light glinted white on the untanned portion of her +throat, and on her arm where the loose sleeve of the dressing gown fell +back 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 the +greatest 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 thinking +right. And d'you know who we've got here with us now? Could you guess it +in a thousand years? Why, the kid that come tonight. Black Jack as sure +as if he was a picture out of a book, and me a blind fool that didn't +know him. Kate, here's the second Black Jack. Terry Hollis. Give him your +hand agin and say you're glad to have him for his dad's sake and for his +own! Kate, he's done a man's job already. It's him that dropped old foxy +Minter!" + +The last of these words faded out of the hearing of Terry. He felt the +lowered eyes of the girl rise and fall gravely on his face, and her +glance rested there a long moment with a new and solemn questioning. Then +her hand went slowly out to him, a cold hand that barely touched his with +its fingertips and then dropped away. + +But what Terry felt was that it was the same glance she had turned to him +when she stood leaning against the post earlier that evening. There was a +pity 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 the +room as slowly as she had come into it. + + + +CHAPTER 26 + + +"It don't mean nothing," Pollard hastened to assure Terry. "It don't mean +a thing in the world except that she's a fool girl. The queerest, +orneriest, kindest, strangest, wildest thing in the shape of calico that +ever come into these parts since her mother died before her. But the more +you see of her, the more you'll value her. She can ride like a man--no +wear out to her--and she's got the courage of a man. Besides which she +can sling a gun like it would do your heart good to see her! Don't take +nothing she does to heart. She don't mean no harm. But she sure does +tangle up a gent's ideas. Here I been living with her nigh onto twenty +years 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 before +by man, woman, or child. And for the past few seconds his mind had been +following her through the door behind which she had disappeared. + +"And if I were to see more of her, no doubt--" He broke off with: "But +I'm not apt to see much more of any of you, Mr. Pollard. If I can't stay +here and work off that three-hundred-dollar debt--" + +"Work, hell! No son of Black Jack Hollis can work for me. But he can live +with me as a partner, son, and he can have everything I got, half and +half, 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 the +mountains by hard and patient work. They would have none of him. His own +kind turned him out. And among these men--men who had no law, as he had +every 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 way +up the stairs to the balcony. He pointed out the advantages of the house +as he spoke. + +"Not half bad--this house, eh?" he said proudly. "And who d'you think +planned it? Your old man, kid. It was Black Jack Hollis himself that done +it! He was took off sudden before he'd had a chance to work it out and +build it. But I used his ideas in this the same's I've done in other +things. 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. Same +with this house. You seen them walls. And the walls on the outside ain't +the only thing. Every partition is the same thing, pretty near; and a +gent could stand behind these doors safe as if he was a mile away from a +gun. Why? Because they's a nice little lining of the best steel you ever +seen in the middle of 'em. + +"Cost a lot. Sure. But look at us now. Suppose a posse was to rush the +house. They bust into the kitchen side. Where are they? Just the same as +if they hadn't got in at all. I bolt the doors from the inside of the big +room, and they're shut out agin. Or suppose they take the big room? Then +a couple of us slide out on this balcony and spray 'em with lead. This +house ain't going to be took till the last room is filled full of the +sheriff's men!" + +He paused on the balcony and looked proudly over the big, baronial room +below them. It seemed huger than ever from this viewpoint, and the men +below them were dwarfed. The light of the lanterns did not extend all the +way across it, but fell in pools here and there, gleaming faintly on the +men below. + +"But doesn't it make people suspicious to have a fort like this built on +the hill?" asked Terry. + +"Of course. If they knew. But they don't know, son, and they ain't going +to 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 the +flare steadied in the big circular oil burner and the light spread, Terry +made out a surprisingly comfortable apartment. There was not a bunk, but +a civilized bed, beside which was a huge, tawny mountain-lion skin +softening the floor. The window was curtained in some pleasant blue +stuff, 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 up +all out of her own head. Never got no ideas out of me. Anything you might +lack, son?" + +Terry told him he would be very comfortable, and the big man wrung his +hand again as he bade him good night. + +"The best work that Denver ever done was bringing you to me," he +declared. "Which you'll find it out before I'm through. I'm going to give +you a home!" And he strode away before Terry could answer. + +The rather rare consciousness of having done a good deed swelled in the +heart of Joe Pollard on his way down from the balcony. When he reached +the floor below, he found that the four men had gone to bed and left +Denver alone, drawn back from the light into a shadowy corner, where he +was flanked by the gleam of a bottle of whisky on the one side and a +shimmering 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 Eastern +territory. He came and went as he pleased, and was more or less a law to +himself. Moreover, he had certain qualities of silence and brooding that +usually disturbed the leader. They troubled him now as he approached the +squat, 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. "Maybe +he 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 a +while back. Good thing for him you come out when you did!" + +"A good thing for you, Joe," replied Denver Pete. "He'd of turned you +into 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 about +guns, Joe--quite a bit. But there's some things about gun fighting that +nobody can learn. It's got to be born into 'em. Remember how Black Jack +used 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 beat +him 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 a +good deal of gunplay, and said that Terry's was the coolest he ever +watched." + +"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; but +is 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 be +used, and he'll be the best bargain you ever turned. Black Jack started +you in business; Black Jack the Second will make you rich if you handle +him 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 gent +that's used to reading the secrets of a safe to read the secrets of a +gent's head. And I've read the secret of young Black Jack Hollis. He's a +pile of dry powder, Joe. Throw in the spark and he'll explode so damned +loud 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 no +mental 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 him +and 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 old +Black 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 working +it off for you--honest work. You ain't got any ranch work. Well, set him +to cutting down trees, or anything. That'll help to hold him. If he makes +some gambling play--and he's got the born gambler in him--you got one +last 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 Jack +looking 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 him +along. Will you? And after we got him glued to the place here, we'll +figure out the way to turn Terry into a copy of his dad. We'll figure out +how to shoot the spark into the powder, and then stand clear for the +explosion." + +Denver came silently and swiftly out of the chair, his pudgy hand spread +on 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 his +father ever was--and maybe more. He'll rake in the money like it was +dirt. How do I know? Because I've talked to him. I've watched him and +trailed him. He's trying hard to go straight. He's failed twice; the +third time he'll bust and throw in with us. And if he does, he'll clean +up the coin--and we'll get our share. Why ain't you made more money +yourself, Joe? You got as many men as Black Jack ever had. It's because +you ain't got the fire in you. Neither have I. We're nothing but tools +ready for another man to use the way Black Jack used us. Nurse this kid +along a little while, and he'll show us how to pry open the places where +the real coin is cached away. And he'll lead us in and out with no danger +to us and all the real risk on his own head. That's his way--that was his +dad'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 with +something more than gold. And I know what that something is. I'm going to +show him that the good, lawabiding citizens have made up their minds that +he'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 when +he 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't +there?" + +"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 good +name for gunplay." + +"Then hark to me sing, Joe! Send Terry into town to get something for +you. I'll drop in ahead of him and find Larrimer, and tell Larrimer that +Black Jack's son is around--the man that dropped Sheriff Minter. Then +I'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's +good riddance. The kid is going to get bumped off sometime, anyway. He's +bad--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 Hollis +is 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 brought +a bright flood of memories of the day before him. It seemed to him that +half a lifetime had been crowded into the brief hours since he was fired +on the ranch that morning. Behind everything stirred the ugly face of +Denver as a sort of controlling nemesis. It seemed to him that the chunky +little man had been pulling the wires all the time while he, Terry +Hollis, danced in response. Not a flattering thought. + +Nervously, Terry got out of bed and went to the window. The night was +cool, cut crisp rather than chilling. His eye went over the velvet +blackness of the mountain slope above him to the ragged line of the +crest--then a dizzy plunge to the brightness of the stars beyond. The +very sense of distance was soothing; it washed the gloom and the troubles +away from him. He breathed deep of the fragrance of the pines and then +went back to his bed. + +He had hardly taken his place in it when the sleep began to well up over +his brain--waves of shadows running out of corners of his mind. And then +suddenly he was wide awake, alert. + +Someone had opened the door. There had been no sound; merely a change in +the air currents of the room, but there was also the sense of another +presence so clearly that Terry almost imagined he could hear the +breathing. + +He was beginning to shrug the thought away and smile at his own +nervousness, when he heard that unmistakable sound of a foot pressing the +floor. And then he remembered that he had left his gun belt far from the +bed. In a burning moment that lesson was printed in his mind, and would +never be forgotten. Slowly as possible and without sound, he drew up his +feet little by little, spread his arms gently on either side of him, and +made himself tense for the effort. Whoever it was that entered, they +might be taken by surprise. He dared not lift his head to look; and he +was on the verge of leaping up and at the approaching noise, when a +whisper came to him softly: "Black Jack!" + +The soft voice, the name itself, thrilled him. He sat erect in the bed +and made out, dimly, the form of Kate Pollard in the blackness. She would +have been quite invisible, save that the square of the window was almost +exactly behind her. He made out the faint whiteness of the hand which +held her dressing robe at the breast. + +She did not start back, though she showed that she was startled by the +suddenness of his movement by growing the faintest shade taller and +lifting her head a little. Terry watched her, bewildered. + +"I been waiting to see you," said Kate. "I want to--I mean--to--talk to +you." + +He could think of nothing except to blurt with sublime stupidity: "It's +good of you. Won't you sit down?" + +The girl brought him to his senses with a sharp "Easy! Don't talk out. Do +you know what'd happen if Dad found me here?" + +"I--" began Terry. + +But she helped him smoothly to the logical conclusion. "He'd blow your +head 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 he +wondered at the variety of expression she was able to pack in the small +range of that murmur. "I suppose I'm a fool for coming. But I was born to +love chances. Born for it!" She lifted her head and laughed. + +It amazed Terry to hear the shaken flow of her breath and catch the +glinting outline of her face. He found himself leaning forward a little; +and he began to wish for a light, though perhaps it was an unconscious +wish. + +"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 chin +while she considered what she could say next. + +"They's so much to tell," she confessed, "that I can't put it short. I'll +tell 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? And +what you been doing with yourself?" + +He felt that this giving of the first name was a tribute, in some subtle +manner. It enabled him, for instance, to call her Kate, and he decided +with a thrill that he would do so at the first opportunity. He reverted +to her question. + +"I suppose," he admitted gloomily, "that I've been raised to do pretty +much 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 her +rose. Yet he found himself explaining humbly. + +"You see, I was taken when I wasn't old enough to decide for myself. I +was only a baby. And I was raised to depend upon Elizabeth Cornish. I--I +didn'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?" She +laughed 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 now +possible to dimly make out objects in the room. The window was filled +with an increasing brightness, and presently a shaft of pale light began +to slide across the floor, little by little. The moon had pushed up above +the 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. This +Elizabeth 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 terrible +pile." + +"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 you +gambled 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 of +himself, his voice changed, became softer. The girl straightened +somewhat, and the light was now increased to such a point that he could +make out that she was frowning at him through the dimness. + +"First, you been adopted, then you been raised on a great big place with +everything you want, mostly, and now you're out--playing at Pedro's. How +come, Terry?" + +"I was sent away," said Terry faintly, as all the pain of that farewell +came 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 of +her eyes, and knew that she had flown into one of her sudden, fiery +passions. And it warmed his heart to hear her. + +"I'd like to know what kind of people they are, anyway! I'd like to meet +up 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 very +just, Kate." + +She was shaking her head; the hair had become a dull and