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!"