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.