wonderful gold +in the faint moonshine. + +"I dunno what kind of a man you are, Terry. I didn't ever know a man +could stick by--folks--after they'd been hurt by 'em. I couldn't do it. I +ain't got much Bible stuff in me, Terry. Why, when somebody does me a +wrong, 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 that +you're pretty white, Terry Hollis." + +There was something so direct about her talk that he could not answer. It +seemed to him that there was in her a cross between a boy and a man--the +simplicity of a child and the straightforward strength of a grown man, +and all this tempered and made strangely delightful by her own unique +personality. + +"But I guessed it the first time I looked at you," she was murmuring. "I +guessed that you was different from the rest." + +She had her elbow on her knee now, and, with her chin cupped in the +graceful 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 about +the 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 myself +like 'em. But you're different. I seen that when you started talking. You +didn't sulk; and you didn't look proud like you wanted to show us what +you could do; and you didn't boast none. I kept wondering at you while I +was 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 tomorrow +morning?" + +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 you +see that that's why they like you? Because you're his son, and because +they want you to be another like him. Not that I have anything against +him. I guess he was a fine fellow in his way." She paused and stared +directly at him in a way he found hard to bear. "He must of been! But +that 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 could +stay 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 waved +him 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 anything +to 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 you +mean it? I see you do. I don't suppose it does any good for me to tell +you 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 the +inside of your head than you'd ever guess! Well, I knew that--and I come +with the money so's you can pay back Dad in the morning. Here it is--and +they'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 not +that low. I can't take your money!" + +She stood by the bed and stamped lightly. "Are you going to be a fool +about this, too?" + +"Your father offered to give me back all the money I'd won. I can't do +it, 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 thousand +ways just how vast that difference was. + +"Man, you'd make a saint swear, and I ain't a saint by some miles. You +take that money and pay Dad, and get on your way. This ain't no place for +you, Terry Hollis." + +"I--" he began. + +She broke in: "Don't say it. You'll have me mad in a minute. Don't say +it." + +"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 of +it. + +"Good enough?" said Terry. "Good enough?" Something that had been +accumulating in him now swelled to bursting, flooded from his heart to +his throat. He hardly knew his own voice, it was so transformed with +sudden 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 face +raised, as though music were falling on her, a thing barely heard at a +perilous distance. + +"They've told you other things, but they don't know. I know, Kate. The +moment I saw you I knew, and it stopped my heart for a beat--the knowing +of it. That you're beautiful--and true as steel; that you're worthy of +honor--and that I honor you with all my heart. That I love your kindness, +your frankness, your beautiful willingness to help people, Kate. I've +lived with a woman who taught me what was true. You've taught me what's +glorious 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 have +let you--talk the way you've done. But, oh, Terry--when you come to +forget what you've said--don't forget it all the way--keep some of the +things--tucked away in you--somewhere--" + +She rose from the bed and slipped across the white brilliance of the +shaft of moonlight. It made a red-gold fire of her hair. Then she +flickered 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 house +at dawn with her horse. + +"May be night before she comes back," said her father. "No telling how +far 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 trail +her across the hills. But he was very quickly brought to the reality that +if he chose to make himself a laboring man and work out the three hundred +dollars he would not take back from Joe Pollard, the big man was now +disposed to make him live up to his word. + +He was sent out with an ax and ordered to attack a stout grove of the +pines for firewood. But he quickly resigned himself to the work. Whatever +gloom he felt disappeared with the first stroke that sunk the edge deep +into the soft wood. The next stroke broke out a great chip, and a +resinous, fresh smell came up to him. + +He made quick work of the first tree, working the morning chill out of +his body, and as he warmed to his labor, the long muscles of arms and +shoulders limbering, the blows fell in a shower. The sturdy pines fell +one by one, and he stripped them of branches with long, sweeping blows of +the ax, shearing off several at a stroke. He was not an expert axman, but +he knew enough about that cunning craft to make his blows tell, and a +continual desire to sing welled up in him. + +Once, to breathe after the heavy labor, he stepped to the edge of the +little grove. The sun was sparkling in the tops of the trees; the valley +dropped far away below him. He felt as one who stands on the top of the +world. There was flash and gleam of red; there stood El Sangre in the +corral below him; the stallion raised his head and whinnied in reply to +the master's whistle. + +A great, sweet peace dropped on the heart of Terry Hollis. Now he felt he +was at home. He went back to his work. + +But in the midmorning Joe Pollard came to him and grunted at the swath +Terry 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 Sangre +a stretching down the road?" + +"Of course." + +It gave Terry a little prickling feeling of resentment to be ordered +about. But he swallowed the resentment. After all, this was labor of his +own choosing, though he could not but wonder a little, because Joe +Pollard no longer pressed him to take back the money he had lost. And he +reverted to the talk of Kate the night before. That three hundred dollars +was now an anchor holding him to the service of her father. And he +remembered, with a touch of dismay, that it might take a year of ordinary +wages to save three hundred dollars. Or more than a year. + +It was impossible to be downhearted long, however. The morning was as +fresh as a rose, and the four men came out of the house with Pollard to +see El Sangre dancing under the saddle. Terry received the commission for +a box of shotgun cartridges and the money to pay for them. + +"And the change," said Pollard liberally, "don't worry me none. Step +around and make yourself to home in town. About coming back--well, when I +send 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 straight +into the air and landed on legs of jack-rabbit qualities that flung him +sidewise. The hand and voice of Terry quieted him, while the others stood +around grinning with delight at the fun and at the beautiful +horsemanship. + +"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 of +quartz and hurled it--straight at El Sangre! There was no warning--just a +jerk 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 hand +of Terry, exploded, and the gleaming quartz puffed into a shower of +bright particles that danced toward the earth. El Sangre flew into a +paroxysm of educated bucking of the most advanced school. The steady +voice of Terry Hollis brought him at last to a quivering stop. The rider +was 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 may +have had something to do with the success of that snapshot, but it was +such 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. I +hope I'm wrong?" + +"Maybe," growled Slim. He flashed a glance at his companions, not at all +eager to push this quarrel forward to a conclusion in spite of his known +prowess. He had been a little irritated by the adulation which had been +shown to the son of Black Jack the night before. He was still more +irritated by the display of fine riding. For horsemanship and clever +gunplay were the two main feathers in the cap of Slim Dugan. He had +thrown the stone simply to test the qualities of this new member of the +gang; the snapshot had stunned him. So he glanced at his companions. If +they smiled, it meant that they took the matter lightly. But they were +not smiling; they met his glance with expressions of uniform gravity. To +torment a nervous horse is something which does not fit with the ways of +the men of the mountain desert, even at their roughest. Besides, there +was an edgy irritability about Slim Dugan which had more than once won +him black looks. They wanted to see him tested now by a foeman who seemed +worthy of his mettle. And Slim saw that common desire in his flickering +side glance. He turned a cold eye on Terry. + +"Maybe," he repeated. "But maybe I meant to see what you could do with a +gun." + +"I thought so," said Terry through his teeth. "Steady, boy!" + +El Sangre became a rock for firmness. There was not a quiver in one of +his long, racing muscles. It was a fine tribute to the power of the +rider. + +"I thought you might be trying out my gun," repeated Terry. "Are you +entirely satisfied?" + +He leaned a little in the saddle. Slim moistened his lips. It was a hard +question to answer. The man in the saddle had become a quivering bundle +of nerves; Slim could see the twitching of the lips, and he knew what it +meant. Instinctively he fingered one of the broad bright buttons of his +shirt. A man who could hit a glittering thrown stone would undoubtedly be +able to hit that stationary button. The thought had elements in it that +were decidedly unpleasant. But he had gone too far. He dared not recede +now if he wished to hold up his head again among his fellows--and fear of +death had never yet controlled the actions of Slim Dugan. + +"I dunno," he remarked carelessly. "I'm a sort of curious gent. It takes +more than one lucky shot to make me see the light." + +The lips of Terry worked a moment. The companions of Slim Dugan scattered +of one accord to either side. There was no doubting the gravity of the +crisis which had so suddenly sprung up. As for Joe Pollard, he stood in +the doorway in the direct line projected from Terry to Slim and beyond. +There was very little sentiment in the body of Joe Pollard. Slim had +always been a disturbing factor in the gang. Why not? He bit his lips +thoughtfully. + +"Dugan," said Terry at length, "curiosity is a very fine quality, and I +admire a man who has it. Greatly. Now, you may notice that my gun is in +the holster again. Suppose you try me again and see how fast I can get it +out of the leather--and hit a target." + +The challenge was entirely direct. There was a perceptible tightening in +the muscles of the men. They were nerving themselves to hear the crack of +a gun at any instant. Slim Dugan, gathering his nerve power, fenced for a +moment more of time. His narrowing eyes were centering on one spot on +Terry's body--the spot at which he would attempt to drive his bullet, and +he chose the pocket of Terry's shirt. It steadied him, gave him his old +self-confidence to have found that target. His hand and his brain grew +steady, 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 a +button!" + +It jarred home to Slim--the very thought he had had a moment before. He +felt his certainty waver, slip from him. Then the voice of Pollard boomed +out at them: + +"Keep them guns in their houses! You hear me talk? The first man that +makes 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 without +a backward look. + + + +CHAPTER 29 + + +There had been a profound reason behind the sudden turning of Terry +Hollis'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 new +to him, a fierce and sudden passion. + +It was joyous, free, terrible in its force--that wish to slay. The +emotion had grown, held back by the very force of a mental thread of +reason, until, at the very moment when the thread was about to fray and +snap, and he would be flung into sudden action, the booming voice of Joe +Pollard had cleared his mind as an acid clears a cloudy precipitate. He +saw himself for the first time in several moments, and what he saw made +him shudder. + +And still in fear of himself he swung El Sangre and put him down the +slope recklessly. Never in his life had he ridden as he rode in those +first five minutes down the pitch of the hill. He gave El Sangre his head +to pick his own way, and he confined his efforts to urging the great +stallion along. The blood-bay went like the wind, passing up-jutting +boulders with a swish of gravel knocked from his plunging hoofs against +the rock. + +Even in Terry's passion of self-dread he dimly appreciated the prowess of +the horse, and when they shot onto the level going of the valley road, he +called El Sangre out of the mad gallop and back to the natural pace, a +gait as swinging and smooth as running water--yet still the road poured +beneath them at the speed of an ordinary gallop. It was music to Terry +Hollis, that matchless gait. He leaned and murmured to the pricking ears +with that soft, gentle voice which horses love. The glorious head of El +Sangre went up a little, his tail flaunted somewhat more proudly; from +the quiver of his nostrils to the ringing beat of his black hoofs he +bespoke 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 waning +self-confidence. His father had been up in him as he faced Slim Dugan, he +knew. Once more he had escaped from the commission of a crime. But for +how long would he succeed in dodging that imp of the perverse which +haunted him? + +It was like the temptation of a drug--to strike just once, and thereafter +to be raised above himself, take to himself the power of evil which is +greater than the power of good. The blow he struck at the sheriff had +merely served to launch him on his way. To strike down was not now what +he wanted, but to kill! To feel that once he had accomplished the destiny +of some strong man, to turn a creature of mind and soul, ambition and +hope, 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 desire +to strike, as he had looked into the sneering face of Slim Dugan, had +been almost overmastering. + +Sooner or later he would strike that blow. Sooner or later he would +commit the great and controlling crime. And the rest of his life would be +a 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 or +deed and give him a chance to prove that he was honest! Even then the +battle would be hard, against temptation; but they were too smugly sure +that 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 his +father? + +Grinding his teeth, he swore that if that time ever came when they took +his destiny into their own hands, he would make it a day to be marked in +red all through the mountains! + +The cool, fresh wind against his face blew the sullen anger away. And +when 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 the +cinches, where girth means lung power, twisted out of a side trail and +swung past El Sangre at a fast gallop. The blood-bay snorted and came +hard against the bit in a desire to follow. On the range, when he led his +wild