Gunman's Reckoning

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.

Jack Landis muttered a curse and said sneeringly: "Are you afraid?"

There were sick faces in that room; men turned their heads, for nothing is so ghastly as the sight of a man who is taking water.

"Hush," said Donnegan. "I'm going to kill you, Jack. But I want to kill you fairly and squarely. There's no pleasure, you see, in beating a youngster like you to the draw. I want to give you a fighting chance. Besides"—he removed one hand from behind his head and waved it carelessly to where the men of The Corner crouched in the shadow—"you people have seen me drill one chap already, and I'd like to shoot you in a new way. Is that agreeable?"

Two terrible, known figures detached themselves from the gloom near the door.

"Hark to this gent sing," said one, and his name was the Pedlar. "Hark to him sing, Jack, and we'll see that you get fair play."

"Good," said his friend, Joe Rix. "Let him take his try, Jack."

As a matter of fact, had Donnegan reached for a gun, he would have been shot before even Landis could bring out a weapon, for the steady eye of Joe Rix, hidden behind the Pedlar, had been looking down a revolver barrel at the forehead of Donnegan, waiting for that first move. But something about the coolness of Donnegan fascinated them.

"Don't shoot, Joe," the Pedlar had said. "That bird is the chief over again. Don't plug him!"

And that was why Donnegan lived.

If he had taken the eye of the hardened Rix and the still harder Pedlar, he had stunned the men of The Corner. And breathlessly they waited for his proposal to Jack Landis.

He spoke with his hands behind his head again, after he had slowly taken out a handkerchief and wiped his chin.

"I'm a methodical fellow, Landis," he said. "I hate to do an untidy piece of work. I have been disgusted with myself since my little falling out with Lewis. I intended to shoot him cleanly through the hand, but instead of that I tore up his whole forearm. Sloppy work, Landis. I don't like it. Now, in meeting you, I want to do a clean, neat, precise job. One that I'll be proud of."

A moaning voice was heard faintly in the distance. It was the Pedlar, who had wrapped himself in his gaunt arms and was crooning softly, with unspeakable joy: "Hark to him sing! Hark to him sing! A ringer for the chief!"

"Why should we be in such a hurry?" continued Donnegan. "You see that clock in the corner? Tut, tut! Turn your head and look. Do you think I'll drop you while you look around?"

Landis flung one glance over his shoulder at the big clock, whose pendulum worked solemnly back and forth.

"In five minutes," said Donnegan, "it will be eleven o'clock. And when it's eleven o'clock the clock will chime. Now, Landis, you and I shall sit down here like gentlemen and drink our liquor and think our last thoughts. Heavens, man, is there anything more disagreeable than being hurried out of life? But when the clock chimes, we draw our guns and shoot each other through the heart—the brain—wherever we have chosen. But, Landis, if one of us should inadvertently—or through nervousness—beat the clock's chime by the split part of a second, the good people of The Corner will fill that one of us promptly full of lead."

He turned to the crowd.

"Gentlemen, is it a good plan?"

As well as a Roman crowd if it wanted to see a gladiator die, the frayed nerves of The Corner responded to the stimulus of this delightful entertainment. There was a joyous chorus of approval.

"When the clock strikes, then," said Landis, and flung himself down in a chair, setting his teeth over his rage.

Donnegan smiled benevolently upon him; then he turned again and beckoned to George. The big man strode closer and leaned.

"George," he said. "I'm not going to kill this fellow."

"No, sir; certainly, sir," whispered the other. "George can kill him for you, sir."

Donnegan smiled wanly.

"I'm not going to kill him, George, on account of the girl on the hill. You know? And the reason is that she's fond of the lubber. I'll try to break his nerve, George, and drill him through the arm, say. No, I can't take chances like that. But if I have him shaking in time, I'll shoot him through the right shoulder, George.

"But if I miss and he gets me instead, mind you, never raise a hand against him. If you so much as touch his skin, I'll rise out of my grave and haunt you. You hear? Good-by, George."

