about something, to talk with passion, in order to hold one's own in the
presence of Denver, even when the chunky man was silent. He was not
silent now; he seemed in a highly cheerful, amiable mood.

"Here's luck," he said. "I didn't know this God-forsaken country could
raise as much luck as this!"

"Luck?" echoed Terry.

"Why not? D'you think I been trailing you?"

He chuckled in his noiseless way. It gave Terry a feeling of expectation.
He kept waiting for the sound to come into that laughter, but it never
did. Suddenly he was frank, because it seemed utterly futile to attempt
to mask one's real thoughts from this fellow.

"I don't know," he said, "that it would surprise me if you _had_ been
tailing me. I imagine you're apt to do queer things, Denver."

Denver hissed, very softly and with such a cutting whistle to his breath
that Terry's lips remained open over his last word.

"Forget that name!" Denver said in a half-articulate tone of voice.

He froze in his place, staring straight before him; but Terry gathered an
impression of the most intense watchfulness--as though, while he stared
straight before him, he had sent other and mysterious senses exploring
for him. He seemed suddenly satisfied that all was well, and as he
relaxed, Terry became aware of a faint gleam of perspiration on the brow
of his companion.