by Max Brand
She accepted the arrangement with surprising equanimity. It seemed that her father’s training had eliminated from her mind any questioning of the motives of others. She became even cheerful as she set about arranging the pack which Donnegan put in her tent. Afterward she cooked their supper over the fire which he built for her. Never was there such a quick house-settling. And by the time it was absolutely dark they had washed the dishes and sat before Lou’s tent looking over the night lights of The Corner and hearing the voice of its Great White Way opening.
She had not even asked why he did not bring her straight to Jack Landis. She had looked into Donnegan’s tent, furnished with a single blanket and his canvas kit, and had offered to share her pack with him. And now they sat side by side before the tent and still she asked no questions about what was to come.
Her silence was to Donnegan the dropping of the water upon the hard rock. He was crumbling under it, and a wild hatred for the colonel rose in him. No doubt that spirit of evil had foreseen all this; and he knew that every moment spent with the girl would drive Donnegan on closer to the accomplishment of the colonel’s great purpose — the death of Jack Landis. For the colonel, as Jack’s next of kin, would take over all his mining interests and free them at a stroke from the silent partnership which apparently existed with Lord Nick and Lester. One bullet would do all this: and with Jack dead, who else stood close to the girl? It was only necessary that she should not know who sped the bullet home.
A horrible fancy grew up in Donnegan, as he sat there, that between him and the girl lay a dead body.
He was glad when the time came and he could tell her that he was going down to The Corner to find Jack Landis and bring him to her. She rose to watch him go and he heard her say “Come soon!”
It shocked Donnegan into realization that for all her calm exterior she was perfectly aware of the danger of her position in the wild mining camp. She must know, also, that her reputation would be compromised; yet never once had she winced, and Donnegan was filled with wonder as he went down the hill toward the camp which was spread beneath him; for their tents were a little detached from the main body of the town. Behind her gentle eyes, he now felt, and under the softness of her voice, there was the same iron nerve that was in her father. Her hatred could be a deathless passion, and her love also; and the great question to be answered now was, did she truly love Jack Landis?
The Corner at night was like a scene at a circus. There was the same rush of people, the same irregular flush of lights, the same glimmer of lanterns through canvas, the same air of impermanence. Once, in one of those hushes which will fall upon every crowd, he heard a coyote wailing sharply and far away, as though the desert had sent out this voice to mock at The Corner and all it contained.
He had only to ask once to discover where Landis was: Milligan’s dance hall. Before Milligan’s place a bonfire burned from the beginning of dusk to the coming of day; and until the time when that fire was quenched with buckets of water, it was a sign to all that the merriment was under way in the dance hall. If Lebrun’s was the sun of the amusement world in The Corner, Milligan’s was the moon. Everybody who had money to lose went to Lebrun’s. Every one who was out for gayety went to Milligan’s. Milligan was a plunger. He had brought up an orchestra which demanded fifteen dollars a day and he paid them that and more. He not only was able to do this, but he established a bar at the entrance from which all who entered were served with a free drink. The entrance, also, was not subject to charge. The initial drink at the door was spiced to encourage thirst, so Milligan made money as fast, and far more easily, than if he had been digging it out of the ground.
To the door of this pleasure emporium came Donnegan. He had transformed himself into the ragged hobo by the jerking down of his cap again, and the hunching of his shoulders. And shrinking past the bar with a hungry sidewise glance, as one who did not dare present himself for free liquor, he entered Milligan’s.
That is, he had put his foot across the threshold when he was caught roughly by the shoulder and dragged to one side. He found himself looking up into the face of a strapping fellow who served Milligan as bouncer. Milligan had an eye for color. Andy Lewis was tolerably well known as a fighting man of parts, who not only wore two guns but could use them both at once, which is much more difficult than is generally understood. But far more than for his fighting parts Milligan hired his bouncer for the sake of his face. It was a countenance made to discourage trouble makers. A mule had kicked Lewis in the chin, and a great white welt deformed his lower lip. Scars of smallpox added to his decorative effect, and he had those extremely bushy brows which for some reason are generally considered to denote ferocity. Now, Donnegan was not above middle height at best, and in his present shrinking attitude he found himself looking up a full head into the formidable face of the bouncer.
“And what are you doing in here?” asked the genial Andy. “Don’t you know this joint is for white folks?”
“I ain’t colored,” murmured Donnegan.
“You took considerable yaller to me,” declared Lewis. He straightway chuckled, and his own keen appreciation of his wit softened his expression. “What you want?”
Donnegan shivered under his rags.
“I want to see Jack Landis,” he said.
It had a wonderful effect upon the doorkeeper. Donnegan found that the very name of Landis was a charm of power in The Corner.
“You want to see him?” he queried in amazement. “You?”
He looked Donnegan over again, and then grinned broadly, as if in anticipation. “Well, go ahead. There he sits — no, he’s dancing.”
