"Nothing." Then he added abruptly: "I'm going for a jaunt for a few days,
Elizabeth."
She grew gloomy.
"Are you going to insist on taking it to heart this way?"
"Not at all. I'm going to be back here in ten days and drink Terry's long life and happiness across the birthday dinner table."
He marvelled at the ease with which he could make himself smile in her face.
"You noticed that—his gentleman's agreement with Le Sangre? I've made him detest fighting with the idea that only brute beasts fight—men argue and agree."
"I've noticed that he never has trouble with the cow-punchers."
"They've seen him box," chuckled Elizabeth. "Besides, Terry isn't the sort that troublemakers like to pick on. He has an ugly look when he's angry."
"H'm," murmured Vance. "I've noticed that. But as long as he keeps to his fists, he'll do no harm. But what is the reason for surrounding him with guns, Elizabeth?"
"A very good reason. He loves them, you know. Anything from a shotgun to a derringer is a source of joy to Terence. And not a day goes by that he doesn't handle them."