He felt that this giving of the first name was a tribute, in some subtle manner. It enabled him, for instance, to call her Kate, and he decided with a thrill that he would do so at the first opportunity. He reverted to her question. "I suppose," he admitted gloomily, "that I've been raised to do pretty much as I please--and the money I've spent has been given to me." The girl shook her head with conviction. "It ain't possible," she declared. "Why not?" "No son of Black Jack would live off somebody's charity." He felt the blood tingle in his cheeks, and a real anger against her rose. Yet he found himself explaining humbly. "You see, I was taken when I wasn't old enough to decide for myself. I was only a baby. And I was raised to depend upon Elizabeth Cornish. I--I didn't even know the name of my father until a few days ago." The girl gasped. "You didn't know your father--not your own father?" She laughed again scornfully. "Terry, I ain't green enough to believe that!" He fell into a dignified silence, and presently the girl leaned closer, as though she were peering to make out his face. Indeed, it was now possible to dimly make out objects in the room. The window was filled with an increasing brightness, and presently a shaft of pale light began to slide across the floor, little by little. The moon had pushed up above the crest of the mountain. "Did that make you mad?" queried the girl. "Why?" "You seemed to doubt what I said," he remarked stiffly. "Why not? You ain't under oath, or anything, are you?" Then she laughed again. "You're a queer one all the way through. This Elizabeth Cornish--got anything to do with the Cornish ranch?" "I presume she owns it, very largely." The girl nodded. "You talk like a book. You must of studied a terrible pile." "Not so much, really." "H'm," said the girl, and seemed to reserve judgment. Then she asked with a return of her former sharpness: "How come you gambled today at Pedro's?" "I don't know. It seemed the thing to do--to kill time, you know." "Kill time! At Pedro's? Well--you _are_ green, Terry!" "I suppose I am, Kate." He made a little pause before her name, and when he spoke it, in spite of himself, his voice changed, became softer. The girl straightened somewhat, and the light was now increased to such a point that he could make out that she was frowning at him through the dimness. "First, you been adopted, then you been raised on a great big place with everything you want, mostly, and now you're out--playing at Pedro's. How come, Terry?" "I was sent away," said Terry faintly, as all the pain of that farewell came flooding back over him. "Why?" "I shot a man." "Ah!" said Kate. "You shot a man?" It seemed to silence her. "Why, Terry?" "He had killed my father," he explained, more softly than ever. "I know. It was Minter. And they turned you out for that?"