Gunman's Reckoning

If Nelly Lebrun had consigned him mentally to the worms, that thought made not the slightest impression upon Donnegan. A chance for action was opening before him, and above all a chance of action in the eye of Lou Macon; and he welcomed with open arms the thought that he would have an opportunity to strike for her, and keep Landis with her. He went arrowy straight and arrowy fast to the cabin on the hill, and he found ample evidence that it had become a center of attention in The Corner. There was a scattering of people in the distance, apparently loitering with no particular purpose, but undoubtedly because they awaited an explosion of some sort. He went by a group at which the chestnut shied, and as Donnegan straightened out the horse again he caught a look of both interest and pity on the faces of the men.

Did they give him up so soon as it was known that Lord Nick had entered the lists against him? Had all his display in The Corner gone for nothing as against the repute of this terrible mystery man? His vanity made him set his teeth again.

Dismounting before the cabin of the colonel, he found that worthy in his invalid chair, enjoying a sun bath in front of his house. But there was no sign of Lord Nick—no sign of Lou. A grim fear came to Donnegan that he might have to attack Nick in his own stronghold, for Jack Landis might already have been taken away to the Lebrun house.

So he went straight to the colonel, and when he came close he saw that the fat man was apparently in the grip of a chill. He had gathered a vast blanket about his shoulders and kept drawing it tighter; beneath his eyes, which looked down to the ground, there were violet shadows.

"I've lost," said Donnegan through his teeth. "Lord Nick has been here?"

The invalid lifted his eyes, and Donnegan saw a terrible thing—that the nerve of the fat man had been crushed. The folds of his face quivered as he answered huskily: "He has been here!"

"And Landis is gone?"

"No."

"Not gone? Then—"

"Nick has gone to get a horse litter. He came up just to clear the way."

"When he comes back he'll find me!"

The glance of the colonel cleared long enough to survey Donnegan slowly from head to foot, and his amusement sent the familiar hot flush over the face of the little man. He straightened to his full height, which, in his high heels, was not insignificant. But the colonel was apparently so desperate that he was willing to throw caution away.

"Compared with Lord Nick, Donnegan," he said, "you don't look half a man—even with those heels."

And he smiled calmly at Donnegan in the manner of one who, having escaped the lightning bolt itself, does not fear mere thunder.

"There is no fool like a fat fool," said Donnegan with childish viciousness. "What did Lord Nick, as you call him, do to you? He's brought out the yellow, my friend."

The colonel accepted the insult without the quiver of an eyelid. Throughout he seemed to be looking expectantly beyond Donnegan.

"My young friend," he said, "you have been very useful to me. But I must confess that you are no longer a tool equal to the task. I dismiss you. I thank you cordially for your efforts. They are worthless. You see that crowd gathering yonder? They have come to see Lord Nick prepare you for a hole in the ground. And make no mistake: if you are here when he returns that hole will have to be dug—unless they throw you out for the claws of the buzzards. In the meantime, our efforts have been wasted completely. I hadn't enough time. I had thrown the fear of sudden death into Landis, and in another hour he would have signed away his soul to me for fear of poison."

The colonel paused to chuckle at some enjoyable memory.

"Then Nick came. You see, I know all about Nick."

"And Nick knows all about you?"

For a moment the agate, catlike eyes of the colonel clouded and cleared again in their unfathomable manner.

"At moments, Donnegan," he said, "you have rare perceptions. That is exactly it—Nick knows just about everything concerning me. And so—roll your pack and climb on your horse and get away. I think you may have another five minutes before he comes."

Donnegan turned on his heel. He went to the door of the hut and threw it open. Lou sat beside Landis holding his hand, and the murmur of her voice was still pleasant as an echo through the room when she looked and saw Donnegan. At that she rose and her face hardened as she looked at him. Landis, also, lifted his head, and his face was convulsed with hatred. So Donnegan closed the door and went softly away to his own shack.

She hated him even as Landis hated him, it seemed. He should have known that he would not be thanked for bringing back her lover to her with a bullet through his shoulder. Sitting in his cabin, he took his head between his hands and thought of life and death, and made up his mind. He was afraid. If Lord Nick had been the devil himself Donnegan could not have been more afraid. But if the big stranger had been ten devils instead of one Donnegan would not have found it in his soul to run away.

Nothing remained for him in The Corner, it seemed, except his position as a man of power—a dangerous fighter. It was a less than worthless position, and yet, once having taken it up, he could not abandon it. More than one gunfighter has been in the same place, forced to act as a public menace long after he has ceased to feel any desire to fight. Of selfish motives there remained not a scruple to him, but there was still the happiness of Lou Macon. If the boy were taken back to Lebrun's, it would be fatal to her. For even if Nelly wished, she could not teach her eyes new habits, and she would ceaselessly play on the heart of the wounded man.

It was the cessation of all talk from the gathering crowd outside that made Donnegan lift his head at length, and know that Lord Nick had come. But before he had time to prepare himself, the door was cast open and into it, filling it from side to side, stepped Lord Nick.

