by Brand, Max
It was the impossible nature of this that tempted Donnegan. But the paradoxical picture of the ragged skulker in Milligan's actually sitting at the same table with Nelly Lebrun and receiving her smiles stayed with him. He intended to rise, literally Phoenixlike, out of ashes. And the next morning, in the red time of the dawn, he sat drinking the coffee which George Washington Green had made for him and considering the details of the problem. Clothes, which had been a main obstacle, were now accounted for, since, as he had suspected, the packs of Godwin contained a luxurious wardrobe of considerable compass. At that moment, for instance, Donnegan was wrapped in a dressing gown of padded silk and his feet were encased in slippers.
But clothes were the least part of his worries. To startle The Corner, and thereby make himself attractive in the eyes of Nelly Lebrun, overshadowing Jack Landis--that was the thing! But to startle The Corner, where gold strikes were events of every twenty-four hours, just now--where robberies were common gossip, and where the killings now averaged nearly three a day--to startle The Corner was like trying to startle the theatrical world with a sensational play. Indeed, this parallel could have been pursued, for Donnegan was the nameless actor and the mountain desert was the stage on which he intended to become a headliner. No wonder, then, that his lean face was compressed in thought. Yet no one could have guessed it by his conversation. At the moment he was interrupted, his talk ran somewhat as follows.
"George, Godwin taught you how to make coffee?"
"Yes, sir," from George. Since the night before he had appeared totally subdued. Never once did he venture a comment. And ever Donnegan was conscious of big, bright eyes watching him in a reverent fear not untinged by superstition. Once, in the middle of the night, he had wakened and seen the vast shadow of George's form leaning over the sack of money. Murder by stealth in the dark had been in the giant's mind, no doubt. But when, after that, he came and leaned over Donnegan's bunk, the master closed his eyes and kept on breathing regularly, and finally George returned to his own place--softly as a gigantic cat. Even in the master's sleep he found something to be dreaded, and Donnegan knew that he could now trust the fellow through anything. In the morning, at the first touch of light, he had gone to the stores and collected provisions. And a comfortable breakfast followed.
"Godwin," resumed Donnegan, "was talented in many ways."
The big man showed his teeth in silence; for since Godwin proposed the sacrifice of the servant to preserve himself, George had apparently altered his opinion of the gambler.
"A talented man, George, but he knew nothing about coffee. It should never boil. It should only begin to cream through the crust. Let that happen; take the pot from the fire; put it back and let the surface cream again. Do this three times, and then pour the liquid from the grounds and you have the right strength and the right heating. You understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"And concerning the frying of bacon--"
At this point the interruption came in the shape of four men at the open door; and one of these Donnegan recognized as the real estate dealer, who had shrewdly set up tents and shacks on every favorable spot in The Corner and was now reaping a rich harvest. Gloster was his name. It was patent that he did not see in the man in the silk dressing robe the unshaven miscreant of the day before who had rented the two tents.
"How'dee," he said, standing on the threshold, with the other three in the background.
Donnegan looked at him and through him.
"My name is Gloster. I own this shack and I've come to find out why you're in it."
"George," said Donnegan, "speak to him. Tel! him that I know houses are scarce in The Corner; that I found this place by accident vacant; that I intend to stay in it on purpose."
George Washington Green instantly rose to the situation; he swallowed a vast grin and strode to the door. And though Mr. Gloster's face crimsoned with rage at such treatment he controlled his voice. In The Corner manhood was apt to be reckoned by the pound, and George was a giant.
"I heard what your boss said, buddie," said Gloster. "But I've rented this cabin and the next one to these three gents and their party, and they want a home. Nothing to do but vacate. Which speed is the thing I want. Thirty minutes will--"
"Thirty minutes don't change nothing," declared George in his deep, soft voice.
The real estate man choked. Then: "You tell your boss that jumping a cabin is like jumping a claim. They's a law in The Corner for gents like him."
