by Max Brand
“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 wonde
r. “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.
CHAPTER 35
When Nelly Lebrun raised her head from her hands, Donnegan was a far figure; yet even in the distance she could catch the lilt and easy sway of his body; he rode as he walked, lightly, his feet in the stirrups half taking his weight in a semi-English fashion. For a moment she was on the verge of spurring after him, but she kept the rein taut and merely stared until he dipped away among the hills. For one thing she was quite assured that she could not overtake that hard rider; and, again, she felt that it was useless to interfere. To step between Lord Nick and one of his purposes would have been like stepping before an avalanche and commanding it to halt with a raised hand.
She watched miserably until even the dust cloud dissolved and the bare, brown hills alone remained before her. Then she turned away, and hour after hour let her black jog on.
To Nelly Lebrun this day was one of those still times which come over the life of a person, and in which they see themselves in relation to the rest of the world clearly. It would not be true to say that Nelly loved Donnegan. Certainly not as yet, for the familiar figure of Lord Nick filled her imagination. But the little man was different. Lord Nick commanded respect, admiration, obedience; but there was about Donnegan something which touched her in an intimate and disturbing manner. She had felt the will-o’-the-wisp flame which burned in him in his great moments. It was possible for her to smile at Donnegan; it was possible even to pity him for his fragility, his touchy pride about his size; to criticize his fondness for taking the center of the stage even in a cheap little mining camp like this and strutting about, the center of all attention. Yet there were qualities in him which escaped her, a possibility of metallic hardness, a pitiless fire of purpose.
To Lord Nick, he was as the bull terrier to the mastiff.
But above all she could not dislodge the memory of his strange talk with her at Lebrun’s. Not that she did not season the odd avowals of Donnegan with a grain of salt, but even when she had discounted all that he said, she retained a quivering interest. Somewhere beneath his words she sensed reality. Somewhere beneath his actions she felt a selfless willingness to throw himself away.
As she rode she was comparing him steadily with Lord Nick. And as she made the comparisons she felt more and more assured that she could pick and choose between the two. They loved her, both of them. With Nick it was an old story; with Donnegan it might be equally true in spite of its newness. And Nelly Lebrun felt rich. Not that she would have been willing to give up Lord Nick. By no means. But neither was she willing to throw away Donnegan. Diamonds in one hand and pearls in the other. Which handful must she discard?
She remained riding an unconscionable length of time, and when she drew rein again before her father’s house, the black was flecked with foam from his clamped bit, and there was a thick lather under the stirrup leathers. She threw the reins to the servant who answered her call and went slowly into the house.
Donnegan, by this time, was dead. She began to feel that it would be hard to look Lord Nick in the face again. His other killings had often seemed to her glorious. She had rejoiced in the invincibility of her lover.
Now he suddenly took on the aspect of a murderer.
She found the house hushed. Perhaps everyone was at the gaming house; for now it was midafternoon. But when she opened the door to the apartment which they used as a living room she found Joe Rix and the Pedlar and Lester sitting side by side, silent. There was no whisky in sight; there were no cards to be seen. Marvel of marvels, these three men were spending their time in solemn thought. A sudden thought rushed over her, and her cry told where her heart really lay, at least at this time.
“Lord Nick—has he been—”
The Pedlar lifted his gaunt head and stared at her without expression. It was Joe Rix who answered.
“Nick’s upstairs.”
“Safe?”
“Not a scratch.”
She sank into a chair with a sigh, but was instantly on edge again with the second thought.
“Donnegan?” she whispered.
“Safe and sound,” said Lester coldly.
She could not gather the truth of the statement.
“Then Nick got Landis back before Donnegan returned?”
“No.”
Like any other girl, Nelly Lebrun hated a puzzle above all things in the world, at least a puzzle which affected her new friends.
“Lester, what’s happened?” she demanded.
At this Lester, who had been brooding upon the floor, raised his eyes and then switched one leg over the other. He was a typical cowman, was Lester, from his crimson handkerchief knotted around his throat to his shop-made boots which fitted slenderly about his instep with the care of a gloved hand.
“I dunno what happened,” said Lester. “Which looks like what counts is the things that didn’t happen. Landis is still with that devil, Macon. Donnegan is loose without a scratch, and Lord Nick is in his room with a face as black as a cloudy night.”
And briefly he described how Lord Nick had gone up the hill, seen the colonel, come back, taken a horse litter, and gone up the hill again, while the populace of The Corner waited for a crash. For Donnegan had arrived in the meantime. And how Nick had gone into the cabin, remained a singularly long time, and then come out, with a face half white and half red and an eye that dared anyone to ask questions. He had strode straight home to Lebrun’s and gone to his room; and there he remained, never making
a sound.
“But I’ll give you my way of readin’ the sign on that trail,” said Lester. “Nick goes up the hill to clean up on Donnegan. He sees him; they size each other up in a flash; they figure that if they’s a gun it means a double killin’—and they simply haul off and say a perlite fare-thee-well.”
The girl paid no attention to these remarks. She was sunk in a brown study.
“There’s something behind it all,” she said, more to herself than to the men. “Nick is proud as the devil himself. And I can’t imagine why he’d let Donnegan go. Oh, it might have been done if they’d met alone in the desert. But with the whole town looking on and waiting for Nick to clean up on Donnegan—no, it isn’t possible. There must have been a showdown of some kind.”
There was a grim little silence after this.
“Maybe there was,” said the Pedlar dryly. “Maybe there was a showdown—and the wind-up of it is that Nick comes home meek as a six-year-old broke down in front.”
She stared at him, first astonished, and then almost frightened.
“You mean that Nick may have taken water?”
The three, as one man, shrugged their shoulders, and met her glance with cold eyes.
“You fools!” cried the girl, springing to her feet. “He’d rather die!”
Joe Rix leaned forward, and to emphasize his point he stabbed one dirty forefinger into the fat palm of his other hand.
“You just start thinkin’ back,” he said solemnly, “and you’ll remember that Donnegan has done some pretty slick things.”
Lester added with a touch of contempt: “Like shootin’ down Landis one day and then sittin’ down and havin’ a nice long chat with you the next. I dunno how he does it.”
“That hunch of yours,” said the girl fiercely, “ought to be roped and branded—lie! Lester, don’t look at me like that. And if you think Nick has lost his grip on things you’re dead wrong. Step light, Lester—and the rest of you. Or Nick may hear you walk—and think.”
She flung out of the room and raced up the stairs to Lord Nick’s room. There was an interval without response after her first knock. But when she rapped again he called out to know who was there. At her answer she heard his heavy stride cross the room, and the door opened slowly. His face, as she looked up to it, was so changed that she hardly knew him. His hair was unkempt, on end, where he had sat with his fingers thrust into it, buried in thought. And the marks of his palms were red upon his forehead.