But big George withdrew without a word, and the reason for his speechlessness was the glistening of his eyes.

"If I live," said Donnegan, "I'll show that George that I appreciate him."

He went on aloud to Landis: "So glum, my boy? Tush! We have still four minutes left. Are you going to spend your last four minutes hating me?"

He turned: "Another liqueur, George. Two of them."

The big man brought the drinks, and having put one on the table of Donnegan, he was directed to take the other to Landis.

"It's really good stuff," said Donnegan. "I'm not an expert on these matters; but I like the taste. Will you try it?"

It seemed that Landis dared not trust himself to speech. As though a vast and deadly hatred were gathered in him, and he feared lest it should escape in words the first time he parted his teeth.

He took the glass of liqueur and slowly poured it upon the floor. From the crowd there was a deep murmur of disapproval. And Landis, feeling that he had advanced the wrong foot in the matter, glowered scornfully about him and then stared once more at Donnegan.

"Just as you please," said Donnegan, sipping his glass. "But remember this, my young friend, that a fool is a fool, drunk or sober."

Landis showed his teeth, but made no other answer. And Donnegan anxiously flashed a glance at the clock. He still had three minutes. Three minutes in which he must reduce this stalwart fellow to a trembling, nervous wreck. Otherwise, he must shoot to kill, or else sit there and become a certain sacrifice for the sake of Lou Macon. Yet he controlled the muscles of his face and was still able to smile as he turned again to Landis.

"Three minutes left," he said. "Three minutes for you to compose yourself, Landis. Think of it, man! All the good life behind you. Have you nothing to remember? Nothing to soften your mind? Why die, Landis, with a curse in your heart and a scowl on your lips?"

Once more Landis stirred his lips; but there was only the flash of his teeth; he maintained his resolute silence.

"Ah," murmured Donnegan, "I am sorry to see this. And before all your admirers, Landis. Before all your friends. Look at them scattered there under the lights and in the shadows. No farewell word for them? Nothing kindly to say? Are you going to leave them without a syllable of goodfellowship?"

"Confound you!" muttered Landis.

There was another hum from the crowd; it was partly wonder, partly anger. Plainly they were not pleased with Jack Landis on this day.

Donnegan shook his head sadly.

"I hoped," he said, "that I could teach you how to die. But I fail. And yet you should be grateful to me for one thing, Jack. I have kept you from being a murderer in cold blood. I kept you from killing a defenseless man as you intended to do when you walked up to me a moment ago."

He smiled genially in mockery, and there was a scowl on the face of Landis.

"Two minutes," said Donnegan.

Leaning back in his chair, he yawned. For a whole minute he did not stir.

"One minute?" he murmured inquisitively.

And there was a convulsive shudder through the limbs of Landis. It was the first sign that he was breaking down under the strain. There remained only one minute in which to reduce him to a nervous wreck!

The strain was telling in other places. Donnegan turned and saw in the shadow and about the edges of the room a host of drawn, tense faces and burning eyes. Never while they lived would they forget that scene.

"And now that the time is close," said Donnegan, "I must look to my gun."

He made a gesture; how it was, no one was swift enough of eye to tell, but a gun appeared in his hand. At the flash of it, Landis' weapon leaped up to the mark and his face convulsed. But Donnegan calmly spun the cylinder of his revolver and held it toward Landis, dangling from his forefinger under the guard.

"You see?" he said to Landis. "Clean as a whistle, and easy as a girl's smile. I hate a stiff action, Jack."

And Landis slowly allowed the muzzle of his own gun to sink. For the first time his eyes left the eyes of Donnegan, and sinking, inch by inch, stared fascinated at the gun in the hand of the enemy.

"Thirty seconds," said Donnegan by way of conversation.

Landis jerked up his head and his eyes once more met the eyes of Donnegan, but this time they were wide, and the pointed glance of Donnegan sank into them. The lips of Landis parted. His tongue tremblingly moistened them.

