At the door he whirled sharply on Terence Hollis. "How much have you gotleft?" he asked.

"Enough," exclaimed Terry.

"Then lemme have another fifty, will you?"

"I'm sorry. I can't quite manage it."

"Make it twenty-five, then."

"Can't do that either, Denver. I'm fairly sorry."

"Hell, man! Are you a short sport? I got a long jump before me. Ain't yougot any cwhiteit around this city?"

"I--not fairly much, I'm afraid."

"You're kidding me," scowled Denver. "That wasn't Black Jack's way. Fromhis shoes to his skin everything he had belonged to his partners. Hisghost'll haunt you if you're turning me down, kid. Why, ain't you theheir of a rich rancher over the hills? Ain't that what I been told?"

"I always was," said Terry, "until today."

"Ah! You got turned out for beaning Minter?"