George made a gesture of helplessness; but Gloster turned to the three.
"Both shacks or none at all," said the spokesman. "One ain't big enough to do us any good. But if this bird won't vamoose--"
He was a tolerably rough-appearing sort and he was backed by two of a kind. No doubt dangerous action would have followed had not George shown himself capable of rising to a height. He stepped from the door; he approached Gloster and said in a confidential whisper that reached easily to the other three: "They ain't any call for a quick play, mister. Watch yo'selves. Maybe you don't know who the boss is?"
"And what's more, I don't care," said Gloster defiantly but with his voice instinctively lowered. He stared past George, and behold, the man in the dressing gown still sat in quiet and sipped his coffee.
"It's Donnegan," whispered George.
"Don--who's he?"
"You don't know Donnegan?"
The mingled contempt and astonishment of George would have moved a thing of stone. It certainly troubled Gloster. And he turned to the three.
"Gents," he said, "they's two things we can do. Try the law--and law's a lame lady in these parts--or throw him out. Say which?"
The three looked from Gloster to the shack; from the shack to Donnegan, absently sipping his coffee; from Donnegan to George, who stood exhibiting a broad grin of anticipated delight. The contrast was too much for them.
There is one great and deep-seated terror in the mountain desert, and that is for the man who may be other than he seems. The giant with the rough voice and the boisterous ways is generally due for a stormy passage west of the Rockies; but the silent man with the gentle manners receives respect. Traditions live of desperadoes with exteriors of womanish calm and the action of devils. And Donnegan sipping his morning coffee fitted into the picture which rumor had painted. The three looked at one another, declared that they had not come to fight for a house but to rent one, that the real estate agent could go to the devil for all of them, and that they were bound elsewhere. So they departed and left Gloster both relieved and gloomy.
"Now," said Donnegan to George, "tell him that we'll take both the shacks, and he can add fifty per cent to his old price."
The bargain was concluded on the spot; the money was paid by George. Gloster went down the hill to tell The Corner that a mystery had hit the town and George brought the canvas bag back to Donnegan with the top still untied--as though to let it be seen that he had not pocketed any of the gold.
"I don't want to count it," said Donnegan. "Keep the bag, George. Keep money in your pocket. Treat both of us well. And when that's gone I'll get more."
If the manner in which Donnegan had handled the renting of the cabins had charmed George, he was wholly entranced by this last touch of free spending. To serve a man who was his master was one thing; to serve one who trusted him so completely was quite another. To live under the same roof with a man who was a riddle was sufficiently delightful; but to be allowed actually to share in the mystery was a superhappiness. He was singing when he started to wash the dishes, and Donnegan went across the hill to the tent of Lou Macon.
She was laying the fire before the tent; and the morning freshness had cleared from her face any vestige of the trouble of the night before; and in the slant light her hair was glorious, all ruffling gold, semitransparent. She did not smile at him; but she could give the effect of smiling while her face remained grave; it was her inward calm content of which people were aware.
"You missed me?"
"Yes."<
br />
"You were worried?"
"No."
He felt himself put quietly at a distance. So he took her up the hill to her new home--the shack beside his own; and George cooked her breakfast. When she had been served, Donnegan drew the big man to one side.
"She's your mistress," said Donnegan. "Everything you do for her is worth two things you do for me. Watch her as if she were in your eye. And if a hair of her head is ever harmed--you see that fire burning yonder--the bed of coals?"
"Sir?"
"I'll catch you and make a fire like that and feed you into it--by inches!"
And the pale face of Donnegan became for an instant the face of a demon. George Washington Green saw, and never forgot.
Afterward, in order that he might think, Donnegan got on one of the horses he had taken from Godwin and rode over the hills. They were both leggy chestnuts, with surprising signs of blood' and all the earmarks of sprinters; but in Godwin's trade sharp getaways were probably often necessary. The pleasure he took in the action of the animal kept him from getting into his problem.
