Donnegan turned in under the sign.
It was one big room. The bar stretched completely around two sides of
it. The floor was dirt, but packed to the hardness of wood. The low roof
was supported by a scattering of wooden pillars, and across the floor
the gaming tables were spread. At that vast bar not ten men were
drinking now; at the crowding tables there were not half a dozen
players; yet behind the bar stood a dozen tenders ready to meet the
evening rush from the mines. And at the tables waited an equal number of
the professional gamblers of the house.
From the door Donnegan observed these things with one sweeping glance,
and then proceeded to transform himself. One jerk at the visor of his
cap brought it down over his eyes and covered his face with shadow; a
single shrug bunched the ragged coat high around his shoulders, and the
shoulders themselves he allowed to drop forward. With his hands in his
pockets he glided slowly across the room toward the bar, for all the
world a picture of the guttersnipe who had been kicked from pillar to
post until self-respect is dead in him. And pausing in his advance, he
leaned against one of the pillars and looked hungrily toward the bar.
He was immediately hailed from behind the bar with: "Hey, you. No tramps
in here. Pay and stay in Lebrun's!"
The command brought an immediate protest. A big fellow stepped from the
bar, his sombrero pushed to the back of his head, his shirt sleeves
rolled to the elbow away from vast hairy forearms. One of his long arms
swept out and brought Donnegan to the bar.
"I ain't no prophet," declared the giant, "but I can spot a man that's
dry. What'll you have, bud?" And to the bartender he added: "Leave him
be, pardner, unless you're all set for considerable noise in here."
"Long as his drinks are paid for," muttered the bartender, "here he
stays. But these floaters do make me tired!"
He jabbed the bottle across the bar at Donnegan and spun a glass noisily
at him, and the "floater" observed the angry bartender with a frightened
side glance, and then poured his drink gingerly. When the glass was half
full he hesitated and sought the face of the bartender again, for
permission to go on.
"Fill her up!" commanded the giant. "Fill her up, lad, and drink
hearty."
"I never yet," observed the bartender darkly, "seen a beggar that wasn't
a hog."
At this Donnegan's protector shifted his belt so that the holster came a
little more forward on his thigh.
"Son," he said, "how long you been in these parts?"
"Long enough," declared the other, and lowered his black brows. "Long
enough to be sick of it."
"Maybe, maybe," returned the cowpuncher-miner, "meantime you tie to
this. We got queer ways out here. When a gent drinks with us he's our
friend. This lad here is my pardner, just now. If I was him I would of
knocked your head off before now for what you've said--"
"I don't want no trouble," Donnegan said whiningly.
At this the bartender chuckled, and the miner showed his teeth in his
disgust.
"Every gent has got his own way," he said sourly. "But while you drink
with Hal Stern you drink with your chin up, bud. And don't forget it.
And them that tries to run over you got to run over me."
Saying this, he laid his large left hand on the bar and leaned a little
toward the bartender, but his right hand remained hanging loosely at his
side. It was near the holster, as Donnegan noticed. And the bartender,
having met the boring glance of the big man for a moment, turned surlily
away. The giant looked to Donnegan and observed: "Know a good definition
of the word, skunk?"
"Nope," said Donnegan, brightening now that the stern eye, of the
bartender was turned away.
"Here's one that might do. A skunk is a critter that bites when your
back is turned and runs when you look it in the eye. Here's how!"
He drained his own glass, and Donnegan dexterously followed the example.
"And what might you be doing around these parts?" asked the big man,
veiling his contempt under a mild geniality.
"Me? Oh, nothing."
"Looking for a job, eh?"
Donnegan shrugged.
"Work ain't my line," he confided.
"H'm-m-m," said Hal Stern. "Well, you don't make no bones about it."
"But just now," continued Donnegan, "I thought maybe I'd pick up some
sort of a job for a while." He looked ruefully at the palms of his hands
which were as tender as the hands of a woman. "Heard a fellow say that
Jack Landis was a good sort to work for--didn't rush his men none. They
said I might find him here."
