"Denver!"
"Well? No need of acting up, Kate."
"Who was it?"
"Ever meet young Larrimer?"
She shuddered. "Yes. A—beast of a man."
"Sure. Worse'n a beast, maybe. Well, he's carrion now, to use Terry's words again."
"Wait a minute," cut in big blond Phil Marvin. Don't spoil the story for Terry. But did he really do for Larrimer? Larrimer was a neat one with a gun—no good otherwise."
"Did he do for Larrimer?" echoed Denver in his purring voice. "Oh, man, man! Did he do for Larrimer? And I ain't spoiling his story. He won't talk about it. Wouldn't open his face about it all the way home. A pretty neat play, boys. Larrimer was looking for a rep, and he wanted to make it on Black Jack's son. Came tearing in.
"At first Terry tried to sidestep him. Made me weak inside for a minute because I thought he was going to take water. Then he got riled a bit and then—whang! It was all over. Not a body shot. No, boys, nothing clumsy and amateurish like that, because a man may live to empty his gun at you after he's been shot through the body. This young Hollis, pals, just ups and drills Larrimer clean between the eyes. If you'd measured it off with a ruler, you couldn't have hit exact center any better'n he done. Then he walks up and stirs Larrimer with his toe to make sure he was dead. Cool as hell."
"You lie!" cried the girl suddenly.