It was as if a gate which had hitherto been closed against him in the Pollard house were now opened. They no longer held back from Terry, but admitted him freely to their counsels. But the first person to whom he spoke¹ was Slim Dugan. There was a certain nervousness about Slim this evening, and a certain shame. For he felt that in the morning, to an extent, he had backed down from the quarrel with young Black Jack². The killing³ of Larrimer now made that reticence⁴ of the morning even more pointed⁵ than it had been before. With all these things taken into consideration, Slim Dugan was in the mood to fight and die; for he felt that his honor was concerned. A single slighting remark to Terry, a single sneering⁶ side glance, would have been a signal for gunplay. And everyone knew it.  
The moment there was silence the son of Black Jack went straight to Slim
Dugan.
"Slim," he said, just loud enough for everyone to hear, "a fellow isn't himself before noon. I've been thinking over that little trouble we had this morning, and I've made up my mind that if there were any fault it was mine for taking a joke too seriously. At any rate, if it's agreeable to you, Slim, I'd like to shake hands and call everything square. But if there's going to be any ill will, let's have it out right now."
 
Slim Dugan wrung⁷ the hand of Terry without hesitation⁸.
 
"If you put it that way," he said cordially, "I don't mind saying that I was damned wrong to heave that stone at the hoss. And I apologize, Terry."
 
And so everything was forgotten. Indeed, where there had been enmity before, there was now friendship. And there was a breath of relief drawn⁹ by every member of the gang. The peacemaking tendency of Hollis had more effect on the others than a dozen killings¹⁰. They already granted that he was formidable. They now saw that he was highly desirable also.
 
Dinner that night was a friendly affair, except that Kate stayed in her room with a headache. Johnny the Chinaman smuggled¹¹ a tray to her. Oregon Charlie went to the heart of matters with one of his rare speeches:
 
"You hear me talk, Hollis. She's mad because you've stepped off. She'll get over it all right."
 
Oregon Charlie had a right to talk. It was an open secret that he had loved Kate faithfully ever since he joined the gang. But apparently¹² Terry Hollis cared little about the moods of the girl. He was the center of festivities that evening until an interruption from the outside formed a diversion. It came in the form of a hard rider; the mutter of his hoofs¹³ swept to the door, and Phil Marvin, having examined the stranger from the shuttered loophole beside the entrance, opened the door to him at once.
 
"It's Sandy," he fired over his shoulder in explanation.
 
A weary-looking fellow came into the room, swinging his hat to knock the dust off it, and loosening the bandanna¹⁴ at his throat. The drooping¹⁵, pale mustache explained his name. Two words were spoken, and no more.
 
"News?" said Pollard.
 
"News," grunted¹⁶ Sandy, and took a place at the table.
 
Terry had noted¹⁷ before that there were always one or two extra places laid; he had always liked the suggestion of hospitality, but he was rather in doubt about this guest. He ate with marvellous expedition, keeping his lean face close to the table and bolting his food like a hungry dog. Presently he drained his coffee cup, arranged his mustache with painful care, and seemed prepared to talk.
 
"First thing," he said now—and utter silence spread around the table as he began to talk—"first thing is that McGuire is coming. I seen him on the trail, cut to the left and took the short way. He ought to be loping in almost any minute."
 
Terry saw the others looking straight at Pollard; the leader was thoughtful for a moment.
 
"Is he coming with a gang, Sandy?"
 
"Nope—alone."
 
"He was always a nervy cuss. Someday—"
 
He left the sentence unfinished. Denver had risen noiselessly.
 
"I'm going to beat it for my bunk," he announced. "Let me know when the sheriff is gone."
 
"Sit where you are, Denver. McGuire ain't going to lay hands on you."
 
"Sure he ain't," agreed Denver. "But I ain't partial to having guys lay eyes on me, neither. Some of you can go out and beat up trouble. I like to stay put."
 
And he glided¹⁸ out of the room with no more noise than a sliding shadow.
He had hardly disappeared when a heavy hand beat at the door.
"That's McGuire," announced Pollard. "Let him in, Phil." So saying, he twitched¹⁹ his gun out of the holster, spun²⁰ the cylinder²¹, and dropped it back.
 
"Don't try n............