They drifted past the town, quickening to a soft trot after a moment, and
then to a faster trot--El Sangre was gliding along at a steady pace.
"Not back to the house!" said Denver with an oath, when they straightened
back to the house of Pollard. "That's the first place McGuire will look,
after what you said to him the other night."
"That's where I want him to look," answered Terry, "and that's where
he'll find me. Pollard will hide the coin and we'll get one of the boys
to take our sweaty horses over the hills. We can tell McGuire that the
two horses have been put out to pasture, if he asks. But he mustn't find
hot horses in the stable. Certainly McGuire will strike for the house.
But what will he find?"
He laughed joyously.
Suddenly the voice of Denver cut in softly, insinuatingly.
"You dope it that he'll cut for the house of Pollard? So do I. Now, kid,
why not go another direction--and keep on going? What right have Pollard
and the others to cut in on this coin? You and me, kid, can--"
"I don't hear you, Denver," interrupted Terry. "I don't hear you. We
wouldn't have known where to find the stuff if it hadn't been for
Pollard's friend Sandy. They get their share--but you can have my part,
Denver. I'm not doing this for money; it's only an object lesson to that
fat-headed sheriff. I'd pay twice this price for the sake of the little
talk I'm going to have with him later on tonight."
"All right--Black Jack," muttered Denver. For it seemed to him that the
voice of the lost leader had spoken. "Play the fool, then, kid. But--
let's feed these skates the spur! The town's boiling!"
Indeed, there was a dull roar behind them.
"No danger," chuckled Terry. "McGuire knows perfectly well that I've done
this. And because he knows that, and he knows that I know it, he'll
strike in the opposite direction to Pollard's house. He'll never dream
that I would go right back to Pollard and sit down under the famous nose
of McGuire!"
The dawn was brightening over the mountains above them, and the skyline
was ragged with forest. A free country for free men--like the old Black
Jack and the new. A short life, perhaps, but a full one.
The coming of the day showed Denver's face weary and drawn. Those moments
in the bank, surrounded by danger, had been nerve-racking even to his
experience. But to him it was a business, and to Terry it was a game. He
felt a qualm of pity for Lewison--but, after all, the man was a wolf,
selfish, accumulating money to no purpose, useless to the world. He
shrugged the thought of Lewison away.
It was close to sunrise when they reached the house, and having put up
the horses, staggered in and called to Johnny to bring them coffee; he
was already rattling at the kitchen stove. Then, with a shout, they
brought Pollard himself stumbling down from the balcony rubbing the sleep
out of his eyes. They threw the money down before him.
He was stupefied, and then his big lion's voice went booming with the
call for his men. Terry did not wait; he stretched himself with a great
yawn and made for his bed, and passed Phil Marvin and the others hurrying
downstairs to answer the summons. Kate Pollard came also. She paused as
he went by her and he saw her eyes go down to his dusty boots, with the
leather polished where the stirrup had chafed, then flashed back to his
face.
"You, Terry!" she whispered.
But he went by her with a wave of the hand.
The girl went on down to the big room. They were gathered already, a
bright-eyed, hungry-faced crew of men. Gold was piled across the table in
front of them. Slim Dugan had been ordered to go to the highest window of
the house and keep watch for the coming of the expected posse. In the
meantime the others counted the money, ranging it in bright little
stacks; and Denver told the tale.
He took a little more credit to himself than was his due. But it was his
part to pay a tribute to Terry. For was it not he who had brought the son
of Black Jack among them?
"And of all the close squeezes I ever been in," concluded Denver, "that
was the closest. And of all the nervy, cold-eyed guys I ever see, Black
Jack's kid takes the cake. Never a quiver all the time. And when he
whispered, them two guys at the table jumped. He meant business, and they
knew it."
The girl listened. Her eye alone was not upon the money, but fixed far
off, at thin distance.
"Thirty-five thousand gold," announced Pollard, with a break of
excitement in his voice, "and seventeen thousand three hundred and
eighty-two in paper. Boys, the richest haul we ever made! And the coolest
deal all the way through. Which I say, Denver and Terry--Terry
particular--gets extra shares for what they done!"
And there was a chorus of hearty approval. The voice of Denver cut it
short.
"Terry don't want none. No, boys, knock me dead if he does. Can you beat
it? 'I did it to keep my word,' he says, 'with the sheriff. You can have
my share, Denver.'
"And he sticks on it. It's a game with him, boys. He plays at it like a
big kid!"
In the hush of astonishment, the eyes of Kate misted. Something in that
last speech had stung her cruelly. Something had to be done, and quickly,
to save young Terry Hollis. But what power could influence him?
It was that thought which brought her to the hope for a solution. A very
vague and faraway hope to which she clung and which unravelled slowly in
her imagination. Before she left the kitchen, her plan was made, and
immediately after breakfast, she went to her room and dressed for a long
journey.
"I'm going over the hills to visit the Stockton girls," she told her
father. "Be gone a few days."
His mind was too filled with hope for the future to understand her. He
nodded idly, and she was gone.
She roped the toughest mustang of her "string" in the corral, and ten
minutes later she was jogging down the trail. Halfway down a confused
group of riders--some dozen in all--swarmed up out of the lower trail.
Sheriff McGuire rode out on a sweating horse that told of fierce and long
riding and stopped her.
His salutation was brief; he plunged into the heart of his questions. Had
she noticed anything unusual this morning? Which of the men had been
absent from the house last night? Particularly, who went out with Black
Jack's kid?
"Nobody left the house," she said steadily. "Not a soul."
And she kept a blank eye on the sheriff while he bit his lip and studied
her.
"Kate," he said at length, "I don't blame you for not talking. I don't
suppose I would in your place. But your dad has about reached the end of
the rope with us. If you got any influence, try to change him, because if
he don't do it by his own will, he's going to be changed by force!"
And he rode on up the trail, followed by the silent string of riders on
their grunting, tired horses. She gave them only a careless glance. Joe
Pollard had baffled officers of the law before, and he would do it again.
That was not her great concern on this day.
Down the trail she sent her mustang again, and broke him out into a stiff
gallop on the level ground below. She headed straight through the town,
and found a large group collected in and around the bank building. They
turned and looked after her, but no one spoke a greeting. Plainly the
sheriff's suspicions were shared by others.
She shook that shadow out of her head and devoted her entire attention to
the trail which roughened and grew narrow on the other side of the town.
Far away across the mountains lay her goal--the Cornish ranch.