If the crowd had been expectant before, it was now reduced to wire-drawn
tenseness.
"Are you the fellow who turned back my man?" asked Donnegan.
His quiet voice fell coldly upon the soul of Andy. He strove to warm
himself by an outbreak of temper.
"They ain't any poor fool dude can call me a fellow!" he shouted.
The crowd blinked; but when it opened its eyes the gunplay had not
occurred. The hand of Andy was relaxing from the butt of his gun and an
expression of astonishment and contempt was growing upon his face.
"I haven't come to curse you," said the rider, still occupying his hands
with crop and reins. "I've come to ask you a question and get an answer.
Are you the fellow who turned back my man?"
"I guess you ain't the kind I was expectin' to call on me," drawled
Andy, his fear gone, and he winked at the crowd. But the others were not
yet ready to laugh. Something about the calm face of Donnegan had
impressed them. "Sure, I'm the one that kicked him out. He ain't allowed
in there."
"It's the last of my thoughts to break in upon a convention in your
city," replied the grave rider, "but my man was sent on an errand and
therefore he had a right to expect courtesy. George, get off your horse
and go into Milligan's place. I want that mint!"
For a moment Andy was too stunned to answer. Then his voice came harshly
and he swayed from side to side, gathering and summoning his wrath.
"Keep out boy! Keep out, or you're buzzard meat. I'm warnin'--"
For the first time his glance left the rider to find George, and that
instant was fatal. The hand of Donnegan licked out as the snake's tongue
darts--the loaded quirt slipped over in his hand, and holding it by the
lash he brought the butt of it thudding on the head of Andy.
Even then the instinct to fight remained in the stunned man; while he
fell, he was drawing the revolver; he lay in a crumpling heap at the
feet of Donnegan's horse with the revolver shoved muzzle first into the
sand.
Donnegan's voice did not rise.
"Go in and get that mint, George," he ordered. "And hurry. This rascal
has kept me waiting until I'm thirsty."
Big George hesitated only one instant--it was to sweep the crowd for the
second time with his confident grin--and he strode through the door of
the dance hall. As for Donnegan, his only movement was to swing his
horse around and shift riding crop and reins into the grip of his left
hand. His other hand was dropped carelessly upon his hip. Now, both
these things were very simple maneuvers, but The Corner noted that his
change of face had enabled Donnegan to bring the crowd under his eye,
and that his right hand was now ready for a more serious bit of work if
need be. Moreover, he was probing faces with his glance. And every armed
man in that group felt that the eye of the rider was directed
particularly toward him.
There had been one brief murmur; then the silence lay heavily again, for
it was seen that Andy had been only slightly stunned--knocked out, as a
boxer might be. Now his sturdy brains were clearing. His body stiffened
into a human semblance once more; he fumbled, found the butt of his gun
with his first move. He pushed his hat straight: and so doing he raked
the welt which the blow had left on his head. The pain finished clearing
the mist from his mind; in an instant he was on his feet, maddened with
shame. He saw the semicircle of white faces, and the whole episode
flashed back on him. He had been knocked down like a dog.
For a moment he looked into the blank faces of the crowd; someone noted
that there was no gun strapped at the side of Donnegan. A voice shouted
a warning.
"Stop, Lewis. The dude ain't got a gun. It's murder!"
It was now that Lewis saw Donnegan sitting the saddle directly behind
him, and he whirled with a moan of fury. It was a twist of his body--in
his eagerness--rather than a turning upon his feet. And he was half
around before the rider moved. Then he conjured a gun from somewhere in
his clothes. There was the flash of the steel, an explosion, and
Scar-faced Lewis was on his knees with a scream of pain holding his
right forearm with his left hand.
The crowd hesitated still for a second, as though it feared to
interfere; but Donnegan had already put up his weapon. A wave of the
curious spectators rushed across the street and gathered around the
injured man. They found that he had been shot through the fleshy part of
the thumb, and the bullet, ranging down the arm, had sliced a furrow to
the bone all the way to the elbow. It was a grisly wound.
Big George Washington Green came running to the door of the dance hall
with a sprig of something green in his hand; one glance assured him that
all was well; and once more that wide, confident grin spread upon his
face. He came to the master and offered the mint; and Donnegan, raising
it to his face, inhaled the scent deeply.
"Good," he said. "And now for a julep, George! Let's go home!"
Across the street a dark-eyed girl had clasped the arm of her companion
in hysterical excitement.
"Did you see?" she asked of her tall companion.
"I saw a murderer shoot down a man; he ought to be hung for it!"
"But the mint! Did you see him smile over it? Oh, what a devil he is;
and what a man!"
Jack Landis flashed a glance of suspicion down at her, but her dancing
eyes had quite forgotten him. They were following the progress of
Donnegan down the street. He rode slowly, and George kept that formal
distance, just a length behind.
18
Before Milligan's the crowd began to buzz like murmuring hornets around
a nest that has been tapped, when they pour out and cannot find the
disturber. It was a rather helpless milling around the wounded man, and
Nelly Lebrun was the one who worked her way through the crowd and came
to Andy Lewis. She did not like Andy. She had been known to refer to him
as a cowardly hawk of a man; but now she bullied the crowd in a shrill
voice and made them bring water and cloth. Then she cleansed and
bandaged the wound in Andy Lewis' arm and had some of them take him
away.
By this time the outskirts of the crowd had melted away; but those who
had really seen all parts of the little drama remained to talk. The
subject was a real one. Had Donnegan aimed at the hand of Andy and
risked his own life on his ability to disable the other without killing
him? Or had he fired at Lewis' body and struck the hand and arm only by
a random lucky chance?
If the second were the case, he was only a fair shot with plenty of
nerve and a great deal of luck. If the first were true, then this was a
nerve of ice-tempered steel, an eye vulture-sharp, and a hand,
miraculous, fast, and certain. To strike that swinging hand with a snap
shot, when a miss meant a bullet fired at his own body at deadly short
range--truly it would take a credulous man to believe that Donnegan had
coldly planned to disable his man without killing him.
