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?”
CHAPTER 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 wa
s 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!”
CHAPTER 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 in
troduction; 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?”
The Second Western Megapack Page 120