band, no horse had ever passed El Sangre and hardly the voice of the +master could keep him back now. Terry loosed him. He did not break into a +gallop, but fled down the road like an arrow, and the gray came back to +him slowly and surely until the rider twisted around and swore in +surprise. + +He touched his mount with the spurs; there was a fresh start from the +gray, a lunge that kicked a little spurt of dust into the nostrils of El +Sangre. He snorted it out. Terry released his head completely, and now, +as though in scorn refusing to break into his sweeping gallop, El Sangre +flung himself ahead to the full of his natural pace. + +And the gray came back steadily. The town was shoving up at them at the +end of the road more and more clearly. The rider of the gray began to +curse. He was leaning forward, jockeying his horse, but still El Sangre +hurled himself forward powerfully, smoothly. They passed the first shanty +on the outskirts of the town with the red head of the stallion at the hip +of the other. Before they straightened into the main street, El Sangre +had shoved his nose past the outstretched head of the gray. Then the +other rider jerked back on his reins with a resounding oath. Terry +imitated; one call to El Sangre brought him back to a gentle amble. + +"Going to sell this damned skate," declared the stranger, a lean-faced +man of middle age with big, patient, kindly eyes. "If he can't make +another hoss break out of a pace, he ain't worth keeping! But I'll tell a +man 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 him +beat by a hoss that don't break out of a pace." + +He swore again, but less violently and with less disappointment. He was +beginning to run his eyes appreciatively over the superb lines of El +Sangre. There were horses and horses, and he began to see that this was +one 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 freak +mustang, I guess. He reverts to the old source stock." + +"I've heard something about that," nodded the other. "Once in a +generation they say a mustang turns up somewhere on the range that breeds +back 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, and +the 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 the +country known by his first name alone. There were reasons and reasons why +men chose to conceal their family names in the mountains, however, and +not all of them were bad. He decided to reserve judgment. Particularly +since he noted a touch of similarity between the high head and the +glorious lines of El Sangre and the young pride and strength of Terry +himself. There was something reassuringly clean and frank about both +horse 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 back +of the hills, I know, and some cattle on it; but he's sure a waster of +good labor. Take me, now. I need a hand right bad to help me with the +cows." + +"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 is +all right. He's sort of a newcomer around here. That big house of his +ain't more'n four or five years old. But most usually a man buys land and +cattle around here before he builds him a big house. Well--Pollard is an +open-handed cuss, I'll say that for him, and maybe they ain't anything in +the talk that goes around." + +What that talk was Terry attempted to discover, but he could not. Jack +Baldwin was a cautious gossip. + +Since they had finished buying, the storekeeper perched on the edge of +his selling counter and began to pass the time of the day. It began with +the 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 two +nights firing up the croup kettle. Now he's better, but he still coughs +terrible bad." + +And so on until all family affairs had been exhausted. This is a +formality. One must not rush to the heart of his news or he will mortally +offend the sensitive Westerner. + +This is the approved method. The storekeeper exemplified it, and having +talked about nothing for ten minutes, quietly remarked that young +Larrimer 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 a +peanut shell can run over men just because he's spent his life learning +how 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 with +precision and remarkable power through the window beside him. "That's +what they been saying for the last two years. Dawson come right down here +to get him; but it was Dawson that was got. And Kennedy was called a good +man with a gun--but Larrimer beat him to the draw and filled him plumb +full of lead." + +"I know," growled Baldwin. "Kept on shooting after Kennedy was down and +had the gun shot out of his hand and was helpless. And yet they call that +self-defense." + +"We can't afford to be too particular about shootings," said the +storekeeper. "Speaking personal, I figure that a shooting now and then +lets the blood of the youngsters and gives 'em a new start. Kind of like +to see it." + +"But who's Larrimer after now?" + +"A wild-goose chase, most likely. He says he's heard that the son of old +Black Jack is around these parts, and that he's going to bury the +outlaw'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 horror +from which there was no appeal. In the eye of Jack Baldwin, fair-minded +man though he was, Black Jack's son was judged and condemned as worthless +before his case had been heard. + +"I dunno," said the storekeeper; "but if Larrimer put one of Black Jack's +breed under the ground, I'd call him some use to the town." + +Jack Baldwin was agreeing fervently when the storekeeper made a violent +signal. + +"There's Larrimer now, and he looks all fired up." + +Terry turned and saw a tall fellow standing in the doorway. He had been +prepared for a youth; he saw before him a hardened man of thirty and +more, gaunt-faced, bristling with the rough beard of some five or six +days' growth, a thin, cruel, hawklike face. + + + +CHAPTER 30 + + +A moment later, from the side door which led from the store into the main +body of the hotel, stepped the chunky form of Denver Pete, quick and +light of foot as ever. He went straight to the counter and asked for +matches, and as the storekeeper, still keeping half an eye upon the +formidable figure of Larrimer, turned for the matches, Denver spoke +softly from the side of his mouth to Terry--only in the lockstep line of +the prison do they learn to talk in this manner--gauging the carrying +power of the whisper with nice accuracy. + +"That bird's after you. Crazy with booze in the head, but steady in the +hand. One of two things. Clear out right now, or else say the word and +I'll stay and help you get rid of him." + +For the first time in his life fear swept over Terry--fear of himself +compared with which the qualm he had felt after turning from Slim Dugan +that morning had been nothing. For the second time in one day he was +being 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, Denver +had come to be present and watch the launching of Terry into a career of +crime. But it was not the public that Terry feared. It was himself. His +moral determination was a dam which blocked fierce currents in him that +were struggling to get free. And a bullet fired at Larrimer would be the +thing 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. And +pray for me." + +A strange request. It shattered even the indomitable self-control of +Denver 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 his +bloodshot little eyes ran up and down the body of the stranger. He turned +to the storekeeper, but still half of his attention was fixed upon Terry. + +"Bill," he said, "you seen anything of a spavined, long-horned, no-good +skunk named Hollis around town today?" + +And Terry could see him wait, quivering, half in hopes that the stranger +would show some anger at this denunciation. + +"Ain't seen nobody by that name," said Bill mildly. "Maybe you're chasing +a wild goose? Who told you they was a gent named Hollis around?" + +"Black Jack's son," insisted Larrimer. "Wild-goose chase, hell! I was +told he was around by a gent named--" + +"These ain't the kind of matches I want!" cried Denver Pete, with a +strangely loud-voiced wrath. "I don't want painted wood. How can a gent +whittle one of these damned matches down to toothpick size? Gimme plain +wood, will you?" + +The storekeeper, wondering, made the exchange. Drunken Larrimer had roved +on, forgetful of his unfinished sentence. For the very purpose of keeping +that sentence unfinished, Denver Pete remained on the scene, edging +toward the outskirts. Now was to come, in a single moment, both the +temptation and the test of Terry Hollis, and well Denver knew that if +Larrimer fell with a bullet in his body there would be an end of Terry +Hollis in the world and the birth of a new soul--the true son of Black +Jack! + +"It's him that plugged Sheriff Minter," went on Larrimer. "I hear tell as +how he got the sheriff from behind and plugged him. This town ain't a +place for a man-killing houn' dog like young Black Jack, and I'm here to +let him know it!" + +The torrent of abuse died out in a crackle of curses. Terry Hollis stood +as 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, is +there?" + +"Better than a circus," declared Baldwin. "Wouldn't miss it. Since old +man 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 he +determined to dodge the issue. He started toward the door, taking care +not to walk hastily enough to draw suspicion on him because of his +withdrawal, but to the heated brain of Larrimer all things were +suspicious. His long arm darted out as Terry passed him; he jerked the +smaller man violently back. + +"Wait a minute. I don't know you, kid. Maybe you got the information I +want?" + +"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 the +floor. + +He heard a murmur from the men at the other end of the room. He knew that +small, 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 victim +more fully. "What I want to know is about the gent that owns the red hoss +in front of the store. Ever hear of him?" + +Terry was silent. By a vast effort he was able to shake his head. It was +hard, bitterly hard, but every good influence that had ever come into his +life now stood beside him and fought with and for him--Elizabeth Cornish, +the long and fictitious line of his Colby ancestors, Kate Pollard with +her clear-seeing eyes. He saw her last of all. When the men were scorning +him for the way he had avoided this battle, she, at least, would +understand, and her understanding would be a mercy. + +"Hollis is somewhere around," declared Larrimer, drawing back and biting +his lip. "I know it, damn well. His hoss is standing out yonder. I know +what'll fetch him. I'll shoot that hoss of his, and that'll bring him--if +young Black Jack is half the man they say he is! I ain't out to shoot +cowards--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 that +it 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 already +damned 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. I +know 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 the +breaking-point all this time. He felt a warmth run through him--the +warmth 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 the +voice of Terry like the ring down the barrel of a shotgun after it has +been 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 long +stride back. + +"Stop where you are!" cried Terry. + +He stood like a soldier with his heels together, straight, trembling. And +Larrimer stopped as though a blow had checked him. + +"I may be your sky-pilot, Larrimer. But listen to sense. Do you really +mean 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 change +from this man's humility of the moment before, his almost cringing +meekness, to his present defiance was so startling that Larrimer was +momentarily at sea. + +"Damn my eyes," he remarked furiously, "this is funny, this is. Are you +preaching at me, kid? What d'you mean by that? Eh?" + +"I'll tell you why. Face me squarely, will you? Your head up, and your +hands ready." + +In spite of his rage and wonder, Larrimer instinctively obeyed, for the +words came snapping out like military commands. + +"Now I'll tell you. You manhunting cur, I'm going to send you to hell +with your sins on your head. I'm going to kill you, Larrimer!" + +It was so unexpected, so totally startling, that Larrimer blinked, raised +his 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 hand +whipped for the gun. It came cleanly out. There was no flap to his +holster, and the sight had been filed away to give more oiled and perfect +freedom to the draw. Years of patient practice had taught his muscles to +reflex in this one motion with a speed that baffled the eye. Fast as +light that draw seemed to those who watched, and the draw of Terry Hollis +appeared to hang in midair. His hand wavered, then clutched suddenly, and +they saw a flash of metal, not the actual motion of drawing the gun. Just +that gleam of the barrel at his hip, hardly clear of the holster, and +then in the dimness of the big room a spurt of flame and the boom of the +gun. + +There was a clangor of metal at the farthest end of the room. Larrimer's +gun had rattled on the boards, unfired. He tossed up his great gaunt arms +as though he were appealing for help, leaped into the air, and fell +heavily, 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 the +body of Larrimer. + +To these things Bill, the storekeeper, and Jack Baldwin, the rancher, +afterward swore. That young Black Jack leaned a little over the corpse +and then straightened and touched the fallen hand with the toe of his +boot. Then he turned upon them a perfectly calm, unemotional look. + +"I seem to have been elected to do the scavenger work in this town," he +said. "But I'm going to leave it to you gentlemen to take the carrion +away. Shorty, I'm going back to the house. Are you ready to ride that +way?" + +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 of +the two was a voice singing faintly and far off in the stable--they could +hear it because the door to the big living room was opened. And Kate +Pollard, who had been sitting idly at the piano, stood up suddenly and +looked around her. It did not interrupt the crap game of the four at one +side of the room, where they kneeled in a close circle. But it brought +big Pollard himself to the door in time to meet Denver Pete as the latter +hurried in. + +When Denver was excited he talked very nearly as softly as he walked. And +his voice tonight was like a contented humming. + +"It worked," was all he said aside to Pollard as he came through the +door. They exchanged silent grips of the hands. Then Kate drew down on +them; as if a mysterious; signal had been passed to them by the subdued +entrance 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 that +to hear him the others instantly drew close. Kate Pollard stood suddenly +before 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 played +scavenger for the town--and he's done it in a way they won't be +forgetting 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's +words again." + +"Wait a minute," cut in big blond Phil Marvin. Don't spoil the story for +Terry. But did he really do for Larrimer? Larrimer was a neat one with a +gun--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't +talk about it. Wouldn't open his face about it all the way home. A pretty +neat play, boys. Larrimer was looking for a rep, and he wanted to make it +on Black Jack's son. Came tearing in. + +"At first Terry tried to sidestep him. Made me weak inside for a minute +because I thought