"Keep your nerve," said Donnegan in an undertone.

"You hound!" gasped Landis.

"I knew it," said Donnegan sadly. "You'll die with a curse on your lips."

He added: "Ten seconds, Landis!"

And then he achieved his third step toward victory, for Landis jerked his head around, saw the minute hand almost upon its mark, and swung back with a shudder toward Donnegan. From the crowd there was a deep breath.

And then Landis was seen to raise the muzzle of his gun again, and crouch over it, leveling it straight at Donnegan. He, at least, would send his bullet straight to the mark when that first chime went humming through the big room.

But Donnegan? He made his last play to shatter the nerve of Landis. With the minute hand on the very mark, he turned carelessly, the revolver still dangling by the trigger guard, and laughed toward the crowd.

And out of the crowd there came a deep, sobbing breath of heartbreaking suspense.

It told on Landis. Out of the corner of his eye Donnegan saw the muscles of the man's face sag and tremble; saw him allow his gun to fall, in imitation of Donnegan, to his side; and saw the long arm quivering.

And then the chime rang, with a metallic, sharp click and then a long and reverberant clanging.

With a gasp Landis whipped up his gun and fired. Once, twice, again, the weapon crashed. And, to the eternal wonder of all who saw it, at a distance of five paces Landis three times missed his man. But Donnegan, sitting back with a smile, raised his own gun almost with leisure, unhurried, dropped it upon the mark, and sent a forty-five slug through the right shoulder of Jack Landis.

The blow of the slug, like the punch of a strong man's fist, knocked the victim out of his chair to the floor. He lay clutching at his shoulder.

"Gentlemen," said Donnegan, rising, "is there a doctor here?"

That was the signal for the rush that swept across the floor and left a flood of marveling men around the fallen Landis. On the outskirts of this tide, Donnegan stepped up to two men, Joe Rix and the Pedlar. They greeted him with expectant glances.

"Gentlemen," said Donnegan, "will you step aside?"

They followed him to a distance from the clamoring group.

"I have to thank you," said Donnegan.

"For what?"

"For changing your minds," said Donnegan, and left them.

And afterward the Pedlar murmured with an oddly twisted face: "Cat-eye, Joe. He can see in the dark! But I told you he was worth savin'."

"Speakin' in general," said Joe, "which you ain't hardly ever wrong when you get stirred up about a thing."

"He's something new," the Pedlar said wisely.

"Ay, he's rare."

"But talkin' aside, suppose he was to meet up with Lord Nick?"

The smile of Joe Rix was marvelously evil.

"You got a great mind for great things," he declared. "You ought to of been in politics."

In the meantime the doctor had been found. The wound had been cleansed. It was a cruel one, for the bullet had torn its way through flesh and sinew, and for many a week the fighting arm of Jack Landis would be useless. It had, moreover, carried a quantity of cloth into the wound, and it was almost impossible to cleanse the hole satisfactorily. As for the bullet itself, it had whipped cleanly through, at that short distance making nothing of its target.

A door was knocked off its hinges. But before the wounded man was placed upon it, Lebrun appeared at the door into Milligan's. He was never a very cheery fellow in appearance, and now he looked like a demoniac. He went straight to Joe Rix and the skeleton form of the Pedlar. He raised one finger as he looked at them.

"I've heard," said Lebrun. "Lord Nick likewise shall hear."

Joe Rix changed color. He bustled about, together with the Pedlar, and lent a hand in carrying the wounded man to the house of Lebrun, for Nelly Lebrun was to be the nurse of Landis.

In the meantime, Donnegan went up the hill with big George behind him. Already he was a sinisterly marked man. Working through the crowd near Lebrun's gambling hall, a drunkard in the midst of a song stumbled against him. But the sight of the man with whom he had collided, sobered him as swiftly as the lash of a whip across his face. It was impossible for him, in that condition, to grow pale. But he turned a vivid purple.