There was no need of an introduction. Donnegan knew him by the aptness with which the name fitted that glorious figure of a man and by the calm, confident eye which now was looking him slowly over, from head to foot. Lord Nick closed the door carefully behind him.

"The colonel told me," he said in his deep, smooth voice, "that you were waiting for me here."

And Donnegan recognized the snakelike malice of the fat man in drawing him into the fight. But he dismissed that quickly from his mind. He was staring, fascinated, into the face of the other. He was a reader of men, was Donnegan; he was a reader of mind, too. In his life of battle he had learned to judge the prowess of others at a glance, just as a musician can tell the quality of a violin by the first note he hears played upon it. So Donnegan judged the quality of fighting men, and, looking into the face of Lord Nick, he knew that he had met his equal at last.

It was a great and a bitter moment to him. The sense of physical smallness he had banished a thousand times by the recollection of his speed of hand and his surety with weapons. He had looked at men muscularly great and despised them in the knowledge that a gun or a knife would make him their master. But in Lord Nick he recognized his own nerveless speed of hand, his own hair-trigger balance, his own deadly seriousness and contempt of life. The experience in battle was there, too. And he began to feel that the size of the other crushed him to the floor and made him hopeless. It was unnatural, it was wrong, that this giant in the body should be a giant in adroitness also.

Already Donnegan had died one death before he rose from his chair and stood to the full of his height ready to die again and summoning his nervous force to meet the enemy. He had seen that the big man had followed his own example and had measured him at a glance.

Indeed the history of some lives of action held less than the concentrated silence of these two men during that second's space.

And now Donnegan felt the cold eye of the other eating into his own, striving to beat him down, break his nerve. For an instant panic got hold on Donnegan. He, himself, had broken the nerve of other men by the weight of his unaided eye. Had he not reduced poor Jack Landis to a trembling wreck by five minutes of silence? And had he not seen other brave men become trembling cowards unable to face the light, and all because of that terrible power which lies in the eye of some? He fought away the panic, though perspiration was pouring out upon his forehead and beneath his armpits.

"The colonel is very kind," said Donnegan.

And that moment he sent up a prayer of thankfulness that his voice was smooth as silk, and that he was able to smile into the face of Lord Nick. The brow of the other clouded and then smoothed itself deftly. Perhaps he, too, recognized the clang of steel upon steel and knew the metal of his enemy.

"And therefore," said Lord Nick, "since most of The Corner expects business from us, it seems much as if one of us must kill the other before we part."

"As a matter of fact," said Donnegan, "I have been keeping that in mind." He added, with that deadly smile of his that never reached his eyes: "I never disappoint the public when it's possible to satisfy them."

"No," and Lord Nick nodded, "you seem to have most of the habits of an actor—including an inclination to make up for your part."

Donnegan bit his lip until it bled, and then smiled.

"I have been playing to fools," he said. "Now I shall enjoy a discriminating critic."

"Yes," remarked Lord Nick, "actors generally desire an intelligent audience for the death scene."

"I applaud your penetration and I shall speak well of you when this disagreeable duty is finished."

"Come," and Lord Nick smiled genially, "you are a game little cock!"

The telltale flush crimsoned Donnegan's face. And if the fight had begun at that moment no power under heaven could have saved Lord Nick from the frenzy of the little man.

"My size keeps me from stooping," said Donnegan, "I shall look up to you, sir, until the moment you fall."

"Well hit again! You are also a wit, I see! Donnegan, I am almost sorry for the necessity of this meeting. And if it weren't for the audience—"

"Say no more," said Donnegan, bowing. "I read your heart and appreciate all you intend."

He had touched his stock as he bowed, and now he turned to the mirror and carefully adjusted it, for it was a little awry from the ride; but in reality he used that moment to examine his own face, and the set of his jaw and the clearness of his eye reassured him. Turning again, he surprised a glint of admiration in the glance of Lord Nick.

"We are at one, sir, it appears," he said. "And there is no other way out of this disagreeable necessity?"

"Unfortunately not. I have a certain position in these parts. People are apt to expect a good deal of me. And for my part I see no way out except a gunplay—no way out between the devil and the moon!"

Astonishment swept suddenly across the face of the big man, for Donnegan, turning white as death, shrank toward the wall as though he had that moment received cold steel in his body.

"Say that again!" said Donnegan hoarsely.

"I said there was no way out," repeated Lord Nick, and though he kept his right hand in readiness, he passed his left through his red hair and stared at Donnegan with a tinge of contempt; he had seen men buckle like this at the last moment when their backs were to the wall.

"Between—" repeated Donnegan.

"The devil and the moon. Do you see a way yourself?"

He was astonished again to see Donnegan wince as if from a blow. His lips were trembling and they writhed stiffly over his words.

"Who taught you that expression?" said Donnegan.

"A gentleman," said Lord Nick.

"Ah?"

"My father, sir!"

"Oh, heaven," moaned Donnegan, catching his hands to his breast. "Oh, heaven, forgive us!"

