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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Black Jack"

It was her father who doubted her suggestion.
"It sounds queer," he said, "but the gents of these parts don't make no
ambushes while McGuire is around. He's a clean shooter, is McGuire, and
he don't stand for no shady work with guns."
Again Kate went to the attack.
"But the sheriff would do anything to get Terry. You know that. And maybe
he isn't so particular about how it's done. Dad, don't you let Terry make
a step toward town! I _know_ something would happen! And even if they
didn't ambush him, he would be outlawed even if he won the fight. No
matter how fair he may fight, they won't stand for two killings in so
short a time. You know that, Dad. They'd have a mob out here to lynch
him!"
"You're right, Kate," nodded her father. "Terry, you better stay put."
But Terry Hollis had risen and stretched himself to the full length of
his height, and extended his long arms sleepily. Every muscle played
smoothly up his arms and along his shoulders. He was fit for action from
the top of his head to the soles of his feet.
"Partners," he announced gently, "no matter what Bud Larrimer has on his
mind, I've got to go in and meet him.


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