"Sorry, Mr. Donnegan."

Donnegan, with a shrug of his shoulders, passed on. The crowd split before him, for they had heard his name. There were brave men, he knew, among them. Men who would fight to the last drop of blood rather than be shamed, but they shrank from Donnegan without shame, as they would have shrunk from the coming of a rattler had their feet been bare. So he went easily through the crowd with big George in his wake, walking proudly.

For George had stood to one side and watched Donnegan indomitably beat down the will of Jack Landis, and the sight would live in his mind forever. Indeed, if Donnegan had bidden the sun to stand in the heavens, the big man would have looked for obedience. That the forbearance of Donnegan should have been based on a desire to serve a girl certainly upset the mind of George, but it taught him an amazing thing—that Donnegan was capable of affection.

The terrible Donnegan went on. In his wake the crowd closed slowly, for many had paused to look after the little man. Until they came to the outskirts of the town and climbed the hill toward the two shacks. The one was, of course, dark. But the shack in which Lou Macon lived burst with light. Donnegan paused to consider this miracle. He listened, and he heard voices—the voice of a man, laughing loudly. Thinking something was wrong, he hurried forward and called loudly.

What he saw when he was admitted made him speechless. Colonel Macon, ensconced in his invalid chair, faced the door, and near him was Lou Macon. Lou rose, half-frightened by the unexpected interruption, but the liquid laughter of the colonel set all to rights at once.

"Come in, Donnegan. Come in, lad," said the colonel.

"I heard a man's voice," Donnegan said half apologetically. The sick color began to leave his face, and relief swept over it slowly. "I thought something might be wrong. I didn't think of you." And looking down, as all men will in moments of relaxation from a strain, he did not see the eyes of Lou Macon grow softly luminous as they dwelt upon him.

"Come in, George," went on the colonel, "and make yourself comfortable in the kitchen. Close the door. Sit down, Donnegan. When your letter came I saw that I was needed here. Lou, have you looked into our friend's cabin? No? Nothing like a woman's touch to give a man the feeling of homeliness, Lou. Step over to Donnegan's cabin and put it to rights. Yes, I know that George takes care of it, but George is one thing, and your care will be another. Besides, I must be alone with him for a moment. Man talk confuses a girl, Lou. You shouldn't listen to it."

She withdrew with that faint, dreamy smile with which she so often heard the instructions of her father; as though she were only listening with half of her mind. When she was gone, though the door to the kitchen stood wide open, and big George was in it, the colonel lowered his bass voice so successfully that it was as safe as being alone with Donnegan.

"And now for facts," he began.

"But," said Donnegan, "how—that chair—how in the world have you come here?"

The colonel shook his head.

"My dear boy, you grieve and disappoint me. The manner in which a thing is done is not important. Mysteries are usually simply explained. As for my small mystery—a neighbor on the way to The Corner with a wagon stopped in, and I asked him to take me along. So here I am. But now for your work here, lad?"

"Bad," said Donnegan.

"I gathered you had been unfortunate. And now you have been fighting?"

"You have heard?"

"I see it in your eye, Donnegan. When a man has been looking fear in the face for a time, an image of it remains in his eyes. They are wider, glazed with the other thing."

"It was forced on me," said Donnegan. "I have shot Landis."

He was amazed to see the colonel was vitally affected. His lips remained parted over his next word, and one eyelid twitched violently. But the spasm passed over quickly. When he raised his perfect hands and pressed them together just under his chin. He smiled in a most winning manner that made the blood of Donnegan run cold.

"Donnegan," he said softly, "I see that I have misjudged you. I underestimated you. I thought, indeed, that your rare qualities were qualified by painful weaknesses. But now I see that you are a man, and from this moment we shall act together with open minds. So you have done it? Tush, then I need not have taken my trip. The work is done; the mines come to me as the heir of Jack. And yet, poor boy, I pity him! He misjudged me; he should not have ventured to this deal with Lord Nick and his compatriots!"