The big man grunted.
"Too early for him. He don't circulate around much till the sun goes
down. Kind of hard on his skin, the sun, maybe. So you're going to work
for him?"
"I was figuring on it."
"Well, tie to this, bud. If you work for him you won't have him over
you."
"No?"
"No, you'll have"--he glanced a little uneasily around him--"Lord Nick."
"Who's he?"
"Who's he?" The big man started in astonishment. "Sufferin' catamounts!
Who is he?" He laughed in a disagreeable manner. "Well, son, you'll
find out, right enough!"
"The way you talk, he don't sound none too good."
Hal Stern grew anxious. "The way I talk? Have I said anything agin' him?
Not a word! He's--he's--well, there ain't ever been trouble between us
and there never ain't going to be." He flushed and looked steadily at
Donnegan. "Maybe he sent you to talk to me?" he asked coldly.
But Donnegan's eyes took on a childish wideness.
"Why, I never seen him," he declared. Hall Stern allowed the muscles of
his face to relax. "All right," he said, "they's no harm done. But Lord
Nick is a name that ain't handled none too free in these here parts.
Remember that!"
"But how," pondered Donnegan, "can I be working for Lord Nick when I
sign up to work under Jack Landis?"
"I'll tell you how. Nick and Lebrun work together. Split profits. And
Nelly Lebrun works Landis for his dust. So the stuff goes in a
circle--Landis to Nelly to Lebrun to Nick. That clear?"
"I don't quite see it," murmured Donnegan.
"I didn't think you would," declared the other, and snorted his disgust.
"But that's all I'm going to say. Here come the boys--and dead dry!"
For the afternoon was verging upon evening, and the first drift of
laborers from the mines was pouring into The Corner. One thing at least
was clear to Donnegan: that everyone knew how infatuated Landis had
become with Nelly Lebrun and that Landis had not built up an
extraordinarily good name for himself.
12
By the time absolute darkness had set in, Donnegan, in the new role of
lady's chaperon, sat before a dying fire with Louise Macon beside him.
He had easily seen from his talk with Stern that Landis was a public
figure, whether from the richness of his claims or his relations with
Lord Nick and Lebrun, or because of all these things; but as a public
figure it would be impossible to see him alone in his own tent, and
unless Louise could meet him alone half her power over him--supposing
that she still retained any--would be lost. Better by far that Landis
should come to her than that she should come to him, so Donnegan had
rented two tents by the day at an outrageous figure from the
enterprising real estate company of The Corner and to this new home he
brought the girl.
She accepted the arrangement with surprising equanimity. It seemed that
her father's training had eliminated from her mind any questioning of
the motives of others. She became even cheerful as she set about
arranging the pack which Donnegan put in her tent. Afterward she cooked
their supper over the fire which he built for her. Never was there such
a quick house-settling. And by the time it was absolutely dark they had
washed the dishes and sat before Lou's tent looking over the night
lights of The Corner and hearing the voice of its Great White Way
opening.
She had not even asked why he did not bring her straight to Jack Landis.
She had looked into Donnegan's tent, furnished with a single blanket and
his canvas kit, and had offered to share her pack with him. And now they
sat side by side before the tent and still she asked no questions about
what was to come.
Her silence was to Donnegan the dropping of the water upon the hard
rock. He was crumbling under it, and a wild hatred for the colonel rose
in him. No doubt that spirit of evil had foreseen all this; and he knew
that every moment spent with the girl would drive Donnegan on closer to
the accomplishment of the colonel's great purpose--the death of Jack
Landis. For the colonel, as Jack's next of kin, would take over all his
mining interests and free them at a stroke from the silent partnership
which apparently existed with Lord Nick and Lester. One bullet would do
all this: and with Jack dead, who else stood close to the girl? It was
only necessary that she should not know who sped the bullet home.
A horrible fancy grew up in Donnegan, as he sat there, that between him
and the girl lay a dead body.