"What the devil is in you?" asked Lord Nick.

The little man stood erect again and his eyes were now on fire.

"You are Henry Nicholas Reardon," he said.

Lord Nick set his teeth.

"Now," he said, "it is certain that you must die!"

But Donnegan cast out his arms and broke into a wild laughter.

"Oh, you fool, you fool!" he cried. "Don't you know me? I am the cripple!"

The big man crossed the floor with one vast stride, and, seizing Donnegan by both shoulders, dragged him under the full light of the window; and still the crazy laughter shook Donnegan and made him helpless.

"They tied me to a board—like a papoose," said Donnegan, "and they straightened my back—but they left me this way—wizened up." He was stammering; hysterical, and the words tumbled from his lips in a jumble. "That was a month after you ran away from home. I was going to find you. Got bigger. Took the road. Kept hunting. Then I met a yegg who told about Rusty Dick—described him like you—I thought—I thought you were dead!"

And the tears rolled down his face; he sobbed like a woman.

A strange thing happened then. Lord Nick lifted the little man in his arms as if he were a child and literally carried him in that fashion to the bunk. He put him down tenderly, still with one mighty arm around his back.

"You are Garry? You!"

"Garrison Donnegan Reardon. Aye, that's what I am. Henry, don't say that you don't know me!"

"But—your back—I thought—"

"I know—hopeless they said I was. But they brought in a young doctor. Now look at me. Little. I never grew big—but hard, Henry, as leather!"

And he sprang to his feet. And knowing that Donnegan had begun life as a cripple it was easy to appreciate certain things about his expression—a cold wistfulness, and his manner of reading the minds of men. Lord Nick was like a man in a dream. He dragged Donnegan back to the bunk and forced him to sit down with the weight of his arms. And he could not keep his hands from his younger brother. As though he were blind and had to use the sense of touch to reassure him.

"I heard lies. They said everybody was dead. I thought—"

"The fever killed them all, except me. Uncle Toby took me in. He was a devil. Helped me along, but I left him when I could. And—"

"Don't tell me any more. All that matters is that I have you at last, Garry. Heaven knows it's a horrible thing to be kithless and kinless, but I have you now! Ah, lad, but the old pain has left its mark on you. Poor Garry!"

Donnegan shuddered.

"I've forgotten it. Don't bring it back."

"I keep feeling that you should be in that chair."

"I know. But I'm not. I'm hard as nails, I tell you."

He leaped to his feet again.

"And not so small as you might think, Henry!"

"Oh, big enough, Garry. Big enough to paralyze The Corner, from what I've heard."

"I've been playing a game with 'em, Henry. And now—if one of us could clear the road, what will we do together? Eh?"

The smile of Lord Nick showed his teeth.

"Haven't I been hungry all my life for a man like you, lad? Somebody to stand and guard my back while I faced the rest of the world?"

"And I'll do my share of the facing, too."

"You will, Garry. But I'm your elder."

"Man, man! Nobody's my elder except one that's spent half his life—as I have done!"

"We'll teach you to forget the pain I'll make life roses for you, Garry."

"And the fools outside thought—"

Donnegan broke into a soundless laughter, and, running to the door, opened it a fraction of an inch and peeped out.

"They're standing about in a circle. I can see 'em gaping. Even from here. What will they think, Henry?"

Lord Nick ground his teeth.

"They'll think I've backed down from you," he said gloomily. "They'll think I've taken water for the first time."

"Why, confound 'em, the first man that opens his head—"

"I know, I know. You'd fill his mouth with lead, and so would I. But if it ever gets about—as it's sure to—that Lord, Nick, as they call me, has been bluffed down without a fight, I'll have every Chinaman that cooks on the range talking back to me. I'll have to start all over again."

"Don't say that, Henry. Don't you see that I'll go out and explain that I'm your brother?"

"What good will that do? No, do we look alike?"

Donnegan stopped short.

"I'm not very big," he said rather coldly, "but then I'm not so very small, either. I've found myself big enough, speaking in general. Besides, we have the same hair and eyes."

"Why, man, people will laugh when they hear that we call ourselves brothers."

Donnegan ground his teeth and the old flush burned upon his face.

"I'll cut some throats if they do," he said, trembling with his passion.

"I can hear them say it. 'Lord Nick walked in on Donnegan prepared to eat him up. He measured him up and down, saw that he was a fighting wildcat in spite of his size, and decided to back out. And Donnegan was willing. They couldn't come out without a story of some kind—with the whole world expecting a death in that cabin—so they framed a crazy cock-and-bull story about being brothers.' I can hear them say that, Donnegan, and it makes me wild!"

"Do you call me Donnegan?" said Donnegan sadly.

"No, no. Garry, don't be so touchy. You've never got over that, I see. Still all pride and fire."

"You're not very humble yourself, Henry."

"Maybe not, maybe not. But I've been in a certain position around these parts, Don—Garry. And it's hard to see it go!"