"Wait," exclaimed Donnegan. "You're wrong; Landis is not dead."

Once more the colonel was checked, but this time the alteration in his face was no more than a comma's pause in a long balanced sentence. It was impossible to obtain more than one show of emotion from him in a single conversation.

"Not dead? Well, Donnegan, that is unfortunate. And after you had punctured him you had no chance to send home the finishing shot?"

Donnegan merely watched the colonel and tapped his bony finger against the point of his chin.

"Ah," murmured the colonel, "I see another possibility. It is almost as good—it may even be better than his death. You have disabled him, and having done this you at once take him to a place where he shall be under your surveillance—this, in fact, is a very comfortable outlook—for me and my interests. But for you, Donnegan, how the devil do you benefit by having Jack flat on his back, sick, helpless, and in a perfect position to excite all the sympathies of Lou?"

Now, Donnegan had known cold-blooded men in his day, but that there existed such a man as the colonel had never come into his mind. He looked upon the colonel, therefore, with neither disgust nor anger, but with a distant and almost admiring wonder. For perfect evil always wins something akin to admiration from more common people.

"Well," continued the colonel, a little uneasy under this silent scrutiny—silence was almost the only thing in the world that could trouble him—"well, Donnegan, my lad, this is your plan, is it not?"

"To shoot down Landis, then take possession of him and while I nurse him back to health hold a gun—metaphorically speaking—to his head and make him do as I please: sign some lease, say, of the mines to you?"

The colonel shifted himself to a more comfortable position in his chair, brought the tips of his fingers together under his vast chin, and smiled benevolently upon Donnegan.

"It is as I thought," he murmured. "Donnegan, you are rare; you are exquisite!"

"And you," said Donnegan, "are a scoundrel."

"Exactly. I am very base." The colonel laughed. "You and I alone can speak with intimate knowledge of me." His chuckle shook all his body, and set the folds of his face quivering. His mirth died away when he saw Donnegan come to his feet.

"Eh?" he called.

"Good-by," said Donnegan.

"But where—Landis—Donnegan, what devil is in your eye?"

"A foolish devil, Colonel Macon. I surrender the benefits of all my work for you and go to make sure that you do not lay your hands upon Jack Landis."

The colonel opened and closed his lips foolishly like a fish gasping silently out of water. It was rare indeed for the colonel to appear foolish.

"In heaven's name, Donnegan!"

The little man smiled. He had a marvelously wicked smile, which came from the fact that his lips could curve while his eyes remained bright and straight, and malevolently unwrinkled. He laid his hand on the knob of the door.

"Donnegan," cried the colonel, gray of face, "give me one minute."

Donnegan stepped to a chair and sat down. He took out his watch and held it in his hand, studying the dial, and the colonel knew that his time limit was taken literally.

"I swear to you," he said, "that if you can help me to the possession of Landis while he is ill, I shall not lay a finger upon him or harm him in any way."

"You swear?" said Donnegan with that ugly smile.

"My dear boy, do you think I am reckless enough to break a promise I have given to you?"

The cynical glance of Donnegan probed the colonel to the heart, but the eyes of the fat man did not wince. Neither did he speak again, but the two calmly stared at each other. At the end of the minute, Donnegan slipped the watch into his pocket.

"I am ready to listen to reason," he said. And the colonel passed one of his strong hands across his forehead.

"Now," and he sighed, "I feel that the crisis is passed. With a man of your caliber, Donnegan, I fear a snap judgment above all things. Since you give me a chance to appeal to your reason I feel safe. As from the first, I shall lay my cards upon the table. You are fond of Lou. I took it for granted that you would welcome a chance to brush Landis out of your path. It appears that I am wrong. I admit my error. Only fools cling to convictions; wise men are ready to meet new viewpoints. Very well. You wish to spare Landis for reasons of your own which I do not pretend to fathom. Perhaps, you pity him; I cannot tell. Now, you wonder why I wish to have Landis in my care if I do not intend to put an end to him and thereby become owner of his mines? I shall tell you frankly. I intend to own the mines, if not through the death of Jack, then through a legal act signed by the hand of Jack."