"A murderer by intention," exclaimed Milligan. He had hunted long and
hard before he found a man with a face like that of Lewis, capable of
maintaining order by a glance; now he wanted revenge. "A murder by
intention!" he cried to the crowd, standing beside the place where the
imprint of Andy's knees was still in the sand. "And like a murderer he
ought to be treated. He aimed to kill Andy; he had luck and only broke
his hand. Now, boys, I say it ain't so much what he's done as the way
he's done it. He's given us the laugh. He's come in here in his dude
clothes and tried to walk over us. But it don't work. Not in The Corner.
If Andy was dead, I'd say lynch the dude. But he ain't, and all I say
is: Run him out of town."
Here there was a brief outburst of applause, but when it ended, it was
observed that there was a low, soft laughter. The crowd gave way between
Milligan and the mocker. It was seen that he who laughed was old Lebrun,
rubbing his olive-skinned hands together and showing his teeth in his
mirth. There was no love lost between Lebrun and Milligan, even if Nelly
was often in the dance hall and the center of its merriment.
"It takes a thief to catch a thief," said Lebrun enigmatically, when he
saw that he had the ear of the crowd, "and it takes a man to catch a
man."
"What the devil do you mean by that?" a dozen voices asked.
"I mean, that if you got men enough to run out this man Donnegan, The
Corner is a better town than I think."
It brought a growl, but no answer. Lebrun had never been seen to lift
his hand, but he was more dreaded than a rattler.
"We'll try," said Milligan dryly. "I ain't much of a man myself"--there
were dark rumors about Milligan's past and the crowd chuckled at this
modesty--"but I'll try my hand agin' him with a bit of backing. And
first I want to tell you boys that they ain't any danger of him having
aimed at Andy's hand. I tell you, it ain't possible, hardly, for him to
have planned to hit a swingin' target like that. Maybe some could do it.
I dunno."
"How about Lord Nick?"
"Sure, Lord Nick might do anything. But Donnegan ain't Lord Nick."
"Not by twenty pounds and three inches."
This brought a laugh. And by comparison with the terrible and familiar
name of Lord Nick, Donnegan became a smaller danger. Besides, as
Milligan said, it was undoubtedly luck. And when he called for
volunteers, three or four stepped up at once. The others made a general
milling, as though each were trying to get forward and each were
prevented by the crowd in front. But in the background big Jack Landis
was seriously trying to get to the firing line. He was encumbered with
the clinging weight of Nelly Lebrun.
"Don't go, Jack," she pleaded. "Please! Please! Be sensible. For my
sake!"
She backed this appeal with a lifting of her eyes and a parting of her
lips, and Jack Landis paused.
"You won't go, dear Jack?"
Now, Jack knew perfectly well that the girl was only half sincere. It is
the peculiar fate of men that they always know when a woman is playing
with them, but, from Samson down, they always go to the slaughter with
open eyes, hoping each moment that the girl has been seriously impressed
at last. As for Jack Landis, his slow mind did not readily get under the
surface of the arts of Nelly, but he knew that there was at least a
tinge of real concern in the girl's desire to keep him from the posse
which Milligan was raising.
"But they's something about him that I don't like, Nelly. Something sort
of familiar that I don't like." For naturally enough he did not
recognize the transformed Donnegan, and the name he had never heard
before. "A gunfighter, that's what he is!"
"Why, Jack, sometimes they call you the same thing; say that you hunt
for trouble now and then!"
"Do they say that?" asked the young chap quickly, flushing with vanity.
"Oh, I aim to take care of myself. And I'd like to take a hand with this
murdering Donnegan."
"Jack, listen! Don't go; keep away from him!"
"Why do you look like that? As if I was a dead one already."
"I tell you, Jack, he'd kill you!"
Something in her terrible assurance whitened the cheeks of Landis, but
he was also angered. When a very young man becomes both afraid and angry
he is apt to be dangerous. "What do you know of him?" he asked
suspiciously.
"You silly! But I saw his face when he lifted that mint. He'd already
forgotten about the man he had just shot down. He was thinking of
nothing but the scent of the mint. And did you notice his giant servant?
He never had a moment's doubt of Donnegan's ability to handle the entire
crowd. I tell you, it gave me a chill of ghosts to see the big black
fellow's eyes. He knew that Donnegan would win. And Donnegan won! Jack,
you're a big man and a strong man and a brave man, and we all know it.
But don't be foolish. Stay away from Donnegan!"
He wavered just an instant. If she could have sustained her pleading
gaze a moment longer she would have won him, but at the critical instant
her gaze became distant. She was seeing the calm face of Donnegan as he
raised the mint. And as though he understood, Jack Landis hardened.
"I'm glad you don't want me shot up, Nelly," he said coldly. "Mighty
good of you to watch out for me. But--I'm going to run this Donnegan out
of town!"
"He's never harmed you; why--"
"I don't like his looks. For a man like me that's enough!"
And he strode away toward Milligan. He was greeted by a cheer just as
the girl reached the side of her father.
"Jack is going," she said. "Make him come back!"
But the old man was still rubbing his hands; there seemed to be a
perpetual chill in the tips of the fingers.
"He is a jackass. The moment I first saw his face I knew that he was
meant for gun fodder--buzzard food! Let him go. Bah!"
The girl shivered. "And then the mines?" she asked, changing her
tactics.
"Ah, yes. The mines! But leave that to Lord Nick. He'll handle it well
enough!"
So Jack Landis strode up the hill first and foremost of the six stalwart
men who wished to correct the stranger's apparent misunderstandings of
the status of The Corner. They were each armed to the teeth and each
provided with enough bullets to disturb a small city. All this in honor
of Donnegan.
They found the shack wrapped in the warm, mellow light of the late
afternoon; and on a flat-topped rock outside it big George sat
whittling a stick into a grotesque imitation of a snake coiled. He did
not rise when the posse approached. He merely rocked back upon the rock,
embraced his knees in both of his enormous arms, and, in a word,
transformed himself into a round ball of mirth. But having hugged away
his laughter he was able to convert his joy into a vast grin. That smile
stopped the posse. When a mob starts for a scene of violence the least
exhibition of fear incenses it, but mockery is apt to pour water on its
flames of anger.