Donnegan closed his eyes in deep reverie. And then he forced out the words one by one.

"Henry, I'll let everybody know that it was I who backed down. That we were about to fight." He was unable to speak; he tore the stock loose at his throat and went on: "We were about to fight; I lost my nerve; you couldn't shoot a helpless man. We began to talk. We found out we are brothers—"

"Damnation!" broke out Lord Nick, and he struck himself violently across the forehead with the back of his hand. "I'm a skunk, Garry, lad. Why, for a minute I was about to let you do it. No. no, no! A thousand times no!"

It was plain to be seen that he was arguing himself away from the temptation.

"What do I care what they say? We'll cram the words back down their throats and be hanged to 'em. Here I am worrying about myself like a selfish dog without letting myself be happy over finding you. But I am happy, Garry. Heaven knows it. And you don't doubt it, do you, old fellow?"

"Ah," said Donnegan, and he smiled to cover a touch of sadness. "I hope not. No, I don't doubt you, of course. I've spent my life wishing for you since you left us, you see. And then I followed you for three years on the road, hunting everywhere."

"You did that?"

"Yes. Three years. I liked the careless life. For to tell you the truth, I'm not worth much, Henry. I'm a loafer by instinct, and—"

"Not another word." There were tears in the eyes of Lord Nick, and he frowned them away. "Confound it, Garry, you unman me. I'll be weeping like a woman in a minute. But now, sit down. We still have some things to talk over. And we'll get to a quick conclusion."

"Ah, yes," said Donnegan, and at the emotion which had come in the face of Lord Nick, his own expression softened wonderfully. A light seemed to stand in his face. "We'll brush over the incidentals. And everything is incidental aside from the fact that we're together again. They can chisel iron chain apart, but we'll never be separated again, God willing!" He looked up as he spoke, and his face was for the moment as pure as the face of a child—Donnegan, the thief, the beggar, the liar by gift, and the man-killer by trade and artistry.

But Lord Nick in the meantime was looking down to the floor and mustering his thoughts.

"The main thing is entirely simple," he said. "You'll make one concession to my pride, Garry, boy?"

"Can you ask me?" said Donnegan softly, and he cast out his hands in a gesture that offered his heart and his soul. "Can you ask me? Anything I have is yours!"

"Don't say that," answered Lord Nick tenderly. "But this small thing—my pride, you know—I despise myself for caring what people think, but I'm weak. I admit it, but I can't help it."

"Talk out, man. You'll see if there's a bottom to things that I can give!"

"Well, it's this. Everyone knows that I came up here to get young Jack Landis and bring him back to Lebrun's—from which you stole him, you clever young devil! Well, I'll simply take him back there, Garry; and then I'll never have to ask another favor of you."

He was astonished by a sudden silence, and looking up again, he saw that Donnegan sat with his hand at his breast. It was a singularly feminine gesture to which he resorted. It was a habit which had come to him in his youth in the invalid chair, when the ceaseless torment of his crippled back became too great for him to bear.

And clearly, indeed, those days were brought home to Lord Nick as he glanced up, for Donnegan was staring at him in the same old, familiar agony, mute and helpless.

At this Lord Nick very frankly frowned in turn. And when he frowned his face grew marvelously dark, like some wrathful god, for there was a noble, a Grecian purity to the profile of Henry Nicholas Reardon, and when he frowned he seemed to be scorning, from a distance, ignoble, earthly things which troubled him.

"I know it isn't exactly easy for you, Garry," he admitted. "You have your own pride; you have your own position here in The Corner. But I want you to notice that mine is different. You've spent a day for what you have in The Corner, here. I've spent ten years. You've played a prank, acted a part, and cast a jest for what you have. But for the place which I hold, brother mine, I've schemed with my wits, played fast and loose, and killed men. Do you hear? I've bought it with blood, and things you buy at such a price ought to stick, eh?"

He banished his frown; the smile played suddenly across his features.

"Why, I'm arguing with myself. But that look you gave me a minute ago had me worried for a little while."

At this Donnegan, who had allowed his head to fall, so that he seemed to be nodding in acquiescence, now raised his face and Lord Nick perceived the same white pain upon it. The same look which had been on the face of the cripple so often in the other days.

"Henry," said the younger brother, "I give you my oath that my pride has nothing to do with this. I'd let you drive me barefoot before you through the street yonder. I'd let every soul in The Corner know that I have no pride where you're concerned. I'll do whatever you wish—with one exception—and that one is the unlucky thing you ask. Pardner, you mustn't ask for Jack Landis! Anything else I'll work like a slave to get for you: I'll fight your battles, I'll serve you in any way you name: but don't take Landis back!"

He had talked eagerly, the words coming with a rush, and he found at the end that Lord Nick was looking at him in bewilderment.

"When a man is condemned to death," said Lord Nick slowly, "suppose somebody offers him anything in the world that he wants—palaces, riches, power—everything except his life. What would the condemned man say to a friend who made such an offer? He'd laugh at him and then call him a traitor. Eh? But I don't laugh at you, Garry. I simply explain to you why I have to have Landis back. Listen!"

