"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."