Decidedly the fury of the posse was chilled by the grin of George.
Milligan, who had lived south of the Mason-Dixon line, stepped up to
impress George properly.
"Boy," he said, frowning, "go in and tell your man that we've come for
him. Tell him to step right out here and get ready to talk. We don't
mean him no harm less'n he can't explain one or two things. Hop along!"
The "boy" did not stir. Only he shifted his eyes from face to face and
his grin broadened. Ripples of mirth waved along his chest and convulsed
his face, but still he did not laugh. "Go in and tell them things to
Donnegan," he said. "But don't ask me to wake him up. He's sleepin'
soun' an' fas'. Like a baby; mostly, he sleeps every day to get rested
up for the night. Now, can't you-all wait till Donnegan wakes up
tonight? No? Then step right in, gen'lemen; but if you-all is set on
wakin' him up now, George will jus' step over the hill, because he don't
want to be near the explosion."
At this, he allowed his mirth free rein. His laughter shook up to his
throat, to his enormous mouth; it rolled and bellowed across the
hillside; and the posse stood, each man in his place, and looked
frigidly upon one another. But having been laughed at, they felt it
necessary to go on, and do or die. So they strode across the hill and
were almost to the door when another phenomenon occurred. A girl in a
cheap calico dress of blue was seen to run out of a neighboring shack
and spring up before the door of Donnegan's hut. When she faced the
crowd it stopped again.
The soft wind was blowing the blue dress into lovely, long, curving
lines; about her throat a white collar of some sheer stuff was being
lifted into waves, or curling against her cheek; and the golden hair, in
disorder, was tousled low upon her forehead.
Whirling thus upon the crowd, she shocked them to a pause, with her
parted lips, her flare of delicate color.
"Have you come here," she cried, "for--for Donnegan?"
"Lady," began someone, and then looked about for Jack Landis, who was
considered quite a hand with the ladies. But Jack Landis was discovered
fading out of view down the hillside. One glance at that blue dress had
quite routed him, for now he remembered the red-haired man who had
escorted Lou Macon to The Corner--and the colonel's singular trust in
this fellow. It explained much, and he fled before he should be noticed.
Before the spokesman could continue his speech, the girl had whipped
inside the door. And the posse was dumbfounded. Milligan saw that the
advance was ruined. "Boys," he said, "we came to fight a man; not to
storm a house with a woman in it. Let's go back. We'll tend to Donnegan
later on."
"We'll drill him clean!" muttered the others furiously, and straightway
the posse departed down the hill.
But inside the girl had found, to her astonishment, that Donnegan was
stretched upon his bunk wrapped again in the silken dressing gown and
with a smile upon his lips. He looked much younger, as he slept, and
perhaps it was this that made the girl steal forward upon tiptoe and
touch his shoulder so gently.
He was up on his feet in an instant. Alas, vanity, vanity! Donnegan in
shoes was one thing, for his shoes were of a particular kind; but
Donnegan in his slippers was a full two inches shorter. He was hardly
taller than the girl; he was, if the bitter truth must be known, almost
a small man. And Donnegan was furious at having been found by her in
such careless attire--and without those dignity-building shoes. First
he wanted to cut the throat of big George.
"What have you done, what have you done?" cried the girl, in one of
those heart-piercing whispers of fear. "They have come for you--a whole
crowd--of armed men--they're outside the door! What have you done? It
was something done for me, I know!"
Donnegan suddenly transferred his wrath from big George to the mob.
"Outside my door?" he asked. And as he spoke he slipped on a belt at
which a heavy holster tugged down on one side, and buckled it around
him.
"Oh, no, no, no!" she pleaded, and caught him in her arms.
Donnegan allowed her to stop him with that soft power for a moment,
until his face went white--as if with pain. Then he adroitly gathered
both her wrists into one of his bony hands; and having rendered her
powerless, he slipped by her and cast open the door.
It was an empty scene upon which they looked, with big George rocking
back and forth upon a rock, convulsed with silent laughter. Donnegan
looked sternly at the girl and swallowed. He was fearfully susceptible
to mockery.
"There seems to have been a jest?" he said.
But she lifted him a happy, tearful face.
"Ah, thank heaven!" she cried gently.
Oddly enough, Donnegan at this set his teeth and turned upon his heel,
and the girl stole out the door again, and closed it softly behind her.
As a matter of fact, not even the terrible colonel inspired in her quite
the fear which Donnegan instilled.
19
"Big Landis lost his nerve and sidestepped at the last minute, and then
the whole gang faded."
That was the way the rumors of the affair always ended at each
repetition in Lebrun's and Milligan's that night. The Corner had had
many things to talk about during its brief existence, but nothing to
compare with a man who entered a shooting scrape with such a fellow as
Scar-faced Lewis all for the sake of a spray of mint. And the main topic
of conversation was: Did Donnegan aim at the body or the hand of the
bouncer?
On the whole, it was an excellent thing for Milligan's. The place was
fairly well crowded, with a few vacant tables. For everyone wanted to
hear Milligan's version of the affair. He had a short and vigorous one,
trimmed with neat oaths. It was all the girl in the blue calico dress,
according to him. The posse couldn't storm a house with a woman in it or
even conduct a proper lynching in her presence. And no one was able to
smile when Milligan said this. Neither was anyone nervy enough to
question the courage of Landis. It looked strange, that sudden flight of
his, but then, he was a proven man. Everyone remembered the affair of
Lester. It had been a clean-cut fight, and Jack Landis had won cleanly
on his merits.
Nevertheless some of the whispers had not failed to come to the big man,
and his brow was black.
The most terribly heartless and selfish passion of all is shame in a
young man. To repay the sidelong glances which he met on every side,
Jack Landis would have willingly crowded every living soul in The Corner
into one house and touched a match to it. And chiefly because he felt
the injustice of the suspicion. He had no fear of Donnegan.
