The first thing the people in Pollard's big house knew of the return of the two was a voice singing faintly and far off in the stable—they could hear it because the door to the big living room was opened. And Kate Pollard, who had been sitting idly at the piano, stood up suddenly and looked around her. It did not interrupt the crap game of the four at one side of the room, where they kneeled in a close circle. But it brought big Pollard himself to the door in time to meet Denver Pete as the latter hurried in.  
When Denver was excited he talked very nearly as softly as he walked. And his voice tonight was like a contented¹ humming.
 
"It worked," was all he said aside to Pollard as he came through the door. They exchanged silent grips of the hands. Then Kate drew down on them; as if a mysterious; signal had been passed to them by the subdued² entrance of Denver, the four rose at the side of the room.
 
It was Pollard who forced him to talk.
 
"What happened?"
 
"A pretty little party," said Denver. His purring voice was so soft that to hear him the others instantly drew close. Kate Pollard stood suddenly before him.
 
"Terry Hollis has done something," she said. "Denver, what has he done?"
 
"Him? Nothing much. To put it in his own words, he's just played scavenger³ for the town—and he's done it in a way they won't be forgetting for a good long day.
 
"Denver!"
 
"Well? No need of acting⁴ up, Kate."
 
"Who was it?"
 
"Ever meet young Larrimer?"
 
She shuddered⁵. "Yes. A—beast of a man."
 
"Sure. Worse'n a beast, maybe. Well, he's carrion⁶ now, to use Terry's words again."
 
"Wait a minute," cut in big blond Phil Marvin. Don't spoil the story for Terry. But did he really do for Larrimer? Larrimer was a neat one with a gun—no good otherwise."
 
"Did he do for Larrimer?" echoed Denver in his purring voice. "Oh, man, man! Did he do for Larrimer? And I ain't spoiling his story. He won't talk about it. Wouldn't open his face about it all the way home. A pretty neat play, boys. Larrimer was looking for a rep, and he wanted to make it on Black Jack's son. Came tearing in.
 
"At first Terry tried to sidestep him. Made me weak inside for a minute because I thought he was going to take water. Then he got riled a bit and then—whang! It was all over. Not a body shot. No, boys, nothing clumsy and amateurish⁷ like that, because a man may live to empty his gun at you after he's been shot through the body. This young Hollis, pals⁸, just ups and drills Larrimer clean between the eyes. If you'd measured it off with a ruler, you couldn't have hit exact center any better'n he done. Then he walks up and stirs Larrimer with his toe to make sure he was dead. Cool as hell."
 
"You lie!" cried the girl suddenly.
 
They whirled at her, and found her standing⁹ and flaming at them.
 
"You hear me say it, Kate," said Denver, losing a little of his calm.
 
"He wasn't as cool as that—after killing¹⁰ a man. He wasn't."
 
"All right, honey. Don't you hear him singing out there in the stable?
Does that sound as if he was cut up much?"
"Then you've made him a murderer—you, Denver, and you, Dad. Oh, if they's a hell, you're going to travel there for this! Both of you!"
 
"As if we had anything to do with it!" exclaimed Denver innocently.
"Besides, it wasn't murder. It was plain self-defense. Nothing but that.
Three witnesses to swear to it. But, my, my—you should hear that town
rave¹¹. They thought nobody could beat Larrimer."
The girl slipped back into her chair again and sat with her chin in her hand, brooding. It was all impossible—it could not be. Yet there was Denver telling his story, and far away the clear baritone of Terry Hollis singing as he cared for El Sangre.
 
She waited to make sure, waited to see his face and hear him speak close at hand. Presently the singing rang out more clearly. He had stepped out of the barn.
 
Oh, I am a friar of orders gray,
Through hill and valley I take my way.
My long bead¹² roll I merrily chant;
Wherever I wander no money I want!
And as the last word rang through the room, Terry Hollis stood in the doorway¹³, with his saddle and bridle¹⁴ hanging over one strong arm and his gun and gun belt in the other hand. And his voice came cheerily to them in greeting. It was impossible—more impossible than ever.
 
He crossed the room, hung up his saddle, and found her sitting near. What should he say? How would his color cha............