He was glad when the time came and he could tell her that he was going
down to The Corner to find Jack Landis and bring him to her. She rose to
watch him go and he heard her say "Come soon!"
It shocked Donnegan into realization that for all her calm exterior she
was perfectly aware of the danger of her position in the wild mining
camp. She must know, also, that her reputation would be compromised; yet
never once had she winced, and Donnegan was filled with wonder as he
went down the hill toward the camp which was spread beneath him; for
their tents were a little detached from the main body of the town.
Behind her gentle eyes, he now felt, and under the softness of her
voice, there was the same iron nerve that was in her father. Her hatred
could be a deathless passion, and her love also; and the great question
to be answered now was, did she truly love Jack Landis?
The Corner at night was like a scene at a circus. There was the same
rush of people, the same irregular flush of lights, the same glimmer of
lanterns through canvas, the same air of impermanence. Once, in one of
those hushes which will fall upon every crowd, he heard a coyote wailing
sharply and far away, as though the desert had sent out this voice to
mock at The Corner and all it contained.
He had only to ask once to discover where Landis was: Milligan's dance
hall. Before Milligan's place a bonfire burned from the beginning of
dusk to the coming of day; and until the time when that fire was
quenched with buckets of water, it was a sign to all that the merriment
was under way in the dance hall. If Lebrun's was the sun of the
amusement world in The Corner, Milligan's was the moon. Everybody who
had money to lose went to Lebrun's. Every one who was out for gayety
went to Milligan's. Milligan was a plunger. He had brought up an
orchestra which demanded fifteen dollars a day and he paid them that and
more. He not only was able to do this, but he established a bar at the
entrance from which all who entered were served with a free drink. The
entrance, also, was not subject to charge. The initial drink at the door
was spiced to encourage thirst, so Milligan made money as fast, and far
more easily, than if he had been digging it out of the ground.
To the door of this pleasure emporium came Donnegan. He had transformed
himself into the ragged hobo by the jerking down of his cap again, and
the hunching of his shoulders. And shrinking past the bar with a hungry
sidewise glance, as one who did not dare present himself for free
liquor, he entered Milligan's.
That is, he had put his foot across the threshold when he was caught
roughly by the shoulder and dragged to one side. He found himself
looking up into the face of a strapping fellow who served Milligan as
bouncer. Milligan had an eye for color. Andy Lewis was tolerably well
known as a fighting man of parts, who not only wore two guns but could
use them both at once, which is much more difficult than is generally
understood. But far more than for his fighting parts Milligan hired his
bouncer for the sake of his face. It was a countenance made to
discourage trouble makers. A mule had kicked Lewis in the chin, and a
great white welt deformed his lower lip. Scars of smallpox added to his
decorative effect, and he had those extremely bushy brows which for some
reason are generally considered to denote ferocity. Now, Donnegan was
not above middle height at best, and in his present shrinking attitude
he found himself looking up a full head into the formidable face of the
bouncer.
"And what are you doing in here?" asked the genial Andy. "Don't you know
this joint is for white folks?"
"I ain't colored," murmured Donnegan.
"You took considerable yaller to me," declared Lewis. He straightway
chuckled, and his own keen appreciation of his wit softened his
expression. "What you want?"
Donnegan shivered under his rags.
"I want to see Jack Landis," he said.
It had a wonderful effect upon the doorkeeper. Donnegan found that the
very name of Landis was a charm of power in The Corner.
"You want to see him?" he queried in amazement. "You?"
He looked Donnegan over again, and then grinned broadly, as if in
anticipation. "Well, go ahead. There he sits--no, he's dancing."
The music was in full swing; it was chiefly brass; but now and then, in
softer moments, one could hear a violin squeaking uncertainly. At least
it went along with a marked, regular rhythm, and the dancers swirled
industriously around the floor. A very gay crowd; color was apparently
appreciated in The Corner. And Donnegan, standing modestly out of sight
behind a pillar until the dance ended, noted twenty phases of life in
twenty faces. And Donnegan saw the flushes of liquor, and heard the loud
voices of happy fellows who had made their "strikes"; but in all that
brilliant crew he had no trouble in picking out Jack Landis and Nelly
Lebrun.