He had a theory that little men had little souls. Not that he ever
formulated the theory in words, but he vaguely felt it and adhered to
it. He had more fear of one man of six two than a dozen under five ten.
He reserved in his heart of hearts a place of awe for one man whom he
had never seen. That was for Lord Nick, for that celebrated character
was said to be as tall and as finely built as Jack Landis himself. But
as for Donnegan--Landis wished there were three Donnegans instead of
one.
Tonight his cue was surly silence. For Nelly Lebrun had been warned by
her father, and she was making desperate efforts to recover any ground
she might have lost. Besides, to lose Jack Landis would be to lose the
most spectacular fellow in The Corner, to say nothing of the one who
held the largest and the choicest of the mines. The blond, good looks of
Landis made a perfect background for her dark beauty. With all these
stakes to play for, Nelly outdid herself. If she were attractive enough
ordinarily, when she exerted herself to fascinate, Nelly was
intoxicating. What chance had poor Jack Landis against her? He did not
call for her that night but went to play gloomily at Lebrun's until
Nelly walked into Lebrun's and drew him away from a table. Half an hour
later she had him whirling through a dance in Milligan's and had danced
the gloom out of his mind for the moment. Before the evening was well
under way, Landis was making love to her openly, and Nelly was in the
position of one who had roused the bear.
It was a dangerous flirtation and it was growing clumsy. In any place
other than The Corner it would have been embarrassing long ago; and when
Jack Landis, after a dance, put his one big hand over both of Nelly's
and held her moveless while he poured out a passionate declaration,
Nelly realized that something must be done. Just what she could not
tell.
And it was at this very moment that a wave of silence, beginning at the
door, rushed across Milligan's dance floor. It stopped the bartenders in
the act of mixing drinks; it put the musicians out of key, and in the
midst of a waltz phrase they broke down and came to a discordant pause.
What was it?
The men faced the door, wondering, and then the swift rumor passed from
lip to lip--almost from eye to eye, so rapidly it sped--Donnegan is
coming! Donnegan, and big George with him.
"Someone tell Milligan!"
But Milligan had already heard; he was back of the bar giving
directions; guns were actually unlimbering. What would happen?
"Shall I get you out of this?" Landis asked the girl.
"Leave now?" She laughed fiercely and silently. "I'm just beginning to
live! Miss Donnegan in action? No, sir!"
She would have given a good deal to retract that sentence, for it washed
the face of Landis white with jealousy.
Surely Donnegan had built greater than he knew.
And suddenly he was there in the midst of the house. No one had stopped
him--at least, no one had interfered with his servant. Big George had on
a white suit and a dappled green necktie; he stood directly behind his
master and made him look like a small boy. For Donnegan was in black,
and he had a white neckcloth wrapped as high and stiffly as an
old-fashioned stock. Altogether he was a queer, drab figure compared
with the brilliant Donnegan of that afternoon. He looked older, more
weary. His lean face was pale; and his hair flamed with redoubled ardor
on that account. Never was hair as red as that, not even the hair of
Lord Nick, said the people in Milligan's this night.
He was perfectly calm even in the midst of that deadly silence. He stood
looking about him. He saw Gloster, the real estate man, and bowed to him
deliberately.
For some reason that drew a gasp.
Then he observed a table which was apparently to his fancy and crossed
the floor with a light, noiseless step, big George padding heavily
behind him. At the little round table he waited until George had drawn
out the chair for him and then he sat down. He folded his arms lightly
upon his breast and once more surveyed the scene, and big George drew
himself up behind Donnegan. Just once his eyes rolled and flashed
savagely in delight at the sensation that they were making, then the
face of George was once again impassive.
If Donnegan had not carried it off with a certain air, the whole
entrance would have seemed decidedly stagey, but The Corner, as it was,
found much to wonder at and little to criticize. And in the West grown
men are as shrewd judges of affectation as children are in other places.
"Putting on a lot of style, eh?" said Jack Landis, and with fierce
intensity he watched the face of Nelly Lebrun.
For once she was unguarded.
"He's superb!" she exclaimed. "The big fellow is going to bring a drink
for him."
She looked up, surprised by the silence of Landis, and found that his
face was actually yellow.
"I'll tell you something. Do you remember the little red-headed tramp
who came in here the other night and spoke to me?"
"Very well. You seemed to be bothered."
"Maybe. I dunno. But that's the man--the one who's sitting over there
now all dressed up--the man The Corner is talking about--Donnegan! A
tramp!"
She caught her breath.
"Is that the one?" A pause. "Well, I believe it. He's capable of
anything!"
"I think you like him all the better for knowing that."
"Jack, you're angry."
"Why should I be? I hate to see you fooled by the bluff of a tramp,
though."
"Tush! Do you think I'm fooled by it? But it's an interesting bluff,
Jack, don't you think?"
"Nelly, he's interesting enough to make you blush; by heaven, the hound
is lookin' right at you now, Nelly!"
He had pressed her suddenly against the wall and she struck back
desperately in self-defense.
"By the way, what did he want to see you about?"
It spiked the guns of Landis for the time being, at least. And the girl
followed by striving to prove that her interest in Donnegan was purely
impersonal.
"He's clever," she ran on, not daring to look at the set face of her
companion. "See how he fails to notice that he's making a sensation?
You'd think he was in a big restaurant in a city. He takes the drink off
the tray from that fellow as if it were a common thing to be waited on
by a body-servant in The Corner. Jack, I'll wager that there's something
crooked about him. A professional gambler, say!"
Jack Landis thawed a little under this careless chatter. He still did
not quite trust her.
"Do you know what they're whispering? That I was afraid to face him!"
She tilted her head back, so that the light gleamed on her young throat,
and she broke into laughter.
"Why, Jack, that's foolish. You proved yourself when you first came to
The Corner. Maybe some of the newcomers may have said something, but all
the old-timers know you had some different reason for leaving the rest
of them. By the way, what was the reason?"
