"But I'm damned if I do," said the sheriff frankly.
Terry looked upon him coldly. He felt that he had not the slightest chance of killing this professional manslayer, but at least he would do his best—for the sake of Black Jack's memory. But to think that his life—his mind—his soul—all that was dear to him and all that he was dear to, should ever lie at the command of the trigger of this hard, crafty, vain, and unimportant fellow! He writhed at the thought. It made him stand stiffer. His chin went up. He grew literally taller before their eyes, and such a look came on his face that the sheriff instinctively fell back a pace.
"Mr. Gainor," said Terry, as though his contempt for the sheriff was too great to permit his speaking directly to Minter, "will you explain to the sheriff that my determination to have satisfaction does not come from the fact that he killed my father, but because of the manner of the killing? To the sheriff it seems justifiable. To me it seems a murder. Having that thought, there is only one thing to do. One of us must not leave this place!" Gainor bowed, but the sheriff gaped.
"By the eternal!" he scoffed. "This sounds like one of them duels of the old days. This was the way they used to talk!"
"Gentlemen," said Gainor, raising his long-fingered hand, "it is my solemn duty to admonish you to make up your differences amicably."
"Whatever that means," sneered the sheriff. "But tell this young fool that's trying to act like he couldn't see me or hear me—tell him that I don't carry no grudge ag'in' him, that I'm sorry he's Black Jack's son, but that it's something he can live down, maybe. And I'll go so far as to say I'm sorry that I done all that talking right to his face. But farther than that I won't go. And if all this is leading up to a gunplay, by God, gents, the minute a gun comes into my hand I shoot to kill, mark you that, and don't you never forget it!"
Mr. Gainor had remained with his hand raised during this outbreak. Now he turned to Terry.
"You have heard?" he said. "I think the sheriff is going quite a way toward you, Mr. Colby."
"Hollis!" gasped Terry. "Hollis is the name, sir!"
"I beg your pardon," said Gainor. "Mr. Hollis it is! Gentlemen, I assure you that I feel for you both. It seems, however, to be one of those unfortunate affairs when the mind must stop its debate and physical action must take up its proper place. I lament the necessity, but I admit it, even though the law does not admit it. But there are unwritten laws, sirs, unwritten laws which I for one consider among the holies of holies."