They danced together, and where they passed, the others steered a little
off so as to give them room on the dance floor, as if the men feared
that they might cross the formidable Landis, and as if the women feared
to be brought into too close comparison with Nelly Lebrun. She was,
indeed, a brilliant figure. She had eyes of the Creole duskiness, a
delicate olive skin, with a pastel coloring. The hand on the shoulder of
Landis was a thing of fairy beauty. And her eyes had that peculiar
quality of seeming to see everything, and rest on every face
particularly. So that, as she whirled toward Donnegan, he winced,
feeling that she had found him out among the shadows.
She had a glorious partner to set her off. And Donnegan saw bitterly
why Lou Macon could love him. Height without clumsiness, bulk and a
light foot at once, a fine head, well poised, blond hair and a Grecian
profile--such was Jack Landis. He wore a vest of fawn skin; his boots
were black in the foot and finished with the softest red leather for the
leg. And he had yellow buckskin trousers, laced in a Mexican fashion
with silver at the sides; a narrow belt, a long, red silk handkerchief
flying from behind his neck in cowboy fashion. So much flashing
splendor, even in that gay assembly, would have been childishly
conspicuous on another man. But in big Jack Landis there was patently a
great deal of the unaffected child. He was having a glorious time on
this evening, and his eye roved the room challenging admiration in a
manner that was amusing rather than offensive. He was so overflowingly
proud of having the prettiest girl in The Corner upon his arm and so
conscious of being himself probably the finest-looking man that he
escaped conceit, it might almost be said, by his very excess of it.
Upon this splendid individual, then, the obscure Donnegan bent his gaze.
He saw the dancers pause and scatter as the music ended, saw them drift
to the tables along the edges of the room, saw the scurry of waiters
hurrying drinks up in the interval, saw Nelly Lebrun sip a lemonade, saw
Jack Landis toss off something stronger. And then Donnegan skirted
around the room and came to the table of Jack Landis at the very moment
when the latter was tossing a gold piece to the waiter and giving a new
order.
Prodigal sons in the distance of thought are apt to be both silly: and
disgusting, but at close hand they usually dazzle the eye. Even the cold
brain of Donnegan was daunted a little as he drew near.
He came behind the chair of the tall master of The Corner, and while
Nelly Lebrun stopped her glass halfway to her lips and stared at the
ragged stranger, Donnegan was whispering in the ear of Jack Landis:
"I've got to see you alone."
Landis turned his head slowly and his eye darkened a little as he met
the reddish, unshaven face of the stranger. Then, with a careless shrug
of distaste, he drew out a few coins and poured them into Donnegan's
palm; the latter pocketed them.
"Lou Macon," said Donnegan.
Jack Landis rose from his chair, and it was not until he stood so close
to Donnegan that the latter realized the truly Herculean proportions of
the young fellow. He bowed his excuses to Nelly Lebrun, not without
grace of manner, and then huddled Donnegan into a corner with a wave of
his vast arm.
"Now what do you want? Who are you? Who put that name in your mouth?"
"She's in The Corner," said Donnegan, and he dwelt upon the face of Jack
Landis with feverish suspense. A moment later a great weight had slipped
from his heart. If Lou Macon loved Landis it was beyond peradventure
that Landis was not breaking his heart because of the girl. For at her
name he flushed darkly, and then, that rush of color fading, he was left
with a white spot in the center of each cheek.
13
First his glance plunged into vacancy; then it flicked over his shoulder
at Nelly Lebrun and he bit his lip. Plainly, it was not the most welcome
news that Jack Landis had ever heard.
"Where is she?" he asked nervously of Donnegan, and he looked over the
ragged fellow again.
"I'll take you to her."
The big man swayed back and forth from foot to foot, balancing in his
hesitation. "Wait a moment."