He counted off his points upon the tips of his fingers, in the confident manner of a teacher who deals with a stupid child, waiting patiently for the young mind to comprehend.

"We've been bleeding Jack Landis. Do you know why? Because it was Lester who made the strike up here. He started out to file his claim. He stopped at the house of Colonel Macon. That old devil learned the location, learned everything; detained Lester with a trick, and rushed young Landis away to file the claims for himself. Then when Lester came up here he found that his claims had been jumped, and when he went to the law there was no law that could help him. He had nothing but his naked word for what he had discovered. And naturally the word of a ruffian like Lester had no weight against the word of Landis. And, you see, Landis thought that he was entirely in the right. Lester tried the other way; tried to jump the claims; and was shot down by Landis. So Lester sent for me. What was I to do? Kill Landis? The mine would go to his heirs. I tried a different way—bleeding him of his profits, after I'd explained to him that he was in the wrong. He half admitted that, but he naturally wouldn't give up the mines even after we'd almost proved to him that Lester had the first right. So Landis has been mining the gold and we've been drawing it away from him. It looks tricky, but really it's only just. And Lester and Lebrun split with me.

"But I tell you, Garry, that I'd give up everything without an afterthought. I'll give up the money and I'll make Lebrun and Lester shut up without a word. I'll make them play square and not try to knife Landis in the back. I'll do all that willingly—for you! But, Garry, I can't give up taking Landis back to Lebrun's and keeping him there until he's well. Why, man, I saw him in the hut just now. He wants to go. He's afraid of the old colonel as if he were poison—and I think he's wise in being afraid."

"The colonel won't touch him," said Donnegan.

"No?"

"No. I've told him what would happen if he does."

"Tush. Garry, Colonel Macon is the coldest-blooded murderer I've ever known. But come out in the open, lad. You see that I'm ready to listen to reason—except on one point. Tell me why you're so set on this keeping of Landis here against my will and even against the lad's own will? I'm reasonable, Garry. Do you doubt that?"

Explaining his own mildness, the voice of Lord Nick swelled again and filled the room, and he frowned on his brother. But Donnegan looked on him sadly.

"There is a girl—" he began.

"Why didn't I guess it?" exclaimed Lord Nick. "If ever you find a man unreasonable, stubborn and foolish, you'll always find a woman behind it! All this trouble because of a piece of calico?"

He leaned back, laughing thunderously in his relief.

"Come, come! I was prepared for a tragedy. Now tell me about this girl. Who and what is she?"

"The daughter of the colonel."

"You're in love with her? I'm glad to hear it, Garry. As a matter of fact I've been afraid that you were hunting in my own preserve, but if it's the colonel's daughter, you're welcome to her. So you love the girl? She's pretty, lad!"

"I love her?" said Donnegan in an indescribably tender voice. "I love her? Who am I to love her? A thief, a man-killer, a miserable play actor, a gambler, a drunkard. I love her? Bah!"

If there was one quality of the mind with which Lord Nick was less familiar than with all others, it was humbleness of spirit. He now abased his magnificent head, and resting his chin in the mighty palm of his hand, he stared with astonishment and commiseration into the face of Donnegan. He seemed to be learning new things every moment about his brother.

"Leave me out of the question," said Donnegan.

"Can't be done. If I leave you out, dear boy, there's not one of them that I care a hang about; I'd ride roughshod over the whole lot. I've done it before to better men than these!"

"Then you'll change, I know. This is the fact of the matter. She loves Landis. And if you take Landis away where will you put him?"

"Where he was stolen away. In Lebrun's."

"And what will be in Lebrun's?"

"Joe Rix to guard him and the old negress to nurse him."'

"No, no! Nelly Lebrun will be there!"

"Eh? Are you glancing at her, now?"

"Henry, you yourself know that Landis is mad about that girl."

"Oh, she's flirted a bit with him. Turned the fool's head. He'll come out of it safe. She won't break his heart. I've seen her work on others!"

He chuckled at the memory.

"What do I care about Landis?" said Donnegan with unutterable scorn. "It's the girl. You'll break her heart, Henry; and if you do I'll never forgive you."

"Steady, lad. This is a good deal like a threat."

"No, no, no! Not a threat, heaven knows!"

"By heaven!" exclaimed Lord Nick. "I begin to be irritated to see you stick on a silly point like this. Listen to me, lad. Do you mean to say that you are making all! this trouble about a slip of a girl?"

"The heart of a girl," said Donnegan calmly.

"Let Landis go; then take her in your arms and kiss her worries away. I warrant you can do it! I gather from Nell that you're not tongue-tied around women!"

"I?" echoed Donnegan, turning pale. "Don't jest at this, Henry. I'm as serious as death. She's the type of woman made to love one man, and one man only. Landis may be common as dirt; but she doesn't see it. She's fastened her heart on him. I looked in on her a little while ago. She turned white when she saw me. I brought Landis to her, but she hates me because I had to shoot him down."

