He chuckled noiselessly, his mouth stretching to remarkable proportions.
"I'm sorry," said Terry.
"Why, kid, I'm Denver. I'm your old man's pal, Denver! I'm him that done the Silver Junction job with old Black Jack, and a lot more jobs, when you come to that!"
He laughed again. "They were getting sort of warm for me out in the big noise. So I grabbed me a side-door Pullman and took a trip out to the old beat. And think of bumping into Black Jack's boy right off the bat!"
He became more sober. "Say, kid, ain't you got a glad hand for me? Ain't you ever heard Black Jack talk?"
"He died," said Terry soberly, "before I was a year old."
"The hell!" murmured the other. "The hell! Poor kid. That was a rotten lay, all right. If I'd known about that, I'd of—but I didn't. Well, let it go. Here we are together. And you're the sort of a sidekick I need. Black Jack, we're going to trim this town to a fare-thee-well!"
"My name is Hollis," said Terry. "Terence Hollis."
"Terence hell," snorted the other. "You're Black Jack's kid, ain't you? And ain't his moniker good enough for you to work under? Why, kid, that's a trademark most of us would give ten thousand cash for!"
He broke off and regarded Terry with a growing satisfaction.