of the last generation named Jack Hollis; but I don't know anything, and
I don't care to know anything, about him. But if you're interested in
Garrison City, I'd like to show you a little plot of ground in a place
that is going to be the center of the--"

Vance Cornish made his mind a blank, let the smooth current of words slip
off his memory as from an oiled surface, and gave up Garrison City as a
hopeless job. Nevertheless, it was the hotel proprietor who dropped a
valuable hint.

"If you're interested in the early legends, why don't you go to the State
Capitol? They have every magazine and every book that so much as mentions
any place in the state." So Vance Cornish went to the capitol and entered
the library. It was a sweaty task and a most discouraging one. The name
"Black Jack" revealed nothing; and the name of Hollis was an equal blank,
so far as the indices were concerned. He was preserved in legend only,
and Vance Cornish could make no vital use of legend. He wanted something
in cold print.

So he began an exhaustive search. He went through volume after volume,
but though he came upon mention of Black Jack, he never reached the
account of an eyewitness of any of those stirring holdups or train
robberies.

And then he began on the old files of magazines. And still nothing. He
was about to give up with four days of patient labor wasted when he
struck gold in the desert--the very mine of information which he wanted.

"How I Painted Black Jack," by Lawrence Montgomery.