She sent a keen little glance at him from the corner of her eyes, but
the moment she saw that he was embarrassed and at sea because of the
query she instantly slipped into a fresh tide of careless chatter and
covered up his confusion for him.
"See how the girls are making eyes at him."
"I'll tell you why," Jack replied. "A girl likes to be with the man
who's making the town talk." He added pointedly: "Oh, I've found that
out!"
She shrugged that comment away.
"He isn't paying the slightest attention to any of them," she murmured.
"He's queer! Has he just come here hunting trouble?"
20
It should be understood that before this the men in Milligan's had
reached a subtly unspoken agreement that red-haired Donnegan was not one
of them. In a word, they did not like him because he made a mystery of
himself. And, also, because he was different. Yet there was a growing
feeling that the shooting of Lewis through the hand had not been an
accident, for the whole demeanor of Donnegan composed the action of a
man who is a professional trouble maker. There was no reason why he
should go to Milligan's and take his servant with him unless he wished a
fight. And why a man should wish to fight the entire Corner was
something no one could guess.
That he should have done all this merely to focus all eyes upon him, and
particularly the eyes of a girl, did not occur to anyone. It looked
rather like the bravado of a man who lived for the sake of fighting.
Now, men who hunt trouble in the mountain desert generally find all that
they may desire, but for the time being everyone held back, wolfishly,
waiting for another to take the first step toward Donnegan. Indeed,
there was an unspoken conviction that the man who took the first step
would probably not live to take another. In the meantime both men and
women gave Donnegan the lion's share of their attention. There was only
one who was clever enough to conceal it, and that one was the pair of
eyes to which the red-haired man was playing--Nelly Lebrun. She confined
herself strictly to Jack Landis.
So it was that when Milligan announced a tag dance and the couples
swirled onto the floor gayly, Donnegan decided to take matters into his
own hands and offer the first overt act. It was clumsy; he did not like
it; but he hated this delay. And he knew that every moment he stayed on
there with big George behind his chair was another red rag flaunted in
the face of The Corner.
He saw the men who had no girl with them brighten at the announcement of
the tag dance. And when the dance began he saw the prettiest girls
tagged quickly, one after the other. All except Nelly Lebrun. She swung
securely around the circle in the big arms of Jack Landis. She seemed to
be set apart and protected from the common touch by his size, and by his
formidable, challenging eye. Donnegan felt as never before the
unassailable position of this fellow; not only from his own fighting
qualities, but because he had behind him the whole unfathomable power of
Lord Nick and his gang.
Nelly approached in the arms of Landis in making the first circle of the
dance floor; her eyes, grown dull as she surrendered herself wholly to
the rhythm of the waltz, saw nothing. They were blank as unlighted
charcoal. She came opposite Donnegan, her back was toward him; she swung
in the arms of Landis, and then, past the shoulder of her partner, she
flashed a glance at Donnegan. The spark had fallen on the charcoal, and
her eyes were aflame. Aflame to Donnegan; the next instant the veil had
dropped across her face once more.
She was carried on, leaving Donnegan tingling.
A wise man upon whom that look had fallen might have seen, not Nelly
Lebrun in the cheap dance hall, but Helen of Sparta and all Troy's dead.
But Donnegan was clever, not wise. And he saw only Nelly Lebrun and the
broad shoulders of Jack Landis.
Let the critic deal gently with Donnegan. He loved Lou Macon with all
his heart and his soul, and yet because another beautiful girl had
looked at him, there he sat at his table with his jaw set and the devil
in his eye. And while she and Landis were whirling through the next
circumference of the room, Donnegan was seeing all sides of the problem.
If he tagged Landis it would be casting the glove in the face of the big
man--and in the face of old Lebrun--and in the face of that mysterious
and evil power, Lord Nick himself. And consider, that besides these he
had already insulted all of The Corner.
Why not let things go on as they were? Suppose he were to allow Landis
to plunge deeper into his infatuation? Suppose he were to bring Lou
Macon to this place and let her see Landis sitting with Nelly, making
love to her with every tone in his voice, every light in his eye? Would
not that cure Lou? And would not that open the door to Donnegan?
And remember, in considering how Donnegan was tempted, that he was not a
conscientious man. He was in fact what he seemed to be--a wanderer, a
careless vagrant, living by his wits. For all this, he had been touched
by the divine fire--a love that is greater than self. And the more
deeply he hated Landis, the more profoundly he determined that he should
be discarded by Nelly and forced back to Lou Macon. In the meantime,
Nelly and Jack were coming again. They were close; they were passing;
and this time her eye had no spark for Donnegan.
Yet he rose from his table, reached the floor with a few steps, and
touched Landis lightly on the shoulder. The challenge was passed. Landis
stopped abruptly and turned his head; his face showed merely dull
astonishment. The current of dancers split and washed past on either
side of the motionless trio, and on every face there was a glittering
curiosity. What would Landis do?
Nothing. He was too stupefied to act. He, Jack Landis, had actually been
tagged while he was dancing with the woman which all The Corner knew to
be his girl! And before his befogged senses cleared the girl was in the
arms of the red-haired man and was lost in the crowd.
What a buzz went around the room! For a moment Landis could no more move
than he could think; then he sent a sullen glance toward the girl and
retreated to their table. A childish sullenness clouded his face while
he sat there; only one decision came clearly to him: he must kill
Donnegan!
In the meantime people noted two things. The first was that Donnegan
danced very well with Nelly Lebrun; and his red hair beside the silken
black of the girl's was a startling contrast. It was not a common red.
It flamed, as though with phosphoric properties of its own. But they
danced well; and the eyes of both of them were gleaming. Another thing:
men did not tag Donnegan any more than they had offered to tag Landis.
One or two slipped out from the outskirts of the floor, but something in
the face of Donnegan discouraged them and made them turn elsewhere as
though they had never started for Nelly Lebrun in the first place.
Indeed, to a two-year-old child it would have been apparent that Nelly
and the red-headed chap were interested in each other.
As a matter of fact they did not speak a single syllable until they had
gone around the floor one complete turn and the dance was coming toward
an end.