He strode to Nelly Lebrun and bent over her; Donnegan saw her eyes flash
up--oh, heart of the south, what eyes of shadow and fire! Jack Landis
trembled under the glance; yes, he was deeply in love with the girl. And
Donnegan watched her face shade with suspicion, stiffen with cold anger,
warm and soften again under the explanations of Jack Landis.
Donnegan, looking from the distance, could read everything; it is
nearness that bewitches a man when he talks to a woman. When Odysseus
talked to Circe, no doubt he stood on the farther side of the room!
When Landis came again, he was perspiring from the trial of fire
through which he had just passed.
"Come," he ordered, and set out at a sweeping stride.
Plainly he was anxious to get this matter done with as soon as possible.
As for Donnegan, he saw a man whom Landis had summoned to take his place
sit down at the table with Nelly Lebrun. She was laughing with the
newcomer as though nothing troubled her at all, but over his shoulder
her glance probed the distance and followed Jack Landis. She wanted to
see the messenger again, the man who had called her companion away; but
in this it was fox challenging fox. Donnegan took note and was careful
to place between him and the girl every pillar and every group of
people. As far as he was concerned, her first glance must do to read and
judge and remember him by.
Outside Landis shot several questions at him in swift succession; he
wanted to know how the girl had happened to make the trip. Above all,
what the colonel was thinking and doing and if the colonel himself had
come. But Donnegan replied with monosyllables, and Landis, apparently
reconciling himself to the fact that the messenger was a fool, ceased
his questions. They kept close to a run all the way out of the camp and
up the hillside to the two detached tents where Donnegan and the girl
slept that night. A lantern burned in both the tents.
"She has made things ready for me," thought Donnegan, his heart opening.
"She has kept house for me!"
He pointed out Lou's tent to his companion and the big man, with a
single low word of warning, threw open the flap of the tent and strode
in.
There was only the split part of a second between the rising and the
fall of the canvas, but in that swift interval, Donnegan saw the girl
starting up to receive Landis. Her calm was broken at last. Her cheeks
were flushed; her eyes were starry with what? Expectancy? Love?
It stopped Donnegan like a blow in the face and turned his heart to
lead; and then, shamelessly, he glided around the tent and dropped down
beside it to eavesdrop. After all, there was some excuse. If she loved
the man he, Donnegan, would let him live; if she did not love him, he,
Donnegan, would kill him like a worthless rat under heel. That is, if he
could. No wonder that the wanderer listened with heart and soul!
He missed the first greeting. It was only a jumble of exclamations, but
now he heard: "But, Lou, what a wild idea. Across the mountains--with
whom?"
"The man who brought you here."
"Who's he?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know? He looks like a shifty little rat to me."
"He's big enough, Jack."
Such small praise was enough to set Donnegan's heart thumping.
"Besides, father told me to go with him, to trust him."
"Ah!" There was an abrupt chilling and lowering of Landis' voice. "The
colonel knows him? He's one of the colonel's men?"
Plainly the colonel was to him as the rod to the child.
"Why didn't you come directly to me?"
"We thought it would be better not to."
"H'm-m. Your guide--well, what was the colonel's idea in sending you
here? Heavens above, doesn't he know that a mining camp is no place for
a young girl? And you haven't a sign of a chaperon, Lou! What the devil
can I do? What was in his mind?"
"You haven't written for a long time."
"Good Lord! Written! Letters! Does he think I have time for letters?"
The lie came smoothly enough. "Working day and night?"
Donnegan smoothed his whiskers and grinned into the night. Landis might
prove better game than he had anticipated.
"He worried," said the girl, and her voice was as even as ever. "He
worried, and sent me to find out if anything is wrong."
Then: "Nonsense! What is there to worry about? Lou, I'm half inclined to
think that the colonel doesn't trust me!"
She did not answer. Was she reading beneath the boisterous assurance of
Landis?
"One thing is clear to me--and to you, too, I hope. The first thing is
to send you back in a hurry."
Still no answer.
"Lou, do you distrust me?"
At length she managed to speak, but it was with some difficulty: "There
is another reason for sending me."