The music was in full swing; it was chiefly brass; but now and then, in softer moments, one could hear a violin squeaking uncertainly. At least it went along with a marked, regular rhythm, and the dancers swirled industriously around the floor. A very gay crowd; color was apparently appreciated in The Corner. And Donnegan, standing modestly out of sight behind a pillar until the dance ended, noted twenty phases of life in twenty faces. And Donnegan saw the flushes of liquor, and heard the loud voices of happy fellows who had made their “strikes”; but in all that brilliant crew he had no trouble in picking out Jack Landis and Nelly Lebrun.
They danced together, and where they passed, the others steered a little off so as to give them room on the dance floor, as if the men feared that they might cross the formidable Landis, and as if the women feared to be brought into too close comparison with Nelly Lebrun. She was, indeed, a brilliant figure. She had eyes of the Creole duskiness, a delicate olive skin, with a pastel coloring. The hand on the shoulder of Landis was a thing of fairy beauty. And her eyes had that peculiar quality of seeming to see everything, and rest on every face particularly. So that, as she whirled toward Donnegan, he winced, feeling that she had found him out among the shadows.
She had a glorious partner to set her off. And Donnegan saw bitterly why Lou Macon could love him. Height without clumsiness, bulk and a light foot at once, a fine head, well poised, blond hair and a Grecian profile — such was Jack Landis. He wore a vest of fawn skin; his boots were black in the foot and finished with the softest red leather for the leg. And he had yellow buckskin trousers, laced in a Mexican fashion with silver at the sides; a narrow belt, a long, red silk handkerchief flying from behind his neck in cowboy fashion. So much flashing splendor, even in that gay assembly, would have been childishly conspicuous on another man. But in big Jack Landis there was patently a great deal of the unaffected child. He was having a glorious time on this evening, and his eye roved the room challenging admiration in a manner that was amusing rather than offensive. He was so overflowingly proud of having the prettiest girl in The Corner upon his arm and so conscious of being himself probably the finest-looking man that he escaped conceit, it might almost be said, by his very excess of it.
Upon this splendid individual, then, the obscure Donnegan bent his gaze. He saw the dancers pause and scatter as the music ended, saw them drift to the tables along
the edges of the room, saw the scurry of waiters hurrying drinks up in the interval, saw Nelly Lebrun sip a lemonade, saw Jack Landis toss off something stronger. And then Donnegan skirted around the room and came to the table of Jack Landis at the very moment when the latter was tossing a gold piece to the waiter and giving a new order.
Prodigal sons in the distance of thought are apt to be both silly: and disgusting, but at close hand they usually dazzle the eye. Even the cold brain of Donnegan was daunted a little as he drew near.
He came behind the chair of the tall master of The Corner, and while Nelly Lebrun stopped her glass halfway to her lips and stared at the ragged stranger, Donnegan was whispering in the ear of Jack Landis: “I’ve got to see you alone.”
Landis turned his head slowly and his eye darkened a little as he met the reddish, unshaven face of the stranger. Then, with a careless shrug of distaste, he drew out a few coins and poured them into Donnegan’s palm; the latter pocketed them.
“Lou Macon,” said Donnegan.
Jack Landis rose from his chair, and it was not until he stood so close to Donnegan that the latter realized the truly Herculean proportions of the young fellow. He bowed his excuses to Nelly Lebrun, not without grace of manner, and then huddled Donnegan into a corner with a wave of his vast arm.
“Now what do you want? Who are you? Who put that name in your mouth?”
“She’s in The Corner,” said Donnegan, and he dwelt upon the face of Jack Landis with feverish suspense. A moment later a great weight had slipped from his heart. If Lou Macon loved Landis it was beyond peradventure that Landis was not breaking his heart because of the girl. For at her name he flushed darkly, and then, that rush of color fading, he was left with a white spot in the center of each cheek.
CHAPTER 13
FIRST HIS GLANCE plunged into vacancy; then it flicked over his shoulder at Nelly Lebrun and he bit his lip. Plainly, it was not the most welcome news that Jack Landis had ever heard.
“Where is she?” he asked nervously of Donnegan, and he looked over the ragged fellow again.
“I’ll take you to her.”
The big man swayed back and forth from foot to foot, balancing in his hesitation. “Wait a moment.”
He strode to Nelly Lebrun and bent over her; Donnegan saw her eyes flash up — oh, heart of the south, what eyes of shadow and fire! Jack Landis trembled under the glance; yes, he was deeply in love with the girl. And Donnegan watched her face shade with suspicion, stiffen with cold anger, warm and soften again under the explanations of Jack Landis.
Donnegan, looking from the distance, could read everything; it is nearness that bewitches a man when he talks to a woman. When Odysseus talked to Circe, no doubt he stood on the farther side of the room!
When Landis came again, he was perspiring from the trial of fire through which he had just passed.
“Come,” he ordered, and set out at a sweeping stride.
Plainly he was anxious to get this matter done with as soon as possible. As for Donnegan, he saw a man whom Landis had summoned to take his place sit down at the table with Nelly Lebrun. She was laughing with the newcomer as though nothing troubled her at all, but over his shoulder her glance probed the distance and followed Jack Landis. She wanted to see the messenger again, the man who had called her companion away; but in this it was fox challenging fox. Donnegan took note and was careful to place between him and the girl every pillar and every group of people. As far as he was concerned, her first glance must do to read and judge and remember him by.
