"Gimme a chance to talk," said Denver contemptuously. "Takes a gent that's used to reading the secrets of a safe to read the secrets of a gent's head. And I've read the secret of young Black Jack Hollis. He's a pile of dry powder, Joe. Throw in the spark and he'll explode so damned loud they'll hear him go off all over the country." "How?" "First, you got to keep him here." "How?" Joe Pollard sat back with the air of one who will be convinced through no mental effort of his own. But Denver was equal to the demand. "I'm going to show you. He thinks he owes you three hundred." "That's foolish. I cheated the kid out of it. I'll give it back to him and all the rest I won." Denver paused and studied the other as one amazed by such stupidity. "Pal, did you ever try, in the old days, to _give_ anything to the old Black Jack?" "H'm. Well, he sure hated charity. But this ain't charity." "It ain't in your eyes. It is in Terry's. If you insist, he'll get sore. No, Joe. Let him think he owes you that money. Let him start in working it off for you--honest work. You ain't got any ranch work. Well, set him to cutting down trees, or anything. That'll help to hold him. If he makes some gambling play--and he's got the born gambler in him--you got one last thing that'll be apt to keep him here." "What's that?" "Kate." Pollard stirred in his chair. "How d'you mean that?" he asked gruffly. "I mean what I said," retorted Denver. "I watched young Black Jack looking at her. He had his heart in his eyes, the kid did. He likes her, in spite of the frosty mitt she handed him. Oh, he's falling for her, pal--and he'll keep on falling. Just slip the word to Kate to kid him along. Will you? And after we got him glued to the place here, we'll figure out the way to turn Terry into a copy of his dad. We'll figure out how to shoot the spark into the powder, and then stand clear for the explosion." Denver came silently and swiftly out of the chair, his pudgy hand spread on the table and his eyes gleaming close to the face of Pollard. "Joe," he said softly, "if that kid goes wrong, he'll be as much as his father ever was--and maybe more. He'll rake in the money like it was dirt. How do I know? Because I've talked to him. I've watched him and trailed him. He's trying hard to go straight. He's failed twice; the third time he'll bust and throw in with us. And if he does, he'll clean up the coin--and we'll get our share. Why ain't you made more money yourself, Joe? You got as many men as Black Jack ever had. It's because you ain't got the fire in you. Neither have I. We're nothing but tools ready for another man to use the way Black Jack used us. Nurse this kid along a little while, and he'll show us how to pry open the places where the real coin is cached away. And he'll lead us in and out with no danger to us and all the real risk on his own head. That's his way--that was his dad's way before him." Pollard nodded slowly. "Maybe you're right."