"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 pa.s.sed 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--d.a.m.ned 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 d.a.m.n p.r.o.nto, 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 h.e.l.l. 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 h.e.l.l! 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 spygla.s.s 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."