Outside Landis shot several questions at him in swift succession; he wanted to know how the girl had happened to make the trip. Above all, what the colonel was thinking and doing and if the colonel himself had come. But Donnegan replied with monosyllables, and Landis, apparently reconciling himself to the fact that the messenger was a fool, ceased his questions. They kept close to a run all the way out of the camp and up the hillside to the two detached tents where Donnegan and the girl slept that night. A lantern burned in both the tents.
“She has made things ready for me,” thought Donnegan, his heart opening. “She has kept house for me!”
He pointed out Lou’s tent to his companion and the big man, with a single low word of warning, threw open the flap of the tent and strode in.
There was only the split part of a second between the rising and the fall of the canvas, but in that swift interval, Donnegan saw the girl starting up to receive Landis. Her calm was broken at last. Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes were starry with what? Expectancy? Love?
It stopped Donnegan like a blow in the face and turned his heart to lead; and then, shamelessly, he glided around the tent and dropped down beside it to eavesdrop. After all, there was some excuse. If she loved the man he, Donnegan, would let him live; if she did not love him, he, Donnegan, would kill him like a worthless rat under heel. That is, if he could. No wonder that the wanderer listened with heart and soul!
He missed the first greeting. It was only a jumble of exclamations, but now he heard: “But, Lou, what a wild idea. Across the mountains — with whom?”
“The man who brought you here.”
“Who’s he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? He looks like a shifty little rat to me.”
“He’s big enough, Jack.”
Such small praise was enough to set Donnegan’s heart thumping.
“Besides, father told me to go with him, to trust him.”
“Ah!” There was an abrupt chilling and lowering of Landis’ voice. “The colonel knows him? He’s one of the colonel’s men?”
Plainly the colonel was to him as the rod to the child.
“Why didn’t you come directly to me?”
“We thought it would be better not to.”
“H’m-m. Your guide — well, what was the colonel’s idea in sending you here? Heavens above, doesn’t he know that a mining camp is no place for a young girl? And you haven’t a sign of a eron, Lou! What the devil can I do? What was in his mind?”
“You haven’t written for a long time.”
“Good Lord! Written! Letters! Does he think I have time for letters?” The lie came smoothly enough. “Working day and night?”
Donnegan smoothed his whiskers and grinned into the night. Landis might prove better game than he had anticipated.
“He worried,” said the girl, and her voice was as even as ever. “He worried, and sent me to find out if anything is wrong.”
Then: “Nonsense! What is there to worry about? Lou, I’m half inclined to think that the colonel doesn’t trust me!”
She did not answer. Was she reading beneath the boisterous assurance of Landis?
“One thing is clear to me — and to you, too, I hope. The first thing is to send you back in a hurry.”
Still no answer.
“Lou, do you distrust me?”
At length she managed to speak, but it was with some difficulty: “There is another reason for sending me.”
“Tell me.”
“Can’t you guess, Jack?”
“I’m not a mind reader.”
“The cad,” said Donnegan through his teeth.
“It’s the old reason.”
“Money?”
“Yes.”
A shadow swept across the side of the tent; it was Landis waving his arm carelessly.
“If that’s all, I can fix you up and send you back with enough to carry the colonel along. Look here — why, I have five hundred with me. Take it, Lou. There’s more behind it, but the colonel mustn’t think that there’s as much money in the mines as people say. No idea how much living costs up here. Heavens, no! And the prices for labor! And then they shirk the job from dawn to dark. I have to watch ’em every minute, I tell you!”
He sighed noisily.
“But the end of it is, dear” — how that small word tore into the heart of Donnegan, who crouched outside— “that you must go back tomorrow morning. I’d send you tonight, if
I could. As a matter of fact, I don’t trust the red-haired rat who—”
The girl interrupted while Donnegan still had control of his hair-trigger temper.
“You forget, Jack. Father sent me here, but he did not tell me to come back.”
At this Jack Landis burst into an enormous laughter.
“You don’t mean, Lou, that you actually intend to stay on?”
“What else can I mean?”
“Of course it makes it awkward if the colonel didn’t expressly tell you just what to do. I suppose he left it to my discretion, and I decide definitely that you must go back at once.”
“I can’t do it.”
“Lou, don’t you hear me saying that I’ll take the responsibility? If your father blames you let him tell me—”
He broke down in the middle of his sentence and another of those uncomfortable little pauses ensued. Donnegan knew that their eyes were miserably upon each other; the man tongue-tied by his guilt; the girl wretchedly guessing at the things which lay behind her fiance’s words.
“I’m sorry you don’t want me here.”
“It isn’t that, but—”
He apparently expected to be interrupted, but she waited coolly for him to finish the sentence, and, of course, he could not. After all, for a helpless girl she had a devilish effective way of muzzling Landis. Donnegan chuckled softly in admiration.
All at once she broke through the scene; her voice did not rise or harden, but it was filled with finality, as though she were weary of the interview.
“I’m tired out; it’s been a hard ride, Jack. You go home now and look me up again any time tomorrow.”
“I — Lou — I feel mighty bad about having you up here in this infernal tent, when the camp is full, and—”: