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."