he was going to take water. Then he got riled a bit and +then--whang! It was all over. Not a body shot. No, boys, nothing clumsy +and amateurish like that, because a man may live to empty his gun at you +after he's been shot through the body. This young Hollis, pals, just ups +and drills Larrimer clean between the eyes. If you'd measured it off with +a ruler, you couldn't have hit exact center any better'n he done. Then he +walks up and stirs Larrimer with his toe to make sure he was dead. Cool +as 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, if +they'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 town +rave. They thought nobody could beat Larrimer." + +The girl slipped back into her chair again and sat with her chin in her +hand, brooding. It was all impossible--it could not be. Yet there was +Denver telling his story, and far away the clear baritone of Terry Hollis +singing as he cared for El Sangre. + +She waited to make sure, waited to see his face and hear him speak close +at hand. Presently the singing rang out more clearly. He had stepped out +of 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 the +doorway, with his saddle and bridle hanging over one strong arm and his +gun and gun belt in the other hand. And his voice came cheerily to them +in greeting. It was impossible--more impossible than ever. + +He crossed the room, hung up his saddle, and found her sitting near. What +should he say? How would his color change? In what way could he face her +with that stain in his soul? + +And this was what Terry said to her: "I'm going to teach El Sangre to let +you ride him, Kate. By the Lord, I wish you'd been with us going down the +hill this morning!" + +No shame, no downward head, no remorse. And he was subtly and strangely +changed. She could not put the difference into words. But his eye seemed +larger and brighter--it was no longer possible for her to look deeply +into it, as she had done so easily the night before. And there were other +differences. + +He held his head in a more lordly fashion. About every movement there was +a singular ease and precision. He walked with a lighter step and with a +catlike softness almost as odd as that of Denver. His step had been light +before, but it was not like this. But through him and about him there was +an air of uneasy, alert happiness--as of one who steals a few perfect +moments, 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 you +ought to be hangin' your head. You've done murder! Murder! Murder!" + +She let the three words ring through the room like three blows, cutting +the talk to silence. And all save Terry seemed moved. + +He was laughing down at her--actually laughing, and there was no doubt as +to 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 a +man, Terry." + +He insisted carelessly. "By the Lord, Kate, only a dog--and a mad dog at +that. Perhaps there was the body of a man, but there was the soul of a +dog inside the skin. Tut! it isn't worth talking about." + +She drew away from him. "Terry, God pity you. I pity you," she went on +hurriedly and faintly. "But you ain't the same any more, Terry. I--I'm +almost afraid of you!" + +He tried laughingly to stop her, and in a sudden burst of hysterical +terror she fled from him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him come +after her, light as a shadow. And the shadow leaped between her and the +door; the force of her rush drove her into his arms. + +In the distance she could hear the others laughing--they understood such +a game as this, and enjoyed it with all their hearts. Ah, the fools! + +He held her lightly, his fingertips under her elbows. For all the +delicacy of that touch, she knew that if she attempted to flee, the grip +would be iron. He would hold her where she was until he was through +talking to her. + +"Don't you see what I've done?" he was saying rapidly. "You wanted to +drive me out last night. You said I didn't fit--that I didn't belong up +here. Well, Kate, I started out today to make myself fit to belong to +this company of fine fellows." + +He laughed a little; if it were not real mirth, at least there was a +fierce quality of joy in his voice. + +"You see, I decided that if I went away I'd be lonely. Particularly, I'd +be 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 other +place for me to go. I tried the world of good, ordinary working people. I +asked them to let me come in and prove my right to be one of them. They +discharged me when I worked honestly on the range. They sent their +professional gunmen and bullies after me. And then--I reached the limit +of my endurance, Kate, and I struck back. And the mockery of it all is +this--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. And +freedom is the sweetest thing in the world. There's no place else for me +to go. This is my world. You're my queen. I've won my spurs; I'll use +them in your service, Kate." + +"Stop, Terry!" + +"By the Lord, I will, though! I'm happy--don't you see? And I'm going to +be happier. I'm going to work my way along until I can tell you--that I +love you, Kate--that you're the daintiest body of fire and beauty and +temper and gentleness and wisdom and fun that was ever crowned with the +name 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 went +by 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 the +Pollard house were now opened. They no longer held back from Terry, but +admitted him freely to their counsels. But the first person to whom he +spoke was Slim Dugan. There was a certain nervousness about Slim this +evening, and a certain shame. For he felt that in the morning, to an +extent, he had backed down from the quarrel with young Black Jack. The +killing of Larrimer now made that reticence of the morning even more +pointed than it had been before. With all these things taken into +consideration, Slim Dugan was in the mood to fight and die; for he felt +that his honor was concerned. A single slighting remark to Terry, a +single sneering side glance, would have been a signal for gunplay. And +everyone knew it. + +The moment there was silence the son of Black Jack went straight to Slim +Dugan. + +"Slim," he said, just loud enough for everyone to hear, "a fellow isn't +himself before noon. I've been thinking over that little trouble we had +this morning, and I've made up my mind that if there were any fault it +was mine for taking a joke too seriously. At any rate, if it's agreeable +to you, Slim, I'd like to shake hands and call everything square. But if +there'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 I +was damned wrong to heave that stone at the hoss. And I apologize, +Terry." + +And so everything was forgotten. Indeed, where there had been enmity +before, there was now friendship. And there was a breath of relief drawn +by every member of the gang. The peacemaking tendency of Hollis had more +effect on the others than a dozen killings. They already granted that he +was formidable. They now saw that he was highly desirable also. + +Dinner that night was a friendly affair, except that Kate stayed in her +room with a headache. Johnny the Chinaman smuggled a tray to her. Oregon +Charlie 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'll +get over it all right." + +Oregon Charlie had a right to talk. It was an open secret that he had +loved Kate faithfully ever since he joined the gang. But apparently Terry +Hollis cared little about the moods of the girl. He was the center of +festivities that evening until an interruption from the outside formed a +diversion. It came in the form of a hard rider; the mutter of his hoofs +swept to the door, and Phil Marvin, having examined the stranger from the +shuttered 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 the +dust off it, and loosening the bandanna at his throat. The drooping, pale +mustache 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 places +laid; he had always liked the suggestion of hospitality, but he was +rather in doubt about this guest. He ate with marvellous expedition, +keeping his lean face close to the table and bolting his food like a +hungry dog. Presently he drained his coffee cup, arranged his mustache +with painful care, and seemed prepared to talk. + +"First thing," he said now--and utter silence spread around the table as +he began to talk--"first thing is that McGuire is coming. I seen him on +the trail, cut to the left and took the short way. He ought to be loping +in almost any minute." + +Terry saw the others looking straight at Pollard; the leader was +thoughtful 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 the +sheriff 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 lay +eyes on me, neither. Some of you can go out and beat up trouble. I like +to 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, he +twitched his gun out of the holster, spun the cylinder, and dropped it +back. + +"Don't try nothing till you see me put my hand into my beard, boys. He +don't mean much so long as he's come alone." + +Marvin drew back the door. Terry saw a man with shoulders of martial +squareness enter. And there was a touch of the military in his brisk step +and the curt nod he sent at Marvin as he passed the latter. He had not +taken off his sombrero. It cast a heavy shadow across the upper part of +his worn, sad face. + +"Evening, sheriff," came from Pollard, and a muttered chorus from the +others repeated the greeting. The sheriff cast his glance over them like +a 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 of +war. + +"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 in +you-all a heap!" + +He brought it out with a faint smile; there was no response to that +mirth. + +"Matter of fact, I been keeping my eye on you fellows right along. Now, I +ain'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's +been a lot of queer things happen right around in the mountains; and some +of 'em has traced back kind of close to Joe Pollard's house as a starting +point. I ain't going to go any further. If I'm wrong, they ain't any harm +done; 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 things +that we don't stand for, and one of 'em that riles us particular much is +when a gent that lays out to be a regular hardworking rancher--even if he +ain't got much of a ranch to talk about and work about--takes mankillers +under their wings. It ain't regular, and it ain't popular around these +parts. I guess you know what I mean." + +Terry expected Pollard to jump to his feet. But there was no such +response. 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 on +Terry 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's +blood 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 very +proud of my father." + +"I think you are," said the sheriff gravely. "I think you are--damned +proud of him. So proud you might even figure on imitating what he done in +the old days." + +"Perhaps," said Terry. The imp of the perverse was up in him now, urging +him on. + +"Step soft, sheriff," cried Pollard suddenly, as though he sensed a +crisis 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't +scaring me none. And now hark to me, Black Jack. You've got away with two +gents already--two that's known, I mean. Minter was one and Larrimer was +two. 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 going +to do what your dad done before you. I'll tell you why. In the old days +the law was a joke. But it's tolerable strong now. You hear me talk--get +out 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 the +tigerish suddenness with which Terry's temper could flare--they had +received an object lesson that morning. But to their amazement he +remained perfectly cool under fire. He sauntered a little closer to the +sheriff. + +"I'll tell you, McGuire," he said gently. "Your great mistake is in +talking too much. You've had a good deal of success, my friend. So much +that your head is turned. You're quite confident that no one will invade +your special territory; and you keep your sympathy for neighboring +counties. You pity the sheriffs around you. Now listen to me. You've +branded 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 be +done 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'm +going to keep you busy. And now--get out! And before you judge the next +man that crosses your path, wait for the advice of twelve good men and +true. You need advice, McGuire. You need it to beat hell! Start on your +way!" + +His calmness was shaken a little toward the end of this speech and his +voice, at the close, rang sharply at McGuire. The latter considered him +from beneath frowning brows for a moment and then, without another word, +without a glance to the others and a syllable of adieu, turned and walked +slowly, thoughtfully, out of the room. Terry walked back to his place. As +he 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 I +particularly 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 hound +myself. Action, boys; action is what we must have, and action right in +this county under the nose of the complacent McGuire!" + + + +CHAPTER 33 + + +There was no exuberant joy to meet this suggestion. McGuire had, as a +matter of fact, made his territory practically crime-proof for so long +that men had lost interest in planning adventures within the sphere of +his authority. It seemed to the four men of Pollard's gang a peculiar +folly to cast a challenge in the teeth of the formidable sheriff himself. +Even Pollard was shaken and looked to Denver. But that worthy, who had +returned from the door where he was stationed during the presence of the +sheriff, 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 particularly +interesting 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 he +skinned out of the ranch. And then I worked for Lewison. If they's +anything good about Lewison, you'd need a spyglass to find it, and then +it wouldn't be fit to see. His wife couldn't live with him; he drove his +son off and turned him into a drunk; and he's lived his life for his +coin." + +"Which he ain't got much to show for it," remarked Marvin. "He lives like +a starved dog." + +"And that's just why he's got the coin," said Sandy. "He lives on what +would make a dog sick and his whole life he's been saving every cent he's +made. He gives his wife one dress every three years till she died. That's +how tight he is. But he's sure got the money. Told everybody his kid run +off with all his savings. That's a lie. His kid didn't have the guts or +the sense to steal even what was coming to him for the work he done for +the old miser. Matter of fact, he's got enough coin saved--all gold--to +break the back of a mule. That's a fact! Never did no investing, but +turned 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't +going to tell you how I smell out the facts about money. Wouldn't be any +use 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 the +house?" + +"That so?" + +"It sure is! Now the point's this. He had all his gold in his own private +safe at home." + +Denver groaned. + +"I know, Denver," nodded Sandy. "Easy pickings for you; but I didn't find +all this out till the other day. Never even knew he had a safe in his +house. Not till he has 'em bring out a truck from town and he ships the +safe and everything in it to the bank. You see, he sold out his own place +and 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 old +Lewison himself and two gunmen he's hired for the job. Tomorrow he starts +out down the river with the safe on a big