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!"