"A willing signature?" asked Donnegan, calmly.

A shadow came and went across the face of the colonel, and Donnegan caught his breath. There were times when he felt that if the colonel possessed strength of body as well as strength of mind even he, Donnegan, would be afraid of the fat man.

"Willing or unwilling," said the colonel, "he shall do as I direct!"

"Without force?"

"Listen to me," said the colonel. "You and I are not children, and therefore we know that ordinary men are commanded rather by fear of what may happen to them than by being confronted with an actual danger. I have told you that I shall not so much as raise the weight of a finger against Jack Landis. I shall not. But a whisper adroitly put in his ear may accomplish the same ends." He added with a smile. "Personally, I dislike physical violence. In that, Mr. Donnegan, we belong to opposite schools of action."

The picture came to Donnegan of Landis, lying in the cabin of the colonel, his childish mind worked upon by the devilish insinuation of the colonel. Truly, if Jack did not go mad under the strain he would be very apt to do as the colonel wished.

"I have made a mess of this from the beginning," said Donnegan, quietly. "In the first place, I intended to play the role of the self-sacrificing. You don't understand? I didn't expect that you would. In short, I intended to send Landis back to Lou by making a flash that would dazzle The Corner, and dazzle Nelly Lebrun as well—win her away from Landis, you see? But the fool, as soon as he saw that I was flirting with the girl, lowered his head and charged at me like a bull. I had to strike him down in self-defense.

"But now you ask me to put him wholly in your possession. Colonel, you omit one link in your chain of reasoning. The link is important—to me. What am I to gain by placing him within the range of your whispering?"

"Tush! Do I need to tell you? I still presume you are interested in Lou, though you attempted to do so much to give Landis back to her. Well, Donnegan, you must know that when she learns it was a bullet from your gun that struck down Landis, she'll hate you, my boy, as if you were a snake. But if she knows that after all you were forced into the fight, and that you took the first opportunity to bring Jack into my—er—paternal care—her sentiments may change. No, they will change."

Donnegan left his chair and began to pace the floor. He was no more self-conscious in the presence of the colonel than a man might be in the presence of his own evil instincts. And it was typical of the colonel's insight that he made no attempt to influence the decision of Donnegan after this point was reached. He allowed him to work out the matter in his own way. At length, Donnegan paused.

"What's the next step?" he asked.

The colonel sighed, and by that sigh he admitted more than words could tell.

"A reasonable man," he said, "is the delight of my heart. The next step, Donnegan, is to bring Jack Landis to this house."

"Tush!" said Donnegan. "Bring him away from Lebrun? Bring him away from the tigers of Lord Nick's gang? I saw them at Milligan's place tonight. A bad set, Colonel Macon."

"A set you can handle," said the colonel, calmly.

"Ah?"

"The danger will in itself be the thing that tempts you," he went on. "To go among those fellows, wild as they are, and bring Jack Landis away to this house."

"Bring him here," said Donnegan with indescribable bitterness, "so that she may pity his wounds? Bring him here where she may think of him and tend him and grow to hate me?"

"Grow to fear you," said the colonel.

"An excellent thing to accomplish," said Donnegan coldly.

"I have found it so," remarked the colonel, and lighted a cigarette.

He drew the smoke so deep that when it issued again from between his lips it was a most transparent, bluish vapor. Fear came upon Donnegan. Not fear, surely, of the fat man, helpless in his invalid's chair, but fear of the mind working ceaselessly behind those hazy eyes. He turned without a word and went to the door. The moment it opened under his hand, he felt a hysterical impulse to leap out of the room swiftly and slam the door behind him—to put a bar between him and the eye of the colonel, just as a child leaps from the dark room into the lighted and closes the door quickly to keep out the following night. He had to compel himself to move with proper dignity.

