wishing to have it known that I have called you out."

The moment he rose out of the chair and faced them, Gainor had stopped
short. He was quite capable of fast thinking, and now his glance
flickered from Terry to the sheriff and back again. It was plain that he
had shrewd suspicions as to the purpose behind that call. The sheriff was
merely confused. He flushed as much as his tanned-leather skin permitted.
As for Terry, the moment his glance fell on the sheriff he felt his
muscles jump into hard ridges, and an almost uncontrollable desire to go
at the throat of the other seized him. He quelled that desire and fought
it back with a chill of fear.

"My father's blood working out!" he thought to himself.

And he fastened his attention on Mr. Gainor and tried to shut the picture
of the sheriff out of his brain. But the desire to leap at the tall man
was as consuming as the passion for water in the desert. And with a
shudder of horror he found himself without a moral scruple. Just behind
the thin partition of his will power there was a raging fury to get at
Joe Minter. He wanted to kill. He wanted to snuff that life out as the
life of Black Jack Hollis had been snuffed.

He excluded the sheriff deliberately from his attention and turned fully
upon Gainor.

"Mr. Gainor, will you be kind enough to go over to that grove of spruce
where the three of us can talk without any danger of interruption?"

Of course, that speech revealed everything. Gainor stiffened a little and
the tuft of beard which ran down to a point on his chin quivered and