wagon, and he'll have half a +dozen guards along with him. Boys, they's going to be forty thousand +dollars in that safe! And the minute she gets out of the county--because +old McGuire will guard it to the boundary line--we can lay back in the +hills and--" + +"You done enough planning, Sandy," broke in Joe Pollard. "You've smelled +out 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 same +yellow glint of the eyes. It would be a big haul, one of the biggest, if +not the very biggest, Pollard had ever attempted. + +Of the talk that followed, Terry heard little, because he was paying +scant attention. He saw Joe Pollard lie back in his chair with squinted +eyes and run over a swift description of the country through which the +trail of the money would lead. The leader knew every inch of the +mountains, it seemed. His memory was better than a map; in it was jotted +down every fallen log, every boulder, it seemed. And when his mind was +fixed 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 be +more to say in the morning about the details. And every man offered +suggestions. On only one point were they agreed. This was a sum of money +for which they could well afford to spill blood. For such a prize as this +they could well risk making the countryside so hot for themselves that +they would have to leave Pollard's house and establish headquarters +elsewhere. Two shares to Pollard and one to each of his men, including +Sandy, would make the total loot some four thousand dollars and more per +man. And in the event that someone fell in the attempt, which was more +than probable, the share for the rest would be raised to ten thousand for +Pollard and five thousand for each of the rest. Terry saw cold glances +pass the rounds, and more than one dwelt upon him. He was the last to +join; if there were to be a death in this affair, he would be the least +missed of all. + +A sharp order from Pollard terminated the conference and sent his men to +bed, with Pollard setting the example. But Terry lingered behind and +called back Denver. + +"There is one point," he said when they were alone, "that it seems to me +the chief has overlooked." + +"Talk up, kid," grinned Denver Pete. "I seen you was thinking. It sure +does 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 is +guarded 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, you +don't know the gents in this town. They sleep with a gat under every head +and ears that hear a pin drop in the next room--right while they're +snoring. 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 long +that 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 call +the chief and--" + +"Wait," said Terry, laying a hand on the round, hard-muscled shoulder of +the yegg. "I had a purpose in waiting. Seven men are too many to take +into a town." + +"Eh?" + +"Two men might surprise three. But seven men are more apt to be +surprised." + +"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 was +more and more fascinated by the idea. + +"You and me to turn the trick alone?" he whispered out of the side of his +mouth in a peculiar, confidentially guilty way that was his when he was +excited. "Kid, I begin to hear the old Black Jack talk in you! I begin to +hear him talk! I knew it would come!" + + + +CHAPTER 34 + + +An hour's ride brought them to the environs of the little town. But it +was already nearly the middle of night and the village was black; +whatever life waked at that hour had been drawn into the vortex of +Pedro's. And Pedro's was a place of silence. Terry and Denver skirted +down the back of the town and saw the broad windows of Pedro's, against +which passed a moving silhouette now and again, but never a voice floated +out to them. + +Otherwise the town was dead. They rode until they were at the other +extremity of the main street. Here, according to Denver, was the bank +which had never in its entire history been the scene of an attempted +raid. They threw the reins of their horses after drawing almost +perilously close. + +"Because if we get what we want," said Terry, "it will be too heavy to +carry far." + +And Denver agreed, though they had come so close that from the back of +the bank it must have been possible to make out the outlines of the +horses. The bank itself was a broad, dumpy building with adobe walls, +whose corners had been washed and rounded by time to shapelessness. The +walls angled in as they rose; the roof was flat. As for the position, it +could 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; and +the front and back porches commanded the front and back entrances of the +building. + +The moment they had dismounted, Terry and Denver stood a while +motionless. There was no doubt, even before they approached nearer, about +the activity and watchfulness of the guards who took care of the new +deposit in the bank. Across the back wall of the building drifted a +shadowy outline--a guard marching steadily back and forth and keeping +sentry watch. + +"A stiff job, son," muttered Denver. "I told you these birds wouldn't +sleep 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; the +soundless, slowly moving figure across the wall of the building; the +hush, 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 be +alone with this adventure, match his cunning and his strength against +whoever guarded the money of old Lewison, the miser. + +"Stay here," he whispered in the ear of Denver. "Keep quiet. I'm going to +slip over there and see what's what. Be patient. It may take a long +time." + +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 and +get you away again with the stuff." Denver shrugged his shoulders. It was +much in the method of famous old Black Jack himself. There were so many +features of similarity between the methods of the boy and his father that +it seemed to Denver that the ghost of the former man had stepped into the +body of his son. + +In the meantime Terry faded into the dark. His plan of approach was +perfectly simple. The house to the right of the bank was painted blue. +Against that dark background no figure stood out clearly. Instead of +creeping close to the ground to get past the guard at the rear of the +building, he chose his time when the watcher had turned from the nearest +end of his beat and was walking in the opposite direction. The moment +that 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 form +a firm matting, and there was no telltale crunching of the sand +underfoot. Even so, some slight sound made the guard pause abruptly in +the middle of his walk and whirl toward Terry. Instead of attempting to +hide by dropping down to the ground, it came to Terry that the least +motion in the dark would serve to make him visible. He simply halted at +the same moment that the guard halted and trusted to the dark background +of the house which was now beside him to make him invisible. Apparently +he was justified. After a moment the guard turned and resumed his pacing, +and Terry slipped on into the narrow walk between the bank and the +adjoining house on the right. + +He had hoped for a side window. There was no sign of one. Nothing but the +sheer, sloping adobe wall, probably of great thickness, and burned to the +density of soft stone. So he came to the front of the building, and so +doing, almost ran into a second guard, who paced down the front of the +bank just as the first kept watch over the rear entrance. Terry flattened +himself against the side wall and held his breath. But the guard had seen +nothing and, turning again at the end of his beat, went back in the +opposite direction, a tall, gaunt man--so much Terry could make out even +in the dark, and his heel fell with the heaviness of age. Perhaps this +was Lewison himself. + +The moment he was turned, Terry peered around the corner at the front of +the building. There were two windows, one close to his corner and one on +the farther side of the door. Both were lighted, but the farther one so +dimly that it was apparent the light came from one source, and that +source 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 of +it was fenced off with steel bars that terminated in spikes at the top as +though, ludicrously, they were meant to keep one from climbing over. +Behind this steel fencing were the safes of the bank. Outside the fence +at a table, with a lamp between them, two men were playing cards. And the +lamplight glinted on the rusty old safe which stood a little at one side. + +Certainly old Lewison was guarding his money well. The hopes of Terry +disappeared, 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, front +and rear, were thoroughly guarded. Not only that, but once inside the +bank, one would encounter the main obstacle, which consisted of two +heavily armed men sitting in readiness at the table. If there were any +solution to the problem, it must be found in another examination of the +room. + +Again the tall old man reached the end of his beat nearest Terry, turned +with military precision and went back. Terry slipped out and was +instantly at the window again. All was as before. One of the guards had +laid down his cards to light a cigarette, and dense clouds of smoke +floated above his head. That partial obscurity annoyed Terry. It seemed +as if the luck were playing directly against him. However, the smoke +began to clear rapidly. When it had mounted almost beyond the strongest +inner circle of the lantern light, it rose with a sudden impetus, as +though drawn up by an electric fan. Terry wondered at it, and squinted +toward the ceiling, but the ceiling was lost in shadow. + +He returned to his harborage between the two buildings for a fresh +session of thought. And then his idea came to him. Only one thing could +have sucked that straight upward so rapidly, and that was either a fan-- +which was ridiculous--or else a draught of air passing through an +opening in the ceiling. + +Unquestionably that was the case. Two windows, small as they were, would +never serve adequately to ventilate the big single room of the bank. No +doubt there was a skylight in the roof of the building and another +aperture in the floor of the loft. + +At least that was the supposition upon which he must act, or else not act +at all. He went back as he had come, passed the rear guard easily, and +found Denver unmoved beside the heads Of the horses. + +"Denver," he said, "we've got to get to the roof of that bank, and the +only way we can reach it is through the skylight." + +"Skylight?" echoed Denver. "Didn't know there was one." "There has to +be," said Terry, with surety. "Can you force a door in one of those +houses so we can get to the second story of one of 'em and drop to the +roof?" + +"Force nothing," whispered Denver. "They don't know what locks on doors +mean around here." + +And he was right. + +They circled in a broad detour and slipped onto the back porch of the +blue house; the guard at the rear of the bank was whistling softly as he +walked. + +"Instead of watchdogs they keep doors with rusty hinges," said Denver as +he turned the knob, and the door gave an inch inward. "And I dunno which +is worst. But watch this, bo!" + +And he began to push the door slowly inward. There was never a slackening +or an increase in the speed with which his hand travelled. It took him a +full five minutes to open the door a foot and a half. They slipped +inside, but Denver called Terry back as the latter began to feel his way +across 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 you +are. That's the one rule of politeness for a burglar, Terry. Close the +doors after you!" + +And the door was closed with fully as much caution and slowness as had +been used when it was opened. Then Denver took the lead again. He went +across the kitchen as though he could see in the dark, and then among the +tangle 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 for +all that, Denver continually turned in an agony of anger and whispered +curses at the noisy clumsiness of his companion--yet to Terry it seemed +as though both of them were not making a sound. + +The stairs to the second story presented a difficult climb. Denver showed +him how to walk close to the wall, for there the weight of their bodies +would act with less leverage on the boards and there would be far less +chance of causing squeaks. Even then the ascent was not noiseless. The +dry air had warped the timber sadly, and there was a continual procession +of murmurs underfoot as they stole to the top of the stairs. + +To Terry, his senses growing superhumanly acute as they entered more and +more into the heart of their danger, it seemed that those whispers of the +stairs might serve to waken a hundred men out of sound sleep; in reality +they were barely audible. + +In the hall a fresh danger met them. A lamp hung from the ceiling, the +flame turned down for the night. And by that uneasy light Terry made out +the face of Denver, white, strained, eager, and the little bright eyes +forever glinting back and forth. He passed a side mirror and his own face +was dimly visible. It brought him erect with a squeak of the flooring +that made Denver whirl and shake his fist. + +For what Terry had seen was the same expression that had been on the face +of 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. And +every door was closed. Denver tried the nearest door first, and the +opening was done with the same caution and slowness which had marked the +opening of the back door of the house. He did not even put his head +through the opening, but presently the door was closed and Denver +returned. + +"Two," he whispered. + +He could only have told by hearing the sounds of two breathing; Terry +wondered quietly. The man seemed possessed of abnormal senses. It was +strange to see that bulky, burly, awkward body become now a sensitive +organism, possessed of a dangerous grace in the darkness. + +The second door was opened in the same manner. Then the third, and in the +midst of the last operation a man coughed. Instinctively Terry reached +for the handle of his gun, but Denver went on gradually closing the door +as if nothing had happened. He came back to Terry. + +"Every room got sleepers in it," he said. "And the middle room has got a +man who's awake. We'll have to beat it." + +"We'll stay where we are," said Terry calmly, "for thirty minutes--by +guess. That'll give him time to go asleep. Then we'll go through one of +those 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 a +bed creaked as someone turned in it heavily. Once there was a voice--one +of the sleepers must have spoken without waking. Those two noises, and no +more, and yet they remained for what seemed two hours to Terry, but what +he 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 anybody +up?" + +"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 driven +on into this madcap venture merely by a pride which would not allow him +to show less courage--even rash courage--than his companion. + +The door opened--Denver went inside and was soaked up--a shadow among +shadows. Terry followed and stepped instantly into the presence of the +sleeper. 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 was +something more than sound or sight. It was like feeling a soul--that +impalpable presence in the night. A ghostly and a thrilling thing to +Terry Hollis. + +Now, against the window on the farther side of the room, he made out the +dim outline of Denver's chunky shoulders and shapeless hat. Luckily the +window was open to its full height. Presently Terry stood beside Denver +and they looked down. The roof of the bank was only some four feet below +them, but it was also a full three feet in distance from the side of the +house. 