Train swept a ponderous hand toward his fellow visitors, pointing them out in turn. “There’s Truxton, of the Diamond Dot; Holcomb, of the Star; Henningson, of the Three Bar; Yeager, of the Three Diamond; an’ Clark, of the Circle Y.”
“Correct,” affirmed Norton, behind Hollis.
Hollis smiled grimly; he had caught a belligerent note in Norton’s voice. Plainly, if the range boss were allowed a voice in the matter, these visitors would have now received as little encouragement as they had received from Dunlavey. But Hollis’s smile showed that he held different views.
“I am Kent Hollis,” he said to the men; “I suppose you know that.”
“I reckon we know you,” said Train; “you’re Jim Hollis’s boy.”
“Then you know that Dunlavey and my father were not exactly bosom friends,” returned Hollis.
Several heads bobbed affirmatively; others sat grimly silent. Hollis smiled.
“How many of you offered to help my father when he came to you asking for assistance in his fight against Dunlavey?”
Train fidgeted. “I reckon they wasn’t much chance—” he began, and then hesitated, looking around at his fellows.
“Of course,” returned Hollis quietly, after an embarrassed pause, “there wasn’t much chance for you to win then. And you had to take a big risk to help my father. But he had to take a bigger risk to fight alone. Still he fought. And he fought alone. He was almost ruined. And now you men are facing ruin. And you have come to Jim Hollis’s son to help you. Do you think he ought?”