"And Minter, too. There's a born gunman."
"Sure. We all know Uncle Joe—damn his soul!"
"But the kid beat Uncle Joe fair and square from an even break—and beat him bad. Made his draw, held it so's Joe could partway catch up with him, and then drilled him clean!"
Pollard scratched his chin.
"I'd believe that if I seen it," he declared.
"Pal, it wasn't Terry that done the talking; it was Gainor. He's seen a good deal of gunplay, and said that Terry's was the coolest he ever watched."
"All right for that part of it," said Joe Pollard. "Suppose he's fast— but can I use him? I like him well enough; I'll give him a good deal; but is he going to mean charity all the time he hangs out with me?"
"Maybe; maybe not," chuckled Denver again. "Use him the way he can be used, and he'll be the best bargain you ever turned. Black Jack started you in business; Black Jack the Second will make you rich if you handle him right—and ruin you if you make a slip."
"How come? He talks this 'honesty' talk pretty strong."
"Gimme a chance to talk," said Denver contemptuously. "Takes a gent that's used to reading the secrets of a safe to read the secrets of a gent's head. And I've read the secret of young Black Jack Hollis. He's a pile of dry powder, Joe. Throw in the spark and he'll explode so damned loud they'll hear him go off all over the country."