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 catch +or his gun scrape--and the least whisper would ruin everything. At +length, he hung from his arms at full length. Glancing down, he faintly +saw 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 the +side of the house, raised himself by the ledge, and then flung himself +out 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 the +roof take his weight lightly, landing on his toes. He had not only made +the leap, but he had landed a full foot and a half in from the edge of +the roof. + +Compared with the darkness of the interior of the house, everything on +the outside was remarkably light now. He could see Denver at the window +shaking his head. Then the professional slipped over the sill with +practiced ease, dangled at arm's length, and flung himself out with a +quick thrust of his feet against the wall. + +The result was that while his feet were flung away far enough and to +spare, the body of Denver inclined forward. He seemed bound to strike the +roof with his feet and then drop head first into the alley below. Terry +set his teeth with a groan, but as he did so, Denver whirled in the air +like a cat. His body straightened, his feet barely secured a toehold on +the 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 was +a broad skylight of dark green glass propped up a foot or more above the +level of the rest of the flat roof. Beside it Terry dropped upon his +knees 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 through +the loft to the room of the bank below them. But would the opening be +large 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-thoughtful +Denver had provided him. A door banged somewhere far down the street, +loudly. Someone might be making a hurried and disgusted exit from +Pedro's. He looked quietly around him. After his immersion in the thick +darkness of the house, the outer night seemed clear and the stars burned +low through the thin mountain air. Denver's face was black under the +shadow of his hat. + +"How are you, kid--shaky?" he whispered. + +Shaky? It surprised Terry to feel that he had forgotten about fear. He +had been wrapped in a happiness keener than anything he had known before. +Yet the scheme was far from accomplished. The real danger was barely +beginning. Listening keenly, he could hear the sand crunch underfoot of +the watcher who paced in front of the building; one of the cardplayers +laughed from the room below--a faint, distant sound. + +"Don't worry about me," he told Denver, and, securing a strong fingerhold +on the edge of the ledge, he dropped his full length into the darkness +under the skylight. + +His tiptoes grazed the floor beneath, and letting his fingers slide off +their purchase, he lowered himself with painful care so that his heels +might not jar on the flooring. Then he held his breath--but there was no +creaking of the loft floor. + +That made the adventure more possible. An ill-laid floor would have set +up a ruinous screeching as he moved, however carefully, across it. Now he +whispered up to Denver. The latter instantly slid down and Terry caught +the 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 the +leadership to him. Again he led the way, stealing toward a ghost of light +that issued upward from the center of the floor. Presently he could look +down through it. + +It was an ample square, a full three feet across. Below, and a little +more than a pace to the side, was the table of the cardplayers. As nearly +as he could measure, through the misleading wisps and drifts of cigarette +smoke, the distance to the floor was not more than ten feet--an easy drop +for 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 leaning +close to the ear of Denver so that the least thread of sound would be +sufficient. "I'm going to cover those two from this place. When I have +them covered, you slip through the opening and drop to the floor. Don't +stand still, but softfoot it over to the wall. Then cover them with your +gun while I come down. The idea is this. Outside that window there's a +second guard walking up and down. He can look through and see the table +where they're playing, but he can't see the safe against the wall. As +long as he sees those two sitting there playing their cards, he'll be +sure that everything is all right. Well, Denver, he's going to keep on +seeing them sitting at their game--but in the meantime you're going to +make your preparations for blowing the safe. Can you do it? Is your nerve +up to it?" + +Even the indomitable Denver paused before answering. The chances of +success in this novel game were about one in ten. Only shame to be +outbraved by his younger companion and pupil made him nod and mutter his +assent. + +That mutter, strangely, was loud enough to reach to the room below. Terry +saw one of the men look up sharply, and at the same moment he pulled his +gun and shoved it far enough through the gap for the light to catch on +its barrel. + +"Sit tight!" he ordered them in a cutting whisper. "Not a move, my +friends!" + +There was a convulsive movement toward a gun on the part of the first +man, but the gesture was frozen midway; the second man looked up, gaping, +ludicrous in astonishment. But Terry was in no mood to see the +ridiculous. + +"Look down again!" he ordered brusquely. "Keep on with that game. And the +moment one of you goes for a gun--the minute one of you makes a sign or a +sound to reach the man in front of the house, I drill you both. Is that +clear?" + +The neck of the man who was nearest to him swelled as though he were +lifting a great weight with his head; no doubt he was battling with +shrewd temptations to spring to one side and drive a bullet at the +robbers above him. But prudence conquered. He began to deal, laying out +the cards with mechanical, stiff motions. + +"Now," said Terry to Denver. + +Denver was through the opening in a flash and dropped to the floor below +with 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 the +table for fear his voice might carry to the guard who was apparently +leaning at the window outside. But the dealer jerked his head for an +instant toward the direction in which Denver had disappeared. Evidently +the yegg was silently communicating imperious instructions, for presently +the dealer said, in a voice natural enough: "Nothing happened, Lewison. I +just moved my chair; that was all, I figure." + +"I dunno," growled Lewison. "I been waiting for something to happen for +so long that I begin to hear things and suspect things where they ain't +nothing at all." + +And, still mumbling, his voice passed away. + +Terry followed Denver's example, dropping through the opening; but, more +cautious, he relaxed his leg muscles, so that he landed in a bunched +heap, without sound, and instantly joined Denver on the farther side of +the room. Lewison's gaunt outline swept past the window at the same +moment. + +He found that he had estimated viewpoints accurately enough. From only +the right-hand window could Lewison see into the interior of the room and +make out his two guards at the table. And it was only by actually leaning +through the window that he would be able to see the safe beside which +Terry and Denver stood. + +"Start!" said Terry, and Denver deftly laid out a little kit and two +small packages. With incredible speed he began to make his molding of +soft soap around the crack of the safe door. Terry turned his back on his +companion and gave his undivided attention to the two at the table. + +Their faces were odd studies in suppressed shame and rage. The muscles +were taut; their hands shook with the cards. + +"You seem kind of glum, boys!" broke in the voice of Lewison at the +window. + +Terry flattened himself against the wall and jerked up his gun--a warning +flash 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, this +watch." + +"Mind you," crackled the uncertain voice of Lewison, "five dollars if you +keep on the job till morning. No, six dollars, boys!" + +He brought out the last words in the ringing voice of one making a +generous sacrifice, and Terry smiled behind his mask. Lewison passed on +again. Forcing all his nerve power into the faculty of listening, Terry +could tell by the crunching of the sand how the owner of the safe went +far 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 gun +which covered him, the red-haired man became absorbed in the interest of +the tale. He began to labor to win a smile from his companion. That would +be something worthwhile--something to tell about afterward; how he made +Pat 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 time +Lewison passed the window, he darted out and swiftly went the rounds of +the 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 a +gent awake. That's the stuff, Red!" A time of silence came, with only the +faint noises of Denver at his rapid work. + +"Suppose they was to rush the bank, even?" said Lewison on his next trip +past the window. + +"Who's they?" asked Red, and looked steadily into the mouth of Terry's +gun. + +"Why, them that wants my money. Money that I slaved and worked for all my +life! Oh, I know they's a lot of crooked thieves that would like to lay +hands on it. But I'm going to fool 'em, Red. Never lost a cent of money +in all my born days, and I ain't going to form the habit this late in +life. 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 us +just 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 a +rush 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 be +an elephant's burden to them in their flight. + +"Wait," Terry directed Denver. The latter kneeled by his fuse until +Lewison passed far down the end of his beat. Terry stepped to the door +and dropped the bolt. + +"Now!" he commanded. + +He had planned his work carefully. The loose strips of cords which Denver +had put into his pocket--"nothing so handy as strong twine," he had +said--were already drawn out. And the minute he had given the signal, he +sprang for the men at the table, backed them into a corner, and tied +their hands behind their backs. + +The fuse was sputtering. + +"Put out the light!" whispered Denver. It was done--a leap and a puff of +breath, and then Terry had joined the huddled group of men at the farther +end 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 the +window into the darkness. He caught sight of the red, flickering end of +the fuse. + +His voice, grown shrill and sharp, was chopped off by the explosion. It +was a noise such as Terry had never heard before--like a tremendously +condensed and powerful puff of wind. There was not a sharp jar, but he +felt an invisible pressure against his body, taking his breath. The sound +of the explosion was dull, muffled, thick. The door of the safe crushed +into the flooring. + +Terry had nerved himself for two points of attack--Lewison from the front +of the building, and the guard at the rear. But Lewison did not yell for +help. He had been dangerously close to the explosion and the shock to his +nerves, perhaps some dislodged missile, had flung him senseless on the +sand outside the bank. + +But from the rear of the building came a dull shout; then the door beside +which Terry stood was dragged open--he struck with all his weight, +driving his fist fairly into the face of the man, and feeling the +knuckles cut through flesh and lodge against the cheekbone. The guard +went down in the middle of a cry and did not stir. Terry leaned to shake +his arm--the man was thoroughly stunned. He paused only to scoop up the +fallen revolver which the fellow had been carrying, and fling it into the +night. Then he turned back into the dark bank, with Red and Pat cursing +in frightened unison as they cowered against the wall behind him. + +The air was thick with an ill-smelling smoke, like that of a partially +snuffed candle. Then he saw a circle of light spring out from the +electric lantern of Denver and fall on the partially wrecked safe. And it +glinted on yellow. One of the sacks had been slit and the contents were +running 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 the +metal struck through the canvas to the hand. The searchlight flickered +here and there--it found the little drawer which was wrenched open and +Denver's stubby hand came out, choked with greenbacks. + +"Now away!" snarled Denver. And his voice shook and quaked; it reminded +Terry 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 to +his senses--a gasping, sound, and then a choked cry: "Help!" + +His senses and his voice seemed to return to him with a rush. His shriek +split through the darkness of the room like a ray of light probing to +find the guilty: "Thieves! Help!" + +The yell gave strength to Terry. He caught some of the burden that was +staggering Denver into his own arms and floundered through the rear door +into the blessed openness of the night. His left arm carried the crushing +burden of the canvas sacks--in his right hand was the gun--but no form +showed behind him. + +But there were voices beginning. The yells of Lewison had struck out +echoes up and down the street. Terry could hear shouts begin inside +houses in answer, and bark out with sudden clearness as a door or a +window 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 back +door, 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 at +this 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 ten +minutes before the sheriff has a posse organized. And that's the only +thing we have to fear." + + + +CHAPTER 36 + + +They drifted past the town, quickening to a soft trot after a moment, and +then 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 straightened +back 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 where +he'll find me. Pollard will hide the coin and we'll get one of the boys +to take our sweaty horses over the hills. We can tell McGuire that the +two horses have been put out to pasture, if he asks. But he mustn't find +hot 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 Pollard +and 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. We +wouldn't have known where to find the stuff if it hadn't been for +Pollard'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 that +fat-headed sheriff. I'd pay twice this price for the sake of the little +talk I'm going to have with him later on tonight." + +"All right--Black Jack," muttered Denver. For it seemed to him that the +voice 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 done +this. And because he knows that, and he knows that I know it, he'll +strike in the opposite direction to Pollard's house. He'll never dream +that I would go right back to Pollard and sit down under the famous nose +of McGuire!" + +The dawn was brightening over the mountains above them, and the skyline +was ragged with forest. A free country for free men--like the old Black +Jack and the new. A short life, perhaps, but a full one. + +The coming of the day showed Denver's face weary and drawn. Those moments +in the bank, surrounded by danger, had been nerve-racking even to his +experience. But to him it was a business, and to Terry it was a game. He +felt a qualm of pity for Lewison--but, after all, the man was a wolf, +selfish, accumulating money to no purpose, useless to the world. He +shrugged the thought of Lewison away. + +It was close to sunrise when they reached the house, and having put up +the horses, staggered in and called to Johnny to bring them coffee; he +was already rattling at the kitchen stove. Then, with a shout, they +brought Pollard himself stumbling down from the balcony rubbing the sleep +out of his eyes. They threw the money down before him. + +He was stupefied, and then his big lion's voice went booming with the +call for his men. Terry did not wait; he stretched himself with a great +yawn and made for his bed, and passed Phil Marvin and the others hurrying +downstairs to answer the summons. Kate Pollard came also. She paused as +he went by her and he saw her eyes go down to his dusty boots, with the +leather polished where the stirrup had chafed, then flashed back to his +face. + +"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, a +bright-eyed, hungry-faced crew of men. Gold was piled across the table in +front of them. Slim Dugan had been ordered to go to the highest window of +the house and keep watch for the coming of the expected posse. In the +meantime the others counted the money, ranging it in bright little +stacks; and Denver told the tale. + +He took a little more credit to himself than was his due. But it was his +part to pay a tribute to Terry. For was it not he who had brought the son +of Black Jack among them? + +"And of all the close squeezes I ever been in," concluded Denver, "that +was the closest. And of all the nervy, cold-eyed guys I ever see, Black +Jack's kid takes the cake. Never a quiver all the time. And when he +whispered, them two guys at the table jumped. He meant business, and they +knew it." + +The girl listened. Her eye alone was not upon the money, but fixed far +off, at thin distance. + +"Thirty-five thousand gold," announced Pollard, with a break of +excitement in his voice, "and seventeen thousand three hundred and +eighty-two in paper. Boys, the richest haul we ever made! And the coolest +deal all the way through. Which I say, Denver and Terry--Terry +particular--gets extra shares for what they done!" + +And there was a chorus of hearty approval. The voice of Denver cut it +short. + +"Terry don't want none. No, boys, knock me dead if he does. Can you beat +it? 