How to startle The Corner? How follow up the opening gun which he had fired at the expense of Gloster and the three miners?
He broke off, later in the day, to write a letter to Colonel Macon, informing him that Jack Landis was tied hard and fast by Nelly Lebrun and that for the present nothing could be done except wait, unless the colonel had suggestions to offer.
The thought of the colonel, however, stimulated Donnegan. And before midafternoon he had thought of a thing to do.
* * *
17
The bar in Milligan's was not nearly so pretentious an affair as the bar in Lebrun's, but it was of a far higher class. Milligan had even managed to bring in a few bottles of wine, and he had dispensed cheap claret at two dollars a glass when the miners wished to celebrate a rare occasion. There were complaints, not of the taste, but of the lack of strength. So Milligan fortified his liquor with pure alcohol and after that the claret went like a sweet song in The Corner. Among other things, he sold mint juleps; and it was the memory of the big sign proclaiming this fact that furnished Donnegan with his idea.
He had George Washington Green put on his town clothes--a riding suit in which Godwin had had him dress for the sake of formal occasions. Resplendent in black boots, yellow riding breeches, and blue silk shirt, the big man came before Donnegan for instructions.
"Go down to Milligan's," said the master. "They don't allow colored people to enter the door, but you go to the door and start for the bar. They won't let you go very far. When they stop you, tell them you come from Donnegan and that you have to get me some mint for a julep. Insist. The bouncer will start to throw you out."
George showed his teeth.
"No fighting back. Don't lift your hand. When you find that you can't get in, come back here. Now, ride."
So George mounted the horse and went. Straight to Milligan's he rode and dismounted; and half of The Corner's scant daytime population came into the street to see the brilliant horseman pass.
Scar-faced Lewis met the big man at the door. And size meant little to Andy, except an easier target.
"Well, confound my soul," said Lewis, blocking the way. "A Negro in Milligan's? Get out!"
Big George did not move.
"I been sent, mister," he said mildly. "I been sent for enough mint to make a julep."
"You been sent to the wrong place," declared Andy, hitching at his cartridge belt. "Ain't you seen that sign?"
And he pointed to the one which eliminated colored patrons.
"Signs don't mean nothin' to my boss," said George.
"Who's he?"
"Donnegan."
"And who's Donnegan?"
It puzzled George. He scratched his head in bewilderment seeking for an explanation. "Donnegan is--Donnegan," he explained.
"I heard Gloster talk about him," offered someone in the rapidly growing group. "He's the gent that rented the two places on the hill."
"Tell him to come himse'f," said Andy Lewis. "We don't play no favorites at Milligan's."
"Mister," said big George, "I don't want to bring no trouble on this heah place, but--don't make me go back and bring Donnegan."
Even Andy Lewis was staggered by this assurance.
"Rules is rules," he finally decided. "And out you go."
Big George stepped from the doorway and mounted his horse.
"I call on all you gen'lemen," he said to the assembled group, "to say that I done tried my best to do this peaceable. It ain't me that's sent for Donnegan; it's him!"
He rode away, leaving Scar-faced Lewis biting his long mustaches in anxiety. He was not exactly afraid, but he waited in the suspense which comes before a battle. Moreover, an audience was gathering. The word went about as only a rumor of mischief can travel. New men had gathered. The few day gamblers tumbled out of Lebrun's across the street to watch the fun. The storekeepers were in their doors. Lebrun himself, withered and dark and yellow of eye, came to watch. And here and there through the crowd there was a spot of color where the women of the town appeared. And among others, Nelly Lebrun with Jack Landis beside her. On the whole it was not a large crowd, but what it lacked in size it made up in intense interest.
For though The Corner had had its share of troubles of fist and gun, most of them were entirely impromptu affairs. Here was a fight in the offing for which the stage was set, the actors set in full view of a conveniently posted audience, and all the suspense of a curtain rising. The waiting bore in upon Andy Lewis. Without a doubt he intended to kill his man neatly and with dispatch, but the possibility of missing before such a crowd as this sent a chill up and down his spine. If he failed now his name would be a sign for laughter ever after in The Corner.