It was he who spoke first, gloomily: "I shouldn't have done it; I
shouldn't have tagged him!"
At this she drew back a little so that she could meet his eyes.
"Why not?"
"The whole crew will be on my trail."
"What crew?"
"Beginning with Lord Nick!"
This shook her completely out of the thrall of the dance.
"Lord Nick? What makes you think that?"
"I know he's thick with Landis. It'll mean trouble."
He was so simple about it that she began to laugh. It was not such a
voice as Lou Macon's. It was high and light, and one could suspect that
it might become shrill under a stress.
"And yet it looks as though you've been hunting trouble," she said.
"I couldn't help it," said Donnegan naïvely.
It was a very subtle flattery, this frankness from a man who had puzzled
all The Corner. Nelly Lebrun felt that she was about to look behind the
scenes and she tingled with delight.
"Tell me," she said. "Why not?"
"Well," said Donnegan. "I had to make a noise because I wanted to be
noticed."
She glanced about her; every eye was upon them.
"You've made your point," she murmured. "The whole town is talking of
nothing else."
"I don't care an ounce of lead about the rest of the town."
"Then--"
She stopped abruptly, seeing toward what he was tending. And the heart
of Nelly Lebrun fluttered for the first time in many a month. She
believed him implicitly. It was for her sake that he had made all this
commotion; to draw her attention. For every lovely girl, no matter how
cool-headed, has a foolish belief in the power of her beauty. As a
matter of fact Donnegan had told her the truth. It had all been to win
her attention, from the fight for the mint to the tagging for the dance.
How could she dream that it sprang out of anything other than a wild
devotion to her? And while Donnegan coldly calculated every effect,
Nelly Lebrun began to see in him the man of a dream, a spirit out of a
dead age, a soul of knightly, reckless chivalry. In that small
confession he cast a halo about himself which no other hand could ever
remove entirely so far as Nelly Lebrun was concerned.
"You understand?" he was saying quietly.
She countered with a question as direct as his confession.
"What are you, Mr. Donnegan?"
"A wanderer," said Donnegan instantly, "and an avoider of work."
At that they laughed together. The strain was broken and in its place
there was a mutual excitement. She saw Landis in the distance watching
their laughter with a face contorted with anger, but it only increased
her unreasoning happiness.
"Mr. Donnegan, let me give you friendly advice. I like you: I know you
have courage; and I saw you meet Scar-faced Lewis. But if I were you I'd
leave The Corner tonight and never come back. You've set every man
against you. You've stepped on the toes of Landis and he's a big man
here. And even if you were to prove too much for Jack you'd come against
Lord Nick, as you say yourself. Do you know Nick?"
"No."
"Then, Mr. Donnegan, leave The Corner!"
The music, ending, left them face to face as he dropped his arm from
about her. And she could appreciate now, for the first time, that he was
smaller than he had seemed at a distance, or while he was dancing. He
seemed a frail figure indeed to face the entire banded Corner--and Lord
Nick.
"Don't you see," said Donnegan, "that I can't stop now?"
There was a double meaning that sent her color flaring.
He added in a low, tense voice, "I've gone too far. Besides, I'm
beginning to hope!"
She paused, then made a little gesture of abandon.
"Then stay, stay!" she whispered with eyes on fire. "And good luck to
you, Mr. Donnegan!"
21
As they went back, toward Nelly's table, where Jack Landis was trying to
appear carelessly at ease, the face of Donnegan was pale. One might have
thought that excitement and fear caused his pallor; but as a matter of
fact it was in him an unfailing sign of happiness and success. Landis
had manners enough to rise as they approached. He found himself being
presented to the smaller man. He heard the cool, precise voice of
Donnegan acknowledging the introduction; and then the red-headed man
went back to his table; and Jack Landis was alone with Nelly Lebrun
again.
He scowled at her, and she tried to look repentant, but since she could
not keep the dancing light out of her eyes, she compromised by looking
steadfastly down at the table. Which convinced Landis that she was
thinking of her late partner. He made a great effort, swallowed, and was
able to speak smoothly enough.
"Looked as if you were having a pretty good time with that--tramp."
The color in her cheeks was anger; Landis took it for shame.
"He dances beautifully," she replied.
"Yeh; he's pretty smooth. Take a gent like that, it's hard for a girl
to see through him."
"Let's not talk about him, Jack."
"All right. Is he going to dance with you again?"
"I promised him the third dance after this."
For a time Landis could not trust his voice. Then: "Kind of sorry about
that. Because I'll be going home before then."
At this she raised her eyes for the first time. He was astonished and a
little horrified to see that she was not in the least flustered, but
very angry.
"You'll go home before I have a chance for that dance?" she asked.
"You're acting like a two-year-old, Jack. You are!"
He flushed. Burning would be too easy a death for Donnegan.
"He's making a laughingstock out of me; look around the room!"
"Nobody's thinking about you at all, Jack. You're just self-conscious."
Of course, it was pouring acid upon an open wound. But she was past the
point of caution.
"Maybe they ain't," said Landis, controlling his rage. "I don't figure
that I amount to much. But I rate myself as high as a skunk like him!"
It may have been a smile that she gave him. At any rate, he caught the
glint of teeth, and her eyes were as cold as steel points. If she had
actually defended the stranger she would not have infuriated Landis so
much.
"Well, what does he say about himself?"
"He says frankly that he's a vagrant."
"And you don't believe him?"
She did not speak.
"Makin' a play for sympathy. Confound a man like that, I say!"
Still she did not answer; and now Landis became alarmed.
"D'you really like him, Nelly?"
"I liked him well enough to introduce him to you, Jack."
"I'm sorry I talked so plain if you put it that way," he admitted
heavily. "I didn't know you picked up friends so fast as all that!" He
could not avoid adding this last touch of the poison point.