'I did it to keep my word,' he says, 'with the sheriff. You can have +my share, Denver.' + +"And he sticks on it. It's a game with him, boys. He plays at it like a +big kid!" + +In the hush of astonishment, the eyes of Kate misted. Something in that +last 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 very +vague and faraway hope to which she clung and which unravelled slowly in +her imagination. Before she left the kitchen, her plan was made, and +immediately after breakfast, she went to her room and dressed for a long +journey. + +"I'm going over the hills to visit the Stockton girls," she told her +father. "Be gone a few days." + +His mind was too filled with hope for the future to understand her. He +nodded idly, and she was gone. + +She roped the toughest mustang of her "string" in the corral, and ten +minutes later she was jogging down the trail. Halfway down a confused +group 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 long +riding and stopped her. + +His salutation was brief; he plunged into the heart of his questions. Had +she noticed anything unusual this morning? Which of the men had been +absent from the house last night? Particularly, who went out with Black +Jack'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 studied +her. + +"Kate," he said at length, "I don't blame you for not talking. I don't +suppose I would in your place. But your dad has about reached the end of +the rope with us. If you got any influence, try to change him, because if +he 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 on +their grunting, tired horses. She gave them only a careless glance. Joe +Pollard 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 stiff +gallop on the level ground below. She headed straight through the town, +and found a large group collected in and around the bank building. They +turned and looked after her, but no one spoke a greeting. Plainly the +sheriff's suspicions were shared by others. + +She shook that shadow out of her head and devoted her entire attention to +the 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 Blue +Mountains, it seemed to her a small paradise. And as she rode lower and +lower among the hills, the impression gathered strength. So she came out +onto the road and trotted her cow-pony slowly under the beautiful +branches of the silver spruce, and saw the bright tree shadows reflected +in Bear Creek. Surely here was a place of infinite quiet, made for +happiness. A peculiar ache and sense of emptiness entered her heart, and +the ghost of Terry Hollis galloped soundlessly beside her on flaming El +Sangre through the shadow. It seemed to her that she could understand him +more easily. His had been a sheltered and pleasant life here, half +dreamy; 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 a +palace to Kate, that great white facade and the Doric columns of the +veranda. She had always thought that the house of her father was a big +and stable house; compared with this, it was a shack, a lean-to, a +veritable hovel. And the confidence which had been hers during the hard +ride of two days across the mountains grew weaker. How could she talk to +the woman who owned such an establishment as this? How could she even +gain access to her? + +On a broad, level terrace below the house men were busy with plows and +scrapers smoothing the ground; she circled around them, and brought her +horse 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 man +was 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 touching +his hat to her, "I'll do your business. What is it? Cattle lost over the +Blue Mountains again? No strays have come down into the valley." + +"I'm not here about cattle," she answered curtly enough. "I'm here about +a 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 conceal +it. And she did not know whether she liked or disliked that quick start +and flush. There was something either of guilt or of surprise remarkably +strong in it. He rose from his chair, leaving the blueprint fluttering in +the hands of his companion alone. + +"I am Vance Cornish," he told her. She could feel his eyes prying at her +as though he were trying to get at her more accurately. "What's Hollis +been up to now?" + +He turned and explained carelessly to his companion: "That's the young +scapegrace 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 of +trouble." + +"I'm sorry for that, really," said Vance. "But we are not responsible for +him." + +"I suppose you ain't," said Kate Pollard slowly. "But I'd like to talk to +the lady of the house." + +"Very sorry," and again he looked in his sharp way--like a fox, she +thought--and then glanced away as though there were no interest in her or +her topic. "Very sorry, but my sister is in--er--critically declining +health. I'm afraid she cannot see you." + +This repulse made Kate thoughtful. She was not used to such bluff talk +from men, however smooth or rough the exterior might be. And under the +quiet 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 pleased +to see him stir under the cool probe of her eyes. "How long did you live +with Terry?" + +"He was with us twenty-four years." He turned and explained casually to +Waters. "He was taken in as a foundling, you know. Quite against my +advice. And then, at the end of the twenty-four years, the bad blood of +his father came out, and he showed himself in his true colors. Fearful +waste of time to us all--of course, we had to turn him out." + +"Of course," nodded Waters sympathetically, and he looked wistfully down +at his blueprint. + +"Twenty-four years you lived with Terry," said the girl softly, "and you +don't like him, I see." + +Instantly and forever he was damned in her eyes. Anyone who could live +twenty-four years with Terry Hollis and not discover his fineness was +beneath 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 the +veranda, and now and then raising quick glances at her. Plainly he was +suspicious. 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 something +unpleasant 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, bad +enough. 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 a +moment. Just a moment. She is not well. I wish I could understand your +purpose!" + +The last was more to himself than to her. But she was already off her +horse. The man with the blueprint glared at her, and she passed across +the 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 a +big, solemn room, in one corner of which sat an old woman wrapped to the +chin in a shawl. The face was thin and bleak, and the eyes that looked at +Kate were dull. + +"This girl--" said Vance. "By Jove, I haven't asked your name, I'm +afraid." + +"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 be +spoken, if you please." + +"Of course not. Yet I thought--never mind. If you'll step downstairs with +me, Miss Pollard, and tell me what--" + +"Not a step," answered the girl firmly, and she had not moved her eyes +from the face of the elder woman. "Not a step with you. What I have to +say has got to be told to someone who loves Terry Hollis. I've found that +someone. I stick here till I've done talking." + +Vance Cornish gasped. But Elizabeth opened her eyes, and they +brightened--but coldly, it seemed to Kate. + +"I think I understand," said Elizabeth Cornish gravely. "He has entangled +the interest of this poor girl--and sent her to plead for him. Is that +so? If it's money he wants, let her have what she asks for, Vance. But I +can't talk to her of the boy." + +"Very well," said Vance, without enthusiasm. He stepped before her. "Will +you step this way, Miss Pollard?" + +"Not a step," she repeated, and deliberately sat down in a chair. "You'd +better leave," she told Vance. + +He considered her in open anger. "If you've come to make a scene, I'll +have 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, you +hate 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 to +hear 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't +hear--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 suddenly +submitting to the inevitable, turned on his heel and left the room. + +"Now," said Elizabeth, sitting erect again, "what is it? Why do you +insist 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, and +nothing of it escaped Kate Pollard. + +"I knew," she said gently, "that _two_ people couldn't live with Terry +for twenty-four years and both hate him, as your brother does. I can tell +you 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 saw +the hungry heart, and it stirred her. Yet she was by no means sure of a +triumph. She recognized the most formidable of all foes--pride. After +all, she wanted to humble that pride. She felt that all the danger in +which Terry Hollis now stood, both moral and physical, was indirectly the +result of this woman's attitude. And she struck her, deliberately +cruelly. + +"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 of +attention. + +"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 a +bank and stole fifty thousand dollars." + +The smile wavered and went out, but still the dull eyes of Elizabeth were +steady enough. Though perhaps that dullness was from pain. And Kate, +waiting eagerly, was chagrined to see that she had not broken through to +any softness of emotion. One sign of grief and trembling was all she +wanted before she made her appeal; but there was no weakness in Elizabeth +Cornish, it seemed. + +"You see I am listening," she said gravely and almost gently. "Although I +am really not well. And I hardly see the point of this long recital of +crimes. It was because I foresaw what he would become that I sent him +away." + +"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 the +subject, or as though it were too unimportant to be referred to at +length. + +"In brief, I saw from a hotel window Black Jack, his father, shot down in +the street; heard about the infant son he left, and adopted the child--on +a bet with my brother. To see if blood would tell or if I could make him +a 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 a +bad 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 she +dismissed 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 especially +they have a way of looking through the flesh of their kind and seeing the +heart. Kate Pollard came a little closer to her hostess. + +"You saw Black Jack die in the street," she queried, "fighting for his +life?" + +Elizabeth dreamed into the vague distance. + +"Riding down the street with his hair blowing--long black hair, you +know," she reminisced. "And holding the crowd back as one would hold back +a 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 you +took 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 than +surprise. But the girl went on steadily: + +"I know. You saw him with his hair blowing, fighting his way--he rode +into your heart. I know, I tell you! Maybe you've never guessed it all +these years. But has a single day gone when you haven't thought of the +picture?" + +The scornful, indignant denial died on the lips of Elizabeth Cornish. She +stared at Kate as though she were seeing a ghost. + +"Not one day!" cried Kate. "And so you took in Terry, and you raised him +and 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 such +talk," she said. + +"Ah," cried the girl, "don't you see that I have a right to talk? Because +I love him also, and I know that you love him, too." + +Elizabeth Cornish came to her feet, and there was a faint flush in her +cheeks. + +"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. "I +can't turn him. He laughs at me. I'm nothing to him, you see? And he +loves the new life. He loves the freedom. Besides, he thinks that there's +no hope. That he has to be what his father was before him. Do you know +why he thinks that? Because you turned him out. You thought he would turn +bad. And he respects you. He still turns to you. Ah, if you could hear +him speak of you! He loves you still!" + +Elizabeth Cornish dropped back into her chair, grown suddenly weak, and +Kate fell on her knees beside her. + +"Don't you see," she said softly, "that no strength can turn Terry back +now? 