When outside, he sighed; the quiet of the night was like a blessing compared with the ordeal of the colonel's devilish coldness. Macon's advice had seemed almost logical the moment before. Win Lou Macon by the power of fear, well enough, for was not fear the thing which she had followed all her life? Was it not through fear that the colonel himself had reduced her to such abject, unquestioning obedience?

He went thoughtfully to his own cabin, and, down-headed in his musings, he became aware with a start of Lou Macon in the hut. She had changed the room as her father had bidden her to do. Just wherein the difference lay, Donnegan could not tell. There was a touch of evergreen in one corner; she had laid a strip of bright cloth over the rickety little table, and in ten minutes she had given the hut a semblance of permanent livableness. Donnegan saw her now, with some vestige of the smile of her art upon her face; but she immediately smoothed it to perfect gravity. He had never seen such perfect self-command in a woman.

"Is there anything more that I can do?" she asked, moving toward the door.

"Nothing."

"Good night."

"Wait."

She still seemed to be under the authority which the colonel had delegated to Donnegan when they started for The Corner. She turned, and without a word came back to him. And a pang struck through Donnegan. What would he not have given if she had come at his call not with these dumb eyes, but with a spark of kindliness? Instead, she obeyed him as a soldier obeys a commander.

"There has been trouble," said Donnegan.

"Yes?" she said, but there was no change in her face.

"It was forced upon me." Then he added: "It amounted to a shooting affair."

There was a change in her face now, indeed. A glint came in her eyes, and the suggestion of the colonel which he had once or twice before sensed in her, now became more vivid than ever before. The same contemptuous heartlessness, which was the colonel's most habitual expression, now looked at Donnegan out of the lovely face of the girl.

"They were fools to press you to the wall," she said. "I have no pity for them."

For a moment Donnegan only stared at her; on what did she base her confidence in his prowess as a fighting man?

"It was only one man," he said huskily.

Ah, there he had struck her home! As though the words were a burden, she shrank from him; then she slipped suddenly close to him and caught both his hands. Her head was raised far back; she had pressed close to him; she seemed in every line of her body to plead with him against himself, and all the veils which had curtained her mind from him dropped away. He found himself looking down into eyes full of fire and shadow; and eager lips; and the fiber of her voice made her whole body tremble.

"It isn't Jack?" she pleaded. "It isn't Jack that you've fought with?"

And he said to himself: "She loves him with all her heart and soul!"

"It is he," said Donnegan in an agony. Pain may be like a fire that tempers some strong men; and now Donnegan, because he was in torment, smiled, and his eye was as cold as steel.

The girl flung away his hands.

"You bought murderer!" she cried at him.

"He is not dead."

"But you shot him down!"

"He attacked me; it was self-defense."

She broke into a low-pitched, mirthless laughter. Where was the filmy-eyed girl he had known? The laughter broke off short—like a sob.

"Don't you suppose I've known?" she said. "That I've read my father? That I knew he was sending a bloodhound when he sent you? But, oh, I thought you had a touch of the other thing!"

He cringed under her tone.

"I'll bring him to you," said Donnegan desperately. "I'll bring him here so that you can take care of him."

"You'll take him away from Lord Nick—and Lebrun—and the rest?" And it was the cold smile of her father with which she mocked him.

"I'll do it."

"You play a deep game," said the girl bitterly. "Why would you do it?"

"Because," said Donnegan faintly. "I love you."

Her hand had been on the knob of the door; now she twitched it open and was gone; and the last that Donnegan saw was the width of the startled eyes.

"As if I were a leper," muttered Donnegan. "By heaven, she looked at me as if I were unclean!"

But once outside the door, the girl stood with both hands pressed to her face, stunned. When she dropped them, they folded against her breast, and her face tipped up.

Even by starlight, had Donnegan been there to look, he would have seen the divinity which comes in the face of a woman when she loves.