back in his chair. The end could not, now, be far away.



CHAPTER 12


"I was saying," proceeded the sheriff, "that they scared their babies in
these here parts with the name of Jack Hollis. Which they sure done.
Well, sir, he was bad."

"Not all bad, surely," put in Vance. "I've heard a good many stories
about the generosity of--"

He was anxious to put in the name of Black Jack, since the sheriff was
sticking so close to "Jack Hollis," which was a name that Terry had not
yet heard for his dead father. But before he could get out the name, the
sheriff, angry at the interruption, resumed the smooth current of his
tale with a side flash at Vance.

"Not all bad, you say? Generous? Sure he was generous. Them that live
outside the law has got to be generous to keep a gang around 'em. Not
that Hollis ever played with a gang much, but he had hangers-on all over
the mountains and gents that he had done good turns for and hadn't gone
off and talked about it. But that was just common sense. He knew he'd
need friends that he could trust if he ever got in trouble. If he was
wounded, they had to be someplace where he could rest up. Ain't that so?
Well, sir, that's what the goodness of Jack Hollis amounted to. No, sir,
he was bad. Plumb bad and all bad!