His back was to Donnegan, and consequently the girl, facing him, could
look straight across the room at the red-headed man. She allowed herself
one brief glance, and she saw that he was sitting with his elbow on the
table, his chin in his hand, looking fixedly at her. It was the gaze of
one who forgets all else and wraps himself in a dream. Other people in
the room were noting that changeless stare and the whisper buzzed more
and more loudly, but Donnegan had forgotten the rest of the world, it
seemed. It was a very cunning piece of acting, not too much overdone,
and once more the heart of Nelly Lebrun fluttered.
She remembered that in spite of his frankness he had not talked with
insolent presumption to her. He had merely answered her individual
questions with an astonishing, childlike frankness. He had laid his
heart before her, it seemed. And now he sat at a distance looking at her
with the white, intense face of one who sees a dream.
Nelly Lebrun was recalled by the heavy breathing of Jack Landis and she
discovered that she had allowed her eyes to rest too long on the
red-headed stranger. She had forgotten; her eyes had widened; and even
Jack Landis was able to look into her mind and see things that startled
him. For the first time he sensed that this was more than a careless
flirtation. And he sat stiffly at the table, looking at her and through
her with a fixed smile. Nelly, horrified, strove to cover her tracks.
"You're right, Jack," she said. "I--I think there was something brazen
in the way he tagged you. And--let's go home together!"
Too late. The mind of Landis was not oversharp, but now jealousy gave it
a point. He nodded his assent, and they got up, but there was no
increase in his color. She read as plain as day in his face that he
intended murder this night and Nelly was truly frightened.
So she tried different tactics. All the way to the substantial little
house which Lebrun had built at a little distance from the gambling
hall, she kept up a running fire of steady conversation. But when she
said good night to him, his face was still set. She had not deceived
him. When he turned, she saw him go back into the night with long
strides, and within half an hour she knew, as clearly as if she were
remembering the picture instead of foreseeing it, that Jack and Donnegan
would face each other gun in hand on the floor of Milligan's dance hall.
Still, she was not foolish enough to run after Jack, take his arm, and
make a direct appeal. It would be too much like begging for Donnegan,
and even if Jack forgave her for this interest in his rival, she had
sense enough to feel that Donnegan himself never would. Something,
however, must be done to prevent the fight, and she took the straightest
course.
She went as fast as a run would carry her straight behind the
intervening houses and came to the back entrance to the gaming hall.
There she entered and stepped into the little office of her father.
Black Lebrun was not there. She did not want him. In his place there sat
the Pedlar and Joe Rix; they were members of Lord Nick's chosen crew,
and since Nick's temporary alliance with Lebrun for the sake of
plundering Jack Landis, Nick's men were Nelly's men. Indeed, this was a
formidable pair. They were the kind of men about whom many whispers and
no facts circulate: and yet the facts are far worse than the whispers.
It was said that Joe Rix, who was a fat little man with a great aversion
to a razor and a pair of shallow, pale blue eyes, was in reality a
merciless fiend. He was; and he was more than that, if there be a
stronger superlative. If Lord Nick had dirty work to be done, there was
the man who did it with a relish. The Pedlar, on the other hand, was an
exact opposite. He was long, lean, raw-boned, and prodigiously strong in
spite of his lack of flesh. He had vast hands, all loose skin and
outstanding tendons; he had a fleshless face over which his smile was
capable of extending limitlessly. He was the sort of a man from whom one
would expect shrewdness, some cunning, stubbornness, a dry humor, and
many principles. All of which, except the last, was true of the Pedlar.
There was this peculiarity about the Pedlar. In spite of his broad grins
and his wise, bright eyes, none, even of Lord Nick's gang, extended a
friendship or familiarity toward him. When they spoke of the Pedlar they
never used his name. They referred to him as "him" or they indicated him
with gestures. If he had a fondness for any living creature it was for
fat Joe Rix.
Yet on seeing this ominous pair, Nelly Lebrun cried out softly in
delight. She ran to them, and dropped a hand on the bony shoulder of the
Pedlar and one on the plump shoulder of Joe Rix, whose loose flesh
rolled under her finger tips.
"It's Jack Landis!" she cried. "He's gone to Milligan's to fight the
new man. Stop him!"
"Donnegan?" said Joe, and did not rise.
"Him?" said the Pedlar, and moistened his broad lips like one on the
verge of starvation.
"Are you going to sit here?" she cried. "What will Lord Nick say if he
finds out you've let Jack get into a fight?"
"We ain't nursin' mothers," declared the Pedlar. "But I'd kind of like
to look on!"
And he rose. Unkinking joint after joint, straightening his legs, his
back, his shoulders, his neck, he soared up and up until he stood a
prodigious height. The girl controlled a shudder of disgust.
"Joe!" she appealed.
"You want us to clean up Donnegan?" he asked, rising, but without
interest in his voice.
To his surprise, she slipped back to the door and blocked it with her
outcast arms.
"Not a hair of his head!" she said fiercely. "Swear that you won't harm
him, boys!"
"What the devil!" ejaculated Joe, who was a blunt man in spite of his
fat. "You want us to keep Jack from fightin', but you don't want us to
hurt the other gent. What you want? Hogtie 'em both?"
"Yes, yes; keep Jack out of Milligan's; but for heaven's sake don't try
to put a hand on Donnegan."
"Why not?"
"For your sakes; he'd kill you, Joe!"
At this they both gaped in unison, and as one man they drawled in vast
admiration: "Good heavens!"
"But go, go, go!" cried the girl.
And she shoved them through the door and into the night.
22
To the people in Milligan's it had been most incredible that Jack Landis
should withdraw from a competition of any sort. And though the girls
were able to understand his motives in taking Nelly Lebrun away they
were not able to explain this fully to their men companions. For one and
all they admitted that Jack was imperiling his hold on the girl in
question if he allowed her to stay near this red-headed fiend. But one
and all they swore that Jack Landis had ruined himself with her by
taking her away. And this was a paradox which made masculine heads in
The Corner spin. The main point was that Jack Landis had backed down
before a rival; and this fact was stunning enough. Donnegan, however,
was not confused. He sent big George to ask Milligan to come to him for
a moment.
