“I could only stand still. I saw the sheriff raise his revolver. It was an effort of agony. But he was still trying to kill. And I nerved myself and waited for the explosion of the gun of Terence. I say I nerved myself for that shock, but the gun did not explode. I looked at him in wonder. My friends, he was putting up his gun and quietly looking the sheriff in the eye!
“At that I shouted to him, I don't know what. I shouted to the sheriff not to fire. Too late. The muzzle of the gun was already tilting up, the barrel was straightening. And then the gun fell from Minter's hand and he dropped on his side. His strength had failed him at the last moment.
“But I say, sirs, that what Terence Hollis did was the finest thing I have ever seen in my life, and I have seen fine things done by gentlemen before. There may be unpleasant associations with the name of Terry's father. I, for one, shall never carry over those associations to the son. Never! He has my hand, my respect, my esteem in every detail. He is a gentleman, my friends! There is nothing for us to do. If the sheriff is unfortunate and the wound should prove fatal, Terence will give himself up to the law. If he lives, he will be the first to tell you to keep your hands off the boy!”
He ended in a little silence. But there was no appreciative burst of applause from those who heard him. The fine courage of Terence was, to them, merely the iron nerve of the man-killer, the keen eye and the judicious mind which knew that the sheriff would collapse before he fired his second shot. And his courtesy before the first shot was simply the surety of the man who knew that no matter what advantage he gave to his enemy, his own speed of hand would more than make up for it.
Gainor, reading their minds, paid no more heed to them. He went straight across the room and took the hand of Elizabeth.
“Dear Miss Cornish,” he said so that all could hear, “I congratulate you for the man you have given us in Terence Hollis.”
Vance, watching, saw the tears of pleasure brighten the eyes of his sister.
“You are very kind,” she said. “But now I must see Sheriff Minter and be sure that everything is done for him.”
It seemed that the party took this as a signal for dismissal. As she went across the room, there were a dozen hasty adieus, and soon the guests were streaming towards the doors.
Vance and Elizabeth and Gainor went to the sheriff. He had been installed in a guest room. His eyes were closed, his arms outstretched. A thick, telltale bandage was wrapped about his breast. And Wu Chi, skillful in such matters from a long experience, was sliding about the room in his whispering slippers. The sheriff did not open his eyes when Elizabeth tried his pulse. It was faint, but steady.
He had been shot through the body and the lungs grazed, for as he breathed there was a faint bubble of blood that grew and swelled and burst on his lips at every breath. But he lived, and he would live unless there were an unnecessary change for the worse. They went softly out of the room again. Elizabeth was grave. Mr. Gainor took her hand.
“I think I know what people are saying now, and what they will say hereafter. If Terry's father were any other than Hollis, this affair would soon he forgotten, except as a credit to him. But even as it is, he will live this matter down. I want to tell you again, Miss Cornish, that you have reason to be proud of him. He is the sort of man I should be proud to have in my own family. Madam, good-by. And if there is anything in which I can be of service to you or to Terence, call on me at any time and to any extent.”
And he went down the hall with a little swagger. Mr. Gainor felt that he had risen admirably to a great situation. As a matter of fact, he had.
Elizabeth turned to Vance.
“I wish you'd find Terence,” she said, “and tell him that I'm waiting for him in the library.”
CHAPTER 16
Vance went gloomily to the room of Terry and called him out. The boy was pale, but perfectly calm, and he looked older, much older.
“There was a great deal of talk,” said Vance—he must make doubly sure of Terence now. “And they even started a little lynching party. But we stopped all that. Gainor made a very nice little speech about you. And now Elizabeth is waiting for you in the library.”
Terry bit his lip.
“And she?” he asked anxiously.
“There's nothing to worry about,” Vance assured him.
“She'll probably read you a curtain lecture. But at heart she's proud of you because of the way Gainor talked. You can't do anything wrong in my sister's eyes.”
Terry breathed a great sigh of relief.
“But I'm not ashamed of what I've done. I'm really not, Uncle Vance. I'm afraid that I'd do it over again, under the same circumstances.”
“Of course you would. Of course you would, my boy. But you don't have to blurt that out to Elizabeth, do you? Let her think it was the overwhelming passion of the moment; something like that. A woman likes to be appealed to, not defied. Particularly Elizabeth. Take my advice. She'll open her arms to you after she's been stern as the devil for a moment.”
The boy caught his hand and wrung it.
“By the Lord, Uncle Vance,” he said, “I certainly appreciate this!”
“Tush, Terry, tush!” said Vance. “You'll find that I'm with you and behind you in more ways than you'd ever guess.”
He received a grateful glance as they went down the broad stairs together. At the door to the library Vance turned away, but Elizabeth called to him and asked him in. He entered behind Terence Hollis, and found Elizabeth sitting in her father's big chair under the window, looking extremely fragile and very erect and proud. Across her lap
