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."