A strange warmth had come over him. It had
seemed for a moment that there was a third impalpable presence in the
room--his father listening. And the thrill of it remained, a ghostly and
yet a real thing.
But he checked his impulse. Let Denver go, and the thought of his father
with him. For the influence of Black Jack, he felt, was quicksand pulling
him down. The very fact that he was his father's son had made him shoot
down one man. Again the shadow of Black Jack had fallen across his path
today and tempted him to crime. How real the temptation had been, Terry
did not know until he was alone. Half of ten thousand dollars would
support him for many a month. One thing was certain. He must let his
father remain simply a name.
Going to the window in his stocking feet, he listened again. There were
more voices murmuring on the veranda of the hotel now, but within a few
moments forms began to drift away down the street, and finally there was
silence. Evidently the widow had not secured backing as strong as she
could have desired. And Terry went to bed and to sleep.
He wakened with the first touch of dawn along the wall beside his bed and
tumbled out to dress.
Pages:
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171