good of you to ask me to join in--but that isn't my line of work."

The yegg raised an expostulatory hand, but Terry went on: "I'm going to
keep straight, Denver."

It seemed as though this simple tiding took the breath from Denver.

"Ah!" he nodded at length. "You playing up a new line. No strong-arm
stuff except when you got to use it. Going to try scratching, kid? Is
that it, or some other kind of slick stuff?"

"I mean what I say, Denver. I'm going straight."

The yegg shook his head, bewildered. "Say," he burst out suddenly, "ain't
you Black Jack's kid?"

"I'm his son," said Terry.

"All right. You'll come to it. It's in the blood, Black Jack. You can't
get away from it."

Terry tugged his shirt open at the throat; he was stifling. "Perhaps," he
said.

"It's the easy way," went on Denver. "Well, maybe you ain't ripe yet, but
when you are, tip me off. Gimme a ring and I'll be with you."

"One more thing. You're broke, Denver. And I suppose you need what's in
that safe. But if you take it, the widow will be ruined. She runs the
hotel and the store, too, you know."