"Tell me."
"Can't you guess, Jack?"
"I'm not a mind reader."
"The cad," said Donnegan through his teeth.
"It's the old reason."
"Money?"
"Yes."
A shadow swept across the side of the tent; it was Landis waving his arm
carelessly.
"If that's all, I can fix you up and send you back with enough to carry
the colonel along. Look here--why, I have five hundred with me. Take it,
Lou. There's more behind it, but the colonel mustn't think that there's
as much money in the mines as people say. No idea how much living costs
up here. Heavens, no! And the prices for labor! And then they shirk the
job from dawn to dark. I have to watch 'em every minute, I tell you!"
He sighed noisily.
"But the end of it is, dear"--how that small word tore into the heart of
Donnegan, who crouched outside--"that you must go back tomorrow morning.
I'd send you tonight, if I could. As a matter of fact, I don't trust the
red-haired rat who--"
The girl interrupted while Donnegan still had control of his
hair-trigger temper.
"You forget, Jack. Father sent me here, but he did not tell me to come
back."
At this Jack Landis burst into an enormous laughter.
"You don't mean, Lou, that you actually intend to stay on?"
"What else can I mean?"
"Of course it makes it awkward if the colonel didn't expressly tell you
just what to do. I suppose he left it to my discretion, and I decide
definitely that you must go back at once."
"I can't do it."
"Lou, don't you hear me saying that I'll take the responsibility? If
your father blames you let him tell me--"
He broke down in the middle of his sentence and another of those
uncomfortable little pauses ensued. Donnegan knew that their eyes were
miserably upon each other; the man tongue-tied by his guilt; the girl
wretchedly guessing at the things which lay behind her fiancé's words.
"I'm sorry you don't want me here."
"It isn't that, but--"
He apparently expected to be interrupted, but she waited coolly for him
to finish the sentence, and, of course, he could not. After all, for a
helpless girl she had a devilish effective way of muzzling Landis.
Donnegan chuckled softly in admiration.
All at once she broke through the scene; her voice did not rise or
harden, but it was filled with finality, as though she were weary of the
interview.
"I'm tired out; it's been a hard ride, Jack. You go home now and look me
up again any time tomorrow."
"I--Lou--I feel mighty bad about having you up here in this infernal
tent, when the camp is full, and--":
"You can't lie across the entrance to my tent and guard me, Jack.
Besides, I don't need you for that. The man who's with me will protect
me."
"He doesn't look capable of protecting a cat!"
"My father said that in any circumstances he would be able to take care
of me."
This reply seemed to overwhelm Landis.
"The colonel trusts him as far as all that?" he muttered. "Then I
suppose you're safe enough. But what about comfort, Lou?"
"I've done without comfort all my life. Run along, Jack. And take this
money with you. I can't have it."
"But, didn't the colonel send--"
"You can express it through to him. To me it's--not pleasant to take
it."
"Why, Lou, you don't mean--"
"Good night, Jack. I don't mean anything, except that I'm tired."
The shadow swept along the wall of the tent again. Donnegan, with a
shaking pulse, saw the profile of the girl and the man approach as he
strove to take her in his arms and kiss her good night. And then one
slender bar of shadow checked Landis.
"Not tonight."
"Lou, you aren't angry with me?"
"No. But you know I have queer ways. Just put this down as one of them.
I can't explain."
There was a muffled exclamation and Landis went from the tent and strode
down the hill; he was instantly lost in the night. But Donnegan, turning
to the entrance flap, called softly. He was bidden to come in, and when
he raised the flap he saw her sitting with her hands clasped loosely and
resting upon her knees. Her lips were a little parted, and colorless;
her eyes were dull with a mist; and though she rallied herself a little,
the wanderer could see that she was only half-aware of him.
The face which he saw was a milestone in his life. For he had loved her
jealously, fiercely before; but seeing her now, dazed, hurt, and
uncomplaining, tenderness came into Donnegan. It spread to his heart
with a strange pain and made his hands tremble.