A hum passed down the street; it rose to a chuckle, and then fell away to sudden silence, for Donnegan was coming.
He came on a prancing chestnut horse which sidled uneasily on a weaving course, as though it wished to show off for the benefit of the rider and the crowd at once. It was a hot afternoon and Donnegan's linen riding suit shone an immaculate white. He came straight down the street, as unaware of the audience which awaited him as though he rode in a park where crowds were the common thing. Behind him came George Green, just a careful length back. Rumor went before the two with a whisper on either side.
"That's Donnegan. There he comes!"
"Who's Donnegan?"
"Gloster's man. The one who bluffed out Gloster and three others."
"He pulled his shooting iron and trimmed the whiskers of one of 'em with a chunk of lead."
"D'you mean that?"
"What's that kind of a gent doing in The Corner?"
"Come to buy, I guess. He looks like money."
"Looks like a confounded dude."
"We'll see his hand in a minute."
Donnegan was now opposite the dance hall, and Andy Lewis had his hand touching the butt of his gun, but though Donnegan was looking straight at him, he kept his reins in one hand and his heavy riding crop in the other. And without a move toward his own gun, he rode straight up to the door of the dance hall, with Andy in front of it. George drew rein behind him and turned upon the crowd one broad, superior grin.
As who should say: "I promised you lightning; now watch it strike!"
If the crowd had been expectant before, it was now reduced to wire-drawn tenseness.
"Are you the fellow who turned back my man?" asked Donnegan.
His quiet voice fell coldly upon the soul of Andy. He strove to warm himself by an outbreak of temper.
"They ain't any poor fool dude can call me a fellow!" he shouted.
The crowd blinked; but when it opened its eyes the gunplay had not occurred. The hand of Andy was relaxing from the butt of his gun and an expression of astonishment and contempt was growing upon his face.
"I haven't come to curse you," said the rider, still occupying his hands with crop and reins. "I've come to ask you a question and get an a
nswer. Are you the fellow who turned back my man?"
"I guess you ain't the kind I was expectin' to call on me," drawled Andy, his fear gone, and he winked at the crowd. But the others were not yet ready to laugh. Something about the calm face of Donnegan had impressed them. "Sure, I'm the one that kicked him out. He ain't allowed in there."
"It's the last of my thoughts to break in upon a convention in your city," replied the grave rider, "but my man was sent on an errand and therefore he had a right to expect courtesy. George, get off your horse and go into Milligan's place. I want that mint!"
For a moment Andy was too stunned to answer. Then his voice came harshly and he swayed from side to side, gathering and summoning his wrath.
"Keep out boy! Keep out, or you're buzzard meat. I'm warnin'--"
For the first time his glance left the rider to find George, and that instant was fatal. The hand of Donnegan licked out as the snake's tongue darts--the loaded quirt slipped over in his hand, and holding it by the lash he brought the butt of it thudding on the head of Andy.
Even then the instinct to fight remained in the stunned man; while he fell, he was drawing the revolver; he lay in a crumpling heap at the feet of Donnegan's horse with the revolver shoved muzzle first into the sand.
Donnegan's voice did not rise.
"Go in and get that mint, George," he ordered. "And hurry. This rascal has kept me waiting until I'm thirsty."
Big George hesitated only one instant--it was to sweep the crowd for the second time with his confident grin--and he strode through the door of the dance hall. As for Donnegan, his only movement was to swing his horse around and shift riding crop and reins into the grip of his left hand. His other hand was dropped carelessly upon his hip. Now, both these things were very simple maneuvers, but The Corner noted that his change of face had enabled Donnegan to bring the crowd under his eye, and that his right hand was now ready for a more serious bit of work if need be. Moreover, he was probing faces with his glance. And every armed man in that group felt that the eye of the rider was directed particularly toward him.