"Garry," said the big man with a twinkle in his eye, "you're in love!"

It shook Donnegan to the core, but he replied instantly; "If I were in love, don't you suppose that I would have shot to kill when I met Landis?"

At this his brother blinked, frowned, and shook his head. The point was apparently plain to him and wiped out his previous convictions. Also, it eased his mind.

"Then you don't love the girl?"

"I?"

"Either way, my hands are cleared of the worry. If you want her, let me take Landis. If you don't want her, what difference does it make to you except silly sentiment?"

Donnegan made no answer.

"If she comes to Lebrun's house, I'll see that Nell doesn't bother him too much."

"Can you control her? If she wants to see this fool can you keep her away, and if she goes to him can you control her smiling?"

"Certainly," said Lord Nick, but he flushed heavily.

Donnegan smiled.

"She's a devil of a girl," admitted Henry Reardon. "But this is beside the point: which is, that you're sticking on a matter that means everything to me, and which is only a secondhand interest to you—a point of sentiment. You pity the girl. What's pity? Bah! I pity a dog in the street, but would I cross you, Garry, lad, to save the dog? Sentiment, I say, silly sentiment."

Donnegan rose.

"It was a silly sentiment," he said hoarsely, "that put me on the road following you, Henry. It was a silly sentiment that turned me into a wastrel, a wanderer, a man without a home and without friends."

"It's wrong to throw that in my face," muttered Lord Nick.

"It is. And I'm sorry for it. But I want you to see that matters of sentiment may be matters of life and death with me."

"Aye, if it were for you it would be different. I might see my way clear—but for a girl you have only a distant interest in—"

"It is a matter of whether or not her heart shall be broken."

"Come, come. Let's talk man talk. Besides, girls' hearts don't break in this country. You're old-fashioned."

"I tell you the question of her happiness is worth more than a dozen lives like yours and mine."

There had been a gathering impatience in Lord Nick. Now he, also, leaped to his feet; a giant.

"Tell me in one word: You stick on this point?"

"In one word—yes!"

"Then you deny me, Garry. You set me aside for a silly purpose of your own—a matter that really doesn't mean much to you. It shows me where I stand in your eyes—and nothing between the devil and the moon shall make me sidestep!"

They remained silent, staring at each other. Lord Nick stood with a flush of anger growing; Donnegan became whiter than ever, and he stiffened himself to his full height, which, in all who knew him well, was the danger signal.

"You take Landis?" he said softly.

"I do."

"Not," said Donnegan, "while I live!"

"You mean—" cried Lord Nick.

"I mean it!"

They had been swept back to the point at which that strangest of scenes began, but this time there was an added element—horror.

"You'd fight?"

"To the death, Henry!"

"Garry, if one of us should kill the other, he'd be cursed forever!"

"I know it."

"And she's worth even this?"

"A thousand times more! What are we? Dust in the wind; dust in the wind. But a woman like that is divine, Henry!"

Lord Nick swayed a little, setting himself in balance like an animal preparing for the leap.

"If it comes to the pinch, it is you who will die," he said.

"You've no chance against me, Garry. And I swear to you that I won't weaken. You prove that you don't care for me. You put another above me. It's my pride, my life, that you'd sacrifice to the whim of a girl!" His passion choked him.

"Are you ready?" said Donnegan.

"Yes!"

"Move first!"

"I have never formed the habit."

"Nor I! You fool, take what little advantage you can, because it won't help you in the end."

"You shall see. I have a second sight, Henry, and it shows me you dead on the floor there, looking bigger than ever, and I see the gun smoking in my hand and my heart as dead as ashes! Oh, Henry, if there were only some other way!"

They were both pale now.

"Aye," murmured Lord Nick, "if we could find a judge. My hand turns to lead when I think of fighting you, Garry."

Perspiration stood on the face of Donnegan.

"Name a judge; I'll abide by the decision."

"Some man—"

"No, no. What man could understand me? A woman, Henry!"

"Nell Lebrun."

"The girl who loves you? You want me to plead before her?"

"Put her on her honor and she'll be as straight as a string with both of us."

For a moment Donnegan considered, and at length: "She loves you, Henry. You have that advantage. You have only to let her know that this is a vital matter to you and she'll speak as you wish her to speak."

"Nonsense. You don't know her. You've seen yourself that no man can control her absolutely."

"Make a concession."

"A thousand, Garry, dear boy, if they'll get us clear from this horrible mess."

"Only this. Leave The Corner for a few hours. Give me until—tonight. Let me see Nelly during that time. You've had years to work on her. I want only this time to put my own case before her."

"Thank heaven that we're coming to see light and a way out!"

"Aye, Henry."

The big man wiped his forehead and sighed in his relief.

"A minute ago I was ready—but we'll forget all this. What will you do? How will you persuade Nelly? I almost think that you intend to make love to her, Garry!"

The little man turned paler still.

"It is exactly what I intend," he said quietly.