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. And +he's broken into a bank and taken money from a man who deserved to lose +it--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. And +he doesn't know his strength. And he's fine, Miss Cornish. Isn't he +always gentle and--" + +"Hush!" said Elizabeth Cornish. + +"He's just a boy; you can't bend him with strength, but you can win him +with 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, Miss +Cornish. And you'll come? You'll come as quickly as you can? You'll come +to 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 me +strength! I'll keep him till you come!" + +Outside the door, his ear pressed to the crack, Vance Cornish did not +wait to hear more. He knew the answer of Elizabeth before she spoke. And +all his high-built schemes he saw topple about his ears. Grief had been +breaking the heart of his sister, he knew. Grief had been bringing her +close 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 the +veranda, where Waters was chewing his cigar angrily. At sight of his host +he started up. He was a keen man, was Waters. He could sense money a +thousand miles away. And it was this buzzard keenness which had brought +him to the Cornish ranch and made him Vance's right-hand man. There was +much money to be spent; Waters would direct and plan the spending, and +his 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. That +damned girl--Waters, we're ruined." + +"Tush!" said Waters, smiling, though he had grown gray. "No one girl can +ruin two middle-aged men with our senses developed. Sit down, man, and +we'll figure a way out of this." + + + +CHAPTER 38 + + +The fine gray head, the hawklike, aristocratic face, and the superior +manner of Waters procured him admission to many places where the ordinary +man was barred. It secured him admission on this day to the office of +Sheriff McGuire, though McGuire had refused to see his best friends. + +A proof of the perturbed state of his mind was that he accepted the +proffered fresh cigar of Waters without comment or thanks. His mental +troubles 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 occasion +we 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 with +Elizabeth Cornish again. One such interview, as Vance Cornish had assured +him, 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 high +commission of Mr. Waters would cease. With no plan in mind, he had rushed +to the point of contact, and hoped to find some scheme after he arrived +there. As for Vance, the latter would promise money; otherwise he was a +shaken wreck of a man and of no use. But with money, Mr. Waters felt that +he 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 of +casual gossip on the veranda of the same hotel had placed him in +possession of about every fact, true or presumably true, that could be +learned, and with the knowledge a plan sprang into his fertile brain. The +worn, worried face of the sheriff had been like water on a dry field; he +felt that the seed of his plan would immediately spring up and bear +fruit. + +"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 the +sheriff's forehead wrinkle with pain. + +"He's like a ghost hauntin' me," declared McGuire, with an attempted +laugh that failed flatly. "Every time I turn around, somebody throws this +Hollis 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 keeping +your county clean of crime and scenes of violence." + +"Huh!" grunted the sheriff. + +"Everyone says," went on Waters, "that no one except a man named Minter +has 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 things +up." + +"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 raid +the bank in the middle of your town, and in spite of you and of special +guards, blow the door off a safe and gut the safe of its contents. Am I +right?" + +The sheriff merely scowled. + +"It ain't clear to me yet," he declared, "how you and me get together on +any topic we got in common. Looks sort of like we was just hearing one +old yarn over and over agin." + +"My dear sir," smiled Waters, "you have not allowed me to come to the +crux of my story. Which is: that you and I have one great object in +common--to dispose of this Terry Hollis, for I take it for granted that +if you were to get rid of him the people who criticize now would do +nothing but cheer you. Am I right?" + +"If I could get him," sighed the sheriff. "Mr. Waters, gimme time and +I'll get him, right enough. But the trouble with the gents around these +parts is that they been spoiled. I cleaned up all the bad ones so damn +quick that they think I can do the same with every crook that comes +along. 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 he +done the other day. But as far as evidence goes, I ain't got anything on +him--yet. But I'll get it!" + +"And in the meantime," said Waters brutally, "they say that you're +getting 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 I +can't get anything on this slippery kid right off!" + +He changed from purple to gray. To fail now and lose his position meant a +ruined 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 a +flash." + +He sneered at the thought of public opinion. + +"And you see," said Waters, "where I come in is that I have a plan for +getting 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's +older brother is the one who is rousing public opinion against you. Am I +right?" + +"The dog! Yes, you're right." + +"Then get Larrimer to send Terry Hollis an invitation to come down into +town and meet him face to face in a gun fight. I understand this Hollis +is 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. Sure +he'd come to town. And he'd clean up quick. But Larrimer ain't fool +enough to send such an invite." + +"You don't understand me," persisted Waters patiently. "What I mean is +this. Larrimer sends the challenge, if you wish to call it that. He takes +up a certain position. Say in a public place. You and your men, if you +wish, are posted nearby, but out of view when young Hollis comes. When +Terry Hollis arrives, the moment he touches a gun butt, you fill him full +of lead and accuse him of using unfair play against Larrimer. Any excuse +will do. The public want an end of young Hollis. They won't be particular +with 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 set +a 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's +thoughts without actually interrupting them. + +"You're not a youngster any more, sheriff, and if you lose out here, your +reputation is gone for good. You'll not have the time to rebuild it. Here +is a chance for you not only to stop the evil rumors, but to fortify your +past 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 about +method. 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 it +with Larrimer yourself later on. You shoot from concealment the moment +Hollis shows his face. It can be said that Larrimer did the shooting, and +beat 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 whom +the removal of Terry Hollis will be worth money. Five thousand dollars +cash, sheriff!" + +The sheriff moistened his lips and his eyes grew wild. He had lived long +and 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 of +English: + +MR. TERRY BLACK JACK: + +Sir, I got this to say. Since you done my brother dirt I bin looking for +a chans to get even and I ain't seen any chanses coming my way so Ime +going to make one which I mean that Ile be waiting for you in town today +and if you don't come Ile let the boys know that you aint only an ornery +mean 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 rest +of the boys shook their heads over it. + +"What I can't make out," said Joe Pollard, voicing the sentiments of the +rest, "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 the +latest she expected the arrival of Elizabeth Cornish, and so far it had +been easy to keep Terry at the house. The gang was gorged with the loot +of the Lewison robbery, and Terry's appetite for excitement had been +cloyed by that event also. This strange challenge from the older Larrimer +was the fly in the ointment. + +"It ain't hard to tell why he sent that challenge," she declared. "He has +some sneaking plan up his sleeve, Dad. You know Bud Larrimer. He hasn't +the nerve to fight a boy. How'll he ever manage to stand up to Terry +unless he's got hidden backing?" + +She herself did not know how accurately she was hitting off the +situation; but she was drawing it as black as possible to hold Terry from +accepting the challenge. It was her father who doubted her suggestion. + +"It sounds queer," he said, "but the gents of these parts don't make no +ambushes while McGuire is around. He's a clean shooter, is McGuire, and +he 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 maybe +he isn't so particular about how it's done. Dad, don't you let Terry make +a step toward town! I _know_ something would happen! And even if they +didn't ambush him, he would be outlawed even if he won the fight. No +matter how fair he may fight, they won't stand for two killings in so +short a time. You know that, Dad. They'd have a mob out here to lynch +him!" + +"You're right, Kate," nodded her father. "Terry, you better stay put." + +But Terry Hollis had risen and stretched himself to the full length of +his height, and extended his long arms sleepily. Every muscle played +smoothly up his arms and along his shoulders. He was fit for action from +the top of his head to the soles of his feet. + +"Partners," he announced gently, "no matter what Bud Larrimer has on his +mind, I've got to go in and meet him. Maybe I can convince him without +gun talk. I hope so. But it will have to be on the terms he wants. I'll +saddle up and lope into town." + +He started for the door. The other members of the Pollard gang looked at +one another and shrugged their shoulders. Plainly the whole affair was a +bad mess. If Terry shot Larrimer, he would certainly be followed by a +lynching mob, because no self-respecting Western town could allow two +members of its community to be dropped in quick succession by one man of +an otherwise questionable past. No matter how fair the gunplay, just as +Kate had said, the mob would rise. But on the other hand, how could Terry +refuse to respond to such an invitation without compromising his +reputation 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, and +man-ways are man-ways, and a girl like you can't understand. You keep out +of this mess. It's bad enough without having your hand added." + +She saw there was nothing to be gained in this direction. She turned to +the rest of the men; they watched her with blank faces. Not a man there +but would have done much for the sake of a single smile. But how could +they help? + +Desperately she ran to the door, jerked it open, and followed Terry to +the stable. He had swung the saddle from its peg and slipped it over the +back of El Sangre, and the great stallion turned to watch this +perennially 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 me +stay 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 against +Larrimer. But if he wants to talk about his brother's death, why--good +Lord, Kate, I have to go in and listen, don't I? I can't dodge that +responsibility!" + +"It's a trick, Terry. I swear it's a trick. I can feel it!" She dropped +her hand nervously on the heavy revolver which she wore strapped at her +hip, and fingered the gold chasing. Without her gun, ever since early +girlhood, 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 there +were parts of his nature which, plainly, she had not yet reached to. + +"What difference does it make, Kate?" His voice fell into a profound +gloom. "What difference? I can't change myself. I'm what I am. It's in +the blood. I was born to this. I can't help it. I know that I'll lose in +the end. But while I live I'll be happy. A little while!" + +She choked. But the sight of his drawing the cinches, the imminence of +his departure, cleared her mind again. + +"Give me two minutes," she begged. + +"Not one," he answered. "Kate, you only make us both unhappy. Do you +suppose 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 being +what I am, I have no right to say them to you--never, or to any other +woman! I'm born to be what I am. I tell you, Kate, the woman who raised +me, who was a mother to me, saw what I was going to be--and turned me out +like 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 lived +heartbroken since she turned you out. And now she's coming for you to--to +beg you to come back to her! Terry, that's how much she's given up hope +in you!" + +But he drew back, his face growing dark. + +"You've been to see her, Kate? That's where you went when you were away +those 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 my +own father, and that I want to beg her to take me back? Is that what she +thinks?" + +He struck his hand across his forehead and groaned. + +"God! I'd rather die than have her think it for a minute. Kate, how could +you do it? I'd have trusted you always to do the right thing and the +proud thing--and here you've shamed me!" + +He turned to the horse, and El Sangre stepped out of the stall and into a +shaft of sunlight that burned on him like blood-red fire. And beside him +young 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 swear +you are, Terry!" + +She stretched out her arms to him; but he turned to her with his hand on +the 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 going +to change you! I'm only a girl. And I can't stop you with a girl's +weapons. 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 a +hundred miles away, and bound farther off. That's final." + +"You're wrong," she cried hysterically. "You're going to stay here. You +may throw away your share in yourself. But I have a share that I won't +throw 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, she +must 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. El +Sangre reared, a red flash in the sunlight, and landed far away in the +shadow, trembling. But Terry Hollis had spun halfway around, swung by the +heavy, tearing impact of the big slug, and then sank to the floor, where +he sat clasping his torn thigh with both hands, his shoulder and head +sagging against the wall. + +Joe Pollard, rushing in with an outcry, found the gun lying sparkling in +the sunshine, and his daughter, hysterical and weeping, holding the +wounded man in her arms. + +"What--in the name of--" he roared. + +"Accident, Joe," gasped Terry. "Fooling with Kate's gun and trying a spin +with it. It went off--drilled me clean through the leg!" + +That night, very late, in Joe Pollard's house, Terry Hollis lay on the +bed with a dim light reaching to him from the hooded lamp in the corner +of the room. His arms were stretched out on each side and one hand held +that of Kate, warm, soft, young, clasping his fingers feverishly and +happily. And on the other side was the firm, cool pressure of the hand of +Aunt Elizabeth. + +His mind was in a haze. Vaguely he perceived the gleam of tears on the +face 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 opened +my eyes. She told me the truth. The reason I took you in was because I +loved that wild, fierce, gentle, terrible father of yours. If you have +done 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 my +senses in time--bless her--and now I have you back, dear boy!" + +He remembered smiling faintly and happily at that. And he said before he +slept: "It's a bit queer, isn't it, even two wise women can't show a man +that 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 toward +Kate. + +And the women raised their heads and looked at one another with filmy +eyes. They both understood what that feeble gesture meant. It told much +of the fine heart of Elizabeth--that she was able to smile at the girl +and forgive her for having stolen again what she had restored. + +It was the break-up of the Pollard gang, the sudden disaffection of their +newest and most brilliant member. Joe himself was financed by Elizabeth +Cornish 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 on +which Elizabeth and Terry both insisted. Neither did Denver Pete. He left +them in disgust and was never heard of again in those parts. And he +always thereafter referred to Terry as "a promising kid gone to waste." + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, BLACK JACK *** + +This file should be named blkjk10.txt or blkjk10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, blkjk11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, blkjk10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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