“He looks like Tom Terror himself; but—”
Quickly upward shot the right arm of the spectre. Old Jack saw the deadly revolver clutched in the giant’s hand.
He had moved nearer—he might have touched the lead horse with the muzzle of his revolver.
“Hello, Jack!”
“Ar’ thet you, Tom?”
“Yes; didn’t I say I’d come back?”
“Wal, I don’t know,” drawled Jack. “Fellars what ain’t wanted ginerally come home.”
Old Jack thought he saw a smile at the corners of the Gulch Tiger’s mouth.
“So I’m not wanted here?”
“Of course not.”