The brow of Lord Nick darkened solemnly, and then he forced a laugh.

"She'll be afraid to turn me down, Garry. But try your own way." He bit his lips. "Why, if you influence her that way—do it. What's a fickle jade to me? Nothing!"

"However I do it, you'll stick by her judgment, Henry?"

The perspiration had started on Lord Nick's forehead again. Doubt swayed him, but pride forced him on.

"I'll come again tonight," he said gloomily. "I'll meet you in—Milligan's?"

"In Milligan's, then."

Lord Nick, without a word of farewell, stamped across the hut and out.

As for Donnegan, he stepped backward, his legs buckled beneath him, and when big George entered, with a scared face, he found the little man half sitting on the bunk, half lying against the wall with the face and the staring eyes of a dead man.

It was a long time before Donnegan left the hut, and when he came out the crowd which had gathered to watch the fight, or at least to mark the reports of the guns when those two terrible warriors met, was scattered. There remained before Donnegan only the colonel in his invalid's chair. Even from the distance one could see that his expression was changed, and when the little red-headed man came near the colonel looked up to him with something akin to humility.

"Donnegan," he said, stopping the other as Donnegan headed for the door of the hut, "Donnegan, don't go in there just now."

Donnegan turned and came slowly toward him.

"The reason," said the colonel, "is that you probably won't receive a very cheery reception. Unfortunate—very unfortunate. Lou has turned wrong-headed for the first time in her life and she won't listen to reason."

He chuckled softly.

"I never dreamed there was so much of my metal in her. Blood will tell, my boy; blood will tell. And when you finally get her you'll find that she's worth waiting for."

"Let me tell you a secret," said Donnegan dryly. "I am no longer waiting for her!"

"Ah?" smiled the colonel. "Of course not. This bringing of Landis to her—it was all pure self-sacrifice. It was not an attempt to soften her heart. It was not a cunning maneuver. Tush! Of course not!"

"I am about to make a profound remark," said Donnegan carelessly.

"By all means."

"You read the minds of other people through a colored glass, colonel. You see yourself everywhere."

"In other words I put my own motives into the actions and behind the actions of people? Perhaps. I am full of weaknesses. Very full. In the meantime let me tell you one important thing—if you have not made the heart of Lou tender toward you, you have at least frightened her."

The jaw on Donnegan set.

"Excellent!" he said huskily.

"Perhaps better than you think; and to keep you abreast with the times, you must know another thing. Lou has a silly idea that you are a lost soul, Donnegan, but she attributes your fall entirely to my weakness. Nothing can convince her that you did not intend to kill Landis; nothing can convince her that you did not act on my inspiration. I have tried arguing. Bah! she overwhelmed me with her scorn. You are a villain, says Lou, and I have made you one. And for the first time in my memory of her, her eyes fill with tears."

"Tears?"

"Upon my honor, and when a girl begins to weep about a man I don't need to say he is close to her heart."

"You are full of maxims, Colonel Macon."

"As a nut is full of meat. Old experience, you know. In the meantime Lou is perfectly certain that I intend to make away with Landis. Ha, ha, ha!" The laughter of the colonel was a cheery thunder, and soft as with distance. "Landis is equally convinced. He begs Lou not to fall asleep lest I should steal in on him. She hardly dares leave him to cook his food. I actually think she would have been glad to see that fiend, Lord Nick, take Landis away!"

Donnegan smiled wanly. But could he tell her, poor girl, the story of Nelly Lebrun? Landis, in fear of his life, was no doubt at this moment pouring out protestations of deathless affection.

"And they both consider you an archdemon for keeping Lord Nick away!"

Again Donnegan winced, and coughed behind his hand to cover it.

"However," went on the colonel, "when it comes to matters with the hearts of women, I trust to time. Time alone will show her that Landis is a puppy."

"In the meantime, colonel, she keeps you from coming near Landis?"

"Not at all! You fail to understand me and my methods, dear boy. I have only to roll my chair into the room and sit and smile at Jack in order to send him into an hysteria of terror. It is amusing to watch. And I can be there while Lou is in the room and through a few careful innuendoes convey to Landis my undying determination to either remove him from my path and automatically become his heir, or else secure from him a legal transfer of his rights to the mines."

"I have learned," said Donnegan, "that Landis has not the slightest claim to them himself. And that you set him on the trail of the claims by trickery."

The colonel did not wince.

"Of course not," said the fat trickster. "Not the slightest right. My claim is a claim of superior wits, you see. And in the end all your labor shall be rewarded, for my share will go to Lou and through her it shall come to you. No?"

"Quite logical."

The colonel disregarded the other's smile.

"But I have a painful confession to make."

"Well?"

"I misjudged you, Donnegan. A moment since, when I was nearly distraught with disappointment, I said some most unpleasant things to you."

"I have forgotten them."

But the colonel raised his strong forefinger and shook his head, smiling.

"No, no, Donnegan. If you deny it, I shall know that you are harboring the most undying grudge against me. As a matter of fact, I have just had an interview with Lord Nick, and the cursed fellow put my nerves on edge."