Milligan, at this, cursed George, but he was drawn by curiosity to
consent. A moment later he was seated at Donnegan's table, drinking his
own liquor as it was served to him from the hands of big George. If the
first emotions of the dance-hall proprietor were anger and intense
curiosity, his second emotion was that never-failing surprise which all
who came close to the wanderer felt. For he had that rare faculty of
seeming larger when in action, even when actually near much bigger men.
Only when one came close to Donnegan one stepped, as it were, through a
veil, and saw the almost fragile reality. When Milligan had caught his
breath and adjusted himself, he began as follows:
"Now, Bud," he said, "you've made a pretty play. Not bad at all. But no
more bluffs in Milligan's."
"Bluff!" Donnegan repeated gently.
"About your servant. I let it pass for one night, but not for another."
"My dear Mr. Milligan! However"--changing the subject easily--"what I
wish to speak to you about is a bit of trouble which I foresee. I think,
sir, that Jack Landis is coming back."
"What makes you think that?"
"It's a feeling I have. I have queer premonitions, Mr. Milligan, I'm
sure he's coming and I'm sure he's going to attempt a murder."
Milligan's thick lips framed his question but he did not speak: fear
made his face ludicrous.
"Right here?"
"Yes."
"A shootin' scrape here! You?"
"He has me in mind. That's why I'm speaking to you."
"Don't wait to speak to me about it. Get up and get out!"
"Mr. Milligan, you're wrong. I'm going to stay here and you're going to
protect me."
"Well, confound your soul! They ain't much nerve about you, is there?"
"You run a public place. You have to protect your patrons from insult."
"And who began it, then? Who started walkin' on Jack's toes? Now you
come whinin' to me! By heck, I hope Jack gets you!"
"You're a genial soul," said Donnegan. "Here's to you!"
But something in his smile as he sipped his liquor made Milligan sit
straighter in his chair.
As for Donnegan, he was thinking hard and fast. If there were a shooting
affair and he won, he would nevertheless run a close chance of being
hung by a mob. He must dispose that mob to look upon him as the
defendant and Landis as the aggressor. He had not foreseen the crisis
until it was fairly upon him. He had thought of Nelly playing Landis
along more gradually and carefully, so that, while he was slowly
learning that she was growing cold to him, he would have a chance to
grow fond of Lou Macon once more. But even across the width of the room
he had seen the girl fire up, and from that moment he knew the result.
Landis already suspected him; Landis, with the feeling that he had been
robbed, would do his best to kill the thief. He might take a chance with
Landis, if it came to a fight, just as he had taken a chance with Lewis.
But how different this case would be! Landis was no dull-nerved ruffian
and drunkard. He was a keen boy with a hair-trigger balance, and in a
gunplay he would be apt to beat the best of them all. Of all this
Donnegan was fully aware. Either he must place his own life in terrible
hazard or else he must shoot to kill; and if he killed, what of Lou
Macon?
While he smiled into the face of Milligan, perspiration was bursting out
under his armpits.
"Mr. Milligan, I implore you to give me your aid."
"What's the difference?" Milligan asked in a changed tone. "If he don't
fight you here he'll fight you later."
"You're wrong, Mr. Milligan. He isn't the sort to hold malice. He'll
come here tonight and try to get at me like a bulldog straining on a
leash. If he is kept away he'll get over his bad temper."
Milligan pushed back his chair.
"You've tried to force yourself down the throat of The Corner," he said,
"and now you yell for help when you see the teeth."
He had raised his voice. Now he got up and strode noisily away. Donnegan
waited until he was halfway across the dance floor and then rose in
turn.
"Gentlemen," he said.
The quiet voice cut into every conversation; the musicians lowered the
instruments.
"I have just told Mr. Milligan that I am sure Jack Landis is coming back
here to try to kill me. I have asked for his protection. He has refused
it. I intend to stay here and wait for him, Jack Landis. In the meantime
I ask any able-bodied man who will do so, to try to stop Landis when he
enters."
He sat down, raised his glass, and sipped the drink. Two hundred pairs
of eyes were fastened with hawklike intensity upon him, and they could
perceive no quiver of his hand.
The sipping of his liquor was not an affectation. For he was drinking,
at incredible cost, liquors from Milligan's store of rareties.
The effect of Donnegan's announcement was first a silence, then a hum,
then loud voices of protest, curiosity--and finally a scurrying toward
the doors.
Yet really very few left. The rest valued a chance to see the fight
beyond the fear of random slugs of lead which might fly their way.
Besides, where such men as Donnegan and big Jack Landis were concerned,
there was not apt to be much wild shooting. The dancing stopped, of
course. The music was ordered by Milligan to play, in a frantic endeavor
to rouse custom again; but the music of its own accord fell away in the
middle of the piece. For the musicians could not watch the notes and the
door at the same time.
As for Donnegan, he found that it was one thing to wait and another to
be waited for. He, too, wished to turn and watch that door until it
should be filled by the bulk of Jack Landis. Yet he fought the desire.
And in the midst of this torturing suspense an idea came to him, and at
the same instant Jack Landis entered the doorway. He stood there looking
vast against the night. One glance around was sufficient to teach him
the meaning of the silence. The stage was set, and the way opened to
Donnegan. Without a word, big George stole to one side.
Straight to the middle of the dance floor went Jack Landis, red-faced,
with long, heavy steps. He faced Donnegan.
"You skunk!" shouted Landis. "I've come for you!"
And he went for his gun. Donnegan, too, stirred. But when the revolver
leaped into the hand of Landis, it was seen that the hands of Donnegan
rose past the line of his waist, past his shoulders, and presently
locked easily behind his head. A terrible chance, for Landis had come
within a breath of shooting. So great was the impulse that, as he
checked the pressure of his forefinger, he stumbled a whole pace
forward. He walked on.
"You need cause to fight?" he cried, striking Donnegan across the face
with the back of his left hand, jerking up the muzzle of the gun in his
right.
Now a dark trickle was seen to come from the broken lips of Donnegan,
yet he was smiling faintly.