Again there was a long moment of silence, then, "Black Jack!" muttered Denver. "You're like his ghost! I think you'd get me, right enough! Well, I'll call it off. This fifty will help me along a ways." At the door he whirled sharply on Terence Hollis. "How much have you got left?" he asked. "Enough," said Terry. "Then lemme have another fifty, will you?" "I'm sorry. I can't quite manage it." "Make it twenty-five, then." "Can't do that either, Denver. I'm very sorry." "Hell, man! Are you a short sport? I got a long jump before me. Ain't you got any credit around this town?" "I--not very much, I'm afraid." "You're kidding me," scowled Denver. "That wasn't Black Jack's way. From his shoes to his skin everything he had belonged to his partners. His ghost'll haunt you if you're turning me down, kid. Why, ain't you the heir of a rich rancher over the hills? Ain't that what I been told?" "I was," said Terry, "until today." "Ah! You got turned out for beaning Minter?" Terry remained silent. "Without a cent?" Suddenly the pudgy arm of Denver shot out and his finger pointed into Terry's face. "You damn fool! This fifty is the last cent you got in the world!" "Not at all," said Terry calmly. "You lie!" Denver struck his knuckles across his forehead. "And I was going to trim you. Black Jack, I didn't know you was as white as this. Fifty? Pal, take it back!" He forced the money into Terry's pocket. "And take some more. Here; lemme stake you. I been pulling a sob story, but I'm in the clover, Black Jack. Gimme your last cent, will you? Kid, here's a hundred, two hundred--say what you want." "Not a cent--nothing," said Terry, but he was deeply moved. Denver thoughtfully restored the money to his wallet. "You're white," he said gently. "And you're straight as they come. Keep it up if you can. I know damned well that you can't. I've seen 'em try before. But they always slip. Keep it up, Black Jack, but if you ever change your mind, lemme know. I'll be handy. Here's luck!" And he was gone as he had entered, with a whish of the swiftly moved door in the air, and no click of the lock. CHAPTER 19 The door had hardly closed on him when Terence wanted to run after him and call him back. There was a thrill still running in his blood since the time the yegg had leaned so close and said: "That wasn't Black Jack's way!" He wanted to know more about Black Jack, and he wanted to hear the story from the lips of this man. A strange warmth had come over him. It had seemed for a moment that there was a third impalpable presence in the room--his father listening. And the thrill of it remained, a ghostly and yet a real thing.