The colonel made a wry face.

"And when you came, I saw no manner in which you could possibly thwart him."

His eyes grew wistful.

"Between friends—as a son to his future father," he said softly, "can't you tell me what the charm was that you used on. Nick to send him away? I watched him come out of the shack. He was in a fury. I could see that by the way his head thrust out between his big shoulders. And when he went down the hill he was striding like a giant, but every now and then he would stop short, and his head would go up as if he were tempted to turn around and go back, but didn't quite have the nerve. Donnegan, tell me the trick of it?"

"Willingly. I appealed to his gambling instinct."

"Which leaves me as much in the dark as ever."

But Donnegan smiled in his own peculiar and mirthless manner and he went on to the hut. Not that he expected a cheery greeting from Lou Macon, but he was drawn by the same perverse instinct which tempts a man to throw himself from a great height. At the door he paused a moment. He could distinguish no words, but he caught the murmur of Lou's voice as she talked to Jack Landis, and it had that infinitely gentle quality which only a woman's voice can have, and only when she nurses the sick. It was a pleasant torture to Donnegan to hear it. At length he summoned his resolution and tapped at the door.

The voice of Lou Macon stopped. He heard a hurried and whispered consultation. What did they expect? Then swift foot-falls on the floor, and she opened the door. There was a smile of expectancy on her lips; her eyes were bright; but when she saw Donnegan her lips pinched in. She stared at him as if he were a ghost.

"I knew; I knew!" she said piteously, falling back a step but still keeping her hand upon the knob of the door as if to block the way to Donnegan. "Oh, Jack, he has killed Lord Nick and now he is here—"

To do what? To kill Landis in turn? Her horrified eyes implied as much. He saw Landis in the distance raise himself upon one elbow and his face was gray, not with pain but with dread.

"It can't be!" groaned Landis.

"Lord Nick is alive," said Donnegan. "And I have not come here to torment you; I have only come to ask that you let me speak with you alone for a moment, Lou!"

He watched her face intently. All the cabin was in deep shadow, but the golden hair of the girl glowed as if with an inherent light of its own, and the same light touched her face. Jack Landis was stricken with panic: he stammered in a dreadful eagerness of fear.

"Don't leave me, Lou. You know what it means. He wants to get you out of the way so that the colonel can be alone with me. Don't go, Lou! Don't go!"

As though she saw how hopeless it was to try to bar Donnegan by closing the door against him, she fell back to the bed. She kept her eye on the little man, as if to watch against a surprise attack, and, fumbling behind her, her hand found the hand of Landis and closed over it with the reassurance of a mother.

"Don't be afraid, Jack. I won't leave you. Not unless they carry me away by force."

"I give you my solemn word." said Donnegan in torment, "that the colonel shall not come near Landis while you're away with me."

"Your word!" murmured the girl with a sort of horrified wonder. "Your word!"

And Donnegan bowed his head.

But all at once she cast out her free hand toward him, while the other still cherished the weakness of Jack Landis.

"Oh, give them up!" she cried. "Give up my father and all his wicked plans. There is something good in you. Give him up; come with us; stand for us: and we shall be grateful all our lives!"

The little man had removed his hat, so that the sunshine burned brightly on his red hair. Indeed, there was always a flamelike quality about him. In inaction he seemed femininely frail and pale; but when his spirit was roused his eyes blazed as his hair burned in the sunlight.

"You shall learn in the end," he said to the girl, "that everything I do, I do for you."

She cried out as if he had struck her.

"It's not worthy of you," she said bitterly. "You are keeping Jack here—in peril—for my sake?"

"For your sake," said Donnegan.

She looked at him with a queer pain in her eyes.

"To keep you from needless lying," she said, "let me tell you that Jack has told me everything. I am not angry because you come and pretend that you do all these horrible things for my sake. I know my father has tempted you with a promise of a great deal of money. But in the end you will get nothing. No, he will twist everything away from you and leave you nothing! But as for me—I know everything; Jack told me."

"He has told you what? What?"

"About the woman you love."

"The woman I love?" echoed Donnegan, stupefied.

It seemed that Lou Macon could only name her with an effort that left her trembling.

"The Lebrun woman," she said. "Jack has told me."

"Did you tell her that?" he asked Landis.

"The whole town knows it," stammered the wounded man.

The cunning hypocrisy spurred Donnegan. He put his foot on the threshold of the shack, and at this the girl cried out and shrank from him; but Landis was too paralyzed to stir or speak. For a moment Donnegan was wildly tempted to pour his torrent of contempt and accusation upon Landis. To what end? To prove to the girl that the big fellow had coolly tricked her? That it was to be near Nelly Lebrun as much as to be away from the colonel that he wished so ardently to leave the shack? After all, Lou Macon was made happy by an illusion; let her keep it.

He looked at her sadly again. She stood defiant over Landis; ready to protect the helpless bulk of the man.

So Donnegan closed the door softly and turned away with ashes in his heart.