They drifted past the town, quickening to a soft trot¹ after a moment, and then to a faster trot—El Sangre was gliding² along at a steady pace.  
"Not back to the house!" said Denver with an oath, when they straightened back to the house of Pollard. "That's the first place McGuire will look, after what you said to him the other night."
 
"That's where I want him to look," answered Terry, "and that's where he'll find me. Pollard will hide the coin and we'll get one of the boys to take our sweaty horses over the hills. We can tell McGuire that the two horses have been put out to pasture, if he asks. But he mustn't find hot horses in the stable. Certainly McGuire will strike for the house. But what will he find?"
 
He laughed joyously³.
 
Suddenly the voice of Denver cut in softly, insinuatingly⁴.
 
"You dope it that he'll cut for the house of Pollard? So do I. Now, kid, why not go another direction—and keep on going? What right have Pollard and the others to cut in on this coin? You and me, kid, can—"
 
"I don't hear you, Denver," interrupted Terry. "I don't hear you. We wouldn't have known where to find the stuff if it hadn't been for Pollard's friend Sandy. They get their share—but you can have my part, Denver. I'm not doing this for money; it's only an object lesson to that fat-headed sheriff. I'd pay twice this price for the sake of the little talk I'm going to have with him later on tonight."
 
"All right—Black Jack⁵," muttered Denver. For it seemed to him that the voice of the lost leader had spoken. "Play the fool, then, kid. But— let's feed these skates the spur! The town's boiling!"
 
Indeed, there was a dull roar behind them.
 
"No danger," chuckled⁷ Terry. "McGuire knows perfectly⁸ well that I've done this. And because he knows that, and he knows that I know it, he'll strike in the opposite direction to Pollard's house. He'll never dream that I would go right back to Pollard and sit down under the famous nose of McGuire!"
 
The dawn was brightening over the mountains above them, and the skyline was ragged⁹ with forest. A free country for free men—like the old Black Jack and the new. A short life, perhaps, but a full one.
 
The coming of the day showed Denver's face weary and drawn¹⁰. Those moments in the bank, surrounded by danger, had been nerve-racking even to his experience. But to him it was a business, and to Terry it was a game. He felt a qualm of pity for Lewison—but, after all, the man was a wolf, selfish, accumulating money to no purpose, useless to the world. He shrugged¹¹ the thought of Lewison away.
 
It was close to sunrise when they reached the house, and having put up the horses, staggered in and called to Johnny to bring them coffee; he was already rattling¹² at the kitchen stove. Then, with a shout, they brought Pollard himself stumbling down from the balcony rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. They threw the money down before him.
 
He was stupefied, and then his big lion's voice went booming with the call for his men. Terry did not wait; he stretched himself with a great yawn and made for his bed, and passed Phil Marvin and the others hurrying downstairs to answer the summons. Kate Pollard came also. She paused as he went by her and he saw her eyes go down to his dusty boots, with the leather polished where the stirrup had chafed¹³, then flashed back to his face.
 
"You, Terry!" she whispered.
 
But he went by her with a wave of the hand.
 
The girl went on down to the big room. They were gathered already, a bright-eyed, hungry-faced crew of men. Gold was piled across the table in front of them. Slim Dugan had been ordered to go to the highest window of the house and keep watch for the coming of the expected posse. In the meantime the others counted the money, ranging it in bright little stacks; and Denver told the tale.
 
He took a little more credit to himself than was his due. But it was his part to pay a tribute............