The Max Brand Megapack (176 page)

“I tell you, Jack, he’d kill you!”

Something in her terrible assurance whitened the cheeks of Landis, but he was also angered. When a very young man becomes both afraid and angry he is apt to be dangerous. “What do you know of him?” he asked suspiciously.

“You silly! But I saw his face when he lifted that mint. He’d already forgotten about the man he had just shot down. He was thinking of nothing but the scent of the mint. And did you notice his giant servant? He never had a moment’s doubt of Donnegan’s ability to handle the entire crowd. I tell you, it gave me a chill of ghosts to see the big black fellow’s eyes. He knew that Donnegan would win. And Donnegan won! Jack, you’re a big man and a strong man and a brave man, and we all know it. But don’t be foolish. Stay away from Donnegan!”

He wavered just an instant. If she could have sustained her pleading gaze a moment longer she would have won him, but at the critical instant her gaze became distant. She was seeing the calm face of Donnegan as he raised the mint. And as though he understood, Jack Landis hardened.

“I’m glad you don’t want me shot up, Nelly,” he said coldly. “Mighty good of you to watch out for me. But—I’m going to run this Donnegan out of town!”

“He’s never harmed you; why—”

“I don’t like his looks. For a man like me that’s enough!”

And he strode away toward Milligan. He was greeted by a cheer just as the girl reached the side of her father.

“Jack is going,” she said. “Make him come back!”

But the old man was still rubbing his hands; there seemed to be a perpetual chill in the tips of the fingers.

“He is a jackass. The moment I first saw his face I knew that he was meant for gun fodder—buzzard food! Let him go. Bah!”

The girl shivered. “And then the mines?” she asked, changing her tactics.

“Ah, yes. The mines! But leave that to Lord Nick. He’ll handle it well enough!”

So Jack Landis strode up the hill first and foremost of the six stalwart men who wished to correct the stranger’s apparent misunderstandings of the status of The Corner. They were each armed to the teeth and each provided with enough bullets to disturb a small city. All this in honor of Donnegan.

They found the shack wrapped in the warm, mellow light of the late afternoon; and on a flat-topped rock outside it big George sat whittling a stick into a grotesque imitation of a snake coiled. He did not rise when the posse approached. He merely rocked back upon the rock, embraced his knees in both of his enormous arms, and, in a word, transformed himself into a round ball of mirth. But having hugged away his laughter he was able to convert his joy into a vast grin. That smile stopped the posse. When a mob starts for a scene of violence the least exhibition of fear incenses it, but mockery is apt to pour water on its flames of anger.

Decidedly the fury of the posse was chilled by the grin of George. Milligan, who had lived south of the Mason-Dixon line, stepped up to impress George properly.

“Boy,” he said, frowning, “go in and tell your man that we’ve come for him. Tell him to step right out here and get ready to talk. We don’t mean him no harm less’n he can’t explain one or two things. Hop along!”

The “boy” did not stir. Only he shifted his eyes from face to face and his grin broadened. Ripples of mirth waved along his chest and convulsed his face, but still he did not laugh. “Go in and tell them things to Donnegan,” he said. “But don’t ask me to wake him up. He’s sleepin’ soun’ an’ fas’. Like a baby; mostly, he sleeps every day to get rested up for the night. Now, can’t you-all wait till Donnegan wakes up tonight? No? Then step right in, gen’lemen; but if you-all is set on wakin’ him up now, George will jus’ step over the hill, because he don’t want to be near the explosion.”

At this, he allowed his mirth free rein. His laughter shook up to his throat, to his enormous mouth; it rolled and bellowed across the hillside; and the posse stood, each man in his place, and looked frigidly upon one another. But having been laughed at, they felt it necessary to go on, and do or die. So they strode across the hill and were almost to the door when another phenomenon occurred. A girl in a cheap calico dress of blue was seen to run out of a neighboring shack and spring up before the door of Donnegan’s hut. When she faced the crowd it stopped again.

The soft wind was blowing the blue dress into lovely, long, curving lines; about her throat a white collar of some sheer stuff was being lifted into waves, or curling against her cheek; and the golden hair, in disorder, was tousled low upon her forehead.

Whirling thus upon the crowd, she shocked them to a pause, with her parted lips, her flare of delicate color.

“Have you come here,” she cried, “for—for Donnegan?”

“Lady,” began someone, and then looked about for Jack Landis, who was considered quite a hand with the ladies. But Jack Landis was discovered fading out of view down the hillside. One glance at that blue dress had quite routed him, for now he remembered the red-haired man who had escorted Lou Macon to The Corner—and the colonel’s singular trust in this fellow. It explained much, and he fled before he should be noticed.

Before the spokesman could continue his speech, the girl had whipped inside the door. And the posse was dumbfounded. Milligan saw that the advance was ruined. “Boys,” he said, “we came to fight a man; not to storm a house with a woman in it. Let’s go back. We’ll tend to Donnegan later on.”

“We’ll drill him clean!” muttered the others furiously, and straightway the posse departed down the hill.

But inside the girl had found, to her astonishment, that Donnegan was stretched upon his bunk wrapped again in the silken dressing gown and with a smile upon his lips. He looked much younger, as he slept, and perhaps it was this that made the girl steal forward upon tiptoe and touch his shoulder so gently.

He was up on his feet in an instant. Alas, vanity, vanity! Donnegan in shoes was one thing, for his shoes were of a particular kind; but Donnegan in his slippers was a full two inches shorter. He was hardly taller than the girl; he was, if the bitter truth must be known, almost a small man. And Donnegan was furious at having been found by her in such careless attire—and without those dignity-building shoes. First he wanted to cut the throat of big George.

“What have you done, what have you done?” cried the girl, in one of those heart-piercing whispers of fear. “They have come for you—a whole crowd—of armed men—they’re outside the door! What have you done? It was something done for me, I know!”

Donnegan suddenly transferred his wrath from big George to the mob.

“Outside my door?” he asked. And as he spoke he slipped on a belt at which a heavy holster tugged down on one side, and buckled it around him.

“Oh, no, no, no!” she pleaded, and caught him in her arms.

Donnegan allowed her to stop him with that soft power for a moment, until his face went white—as if with pain. Then he adroitly gathered both her wrists into one of his bony hands; and having rendered her powerless, he slipped by her and cast open the door.

It was an empty scene upon which they looked, with big George rocking back and forth upon a rock, convulsed with silent laughter. Donnegan looked sternly at the girl and swallowed. He was fearfully susceptible to mockery.

“There seems to have been a jest?” he said.

But she lifted him a happy, tearful face.

“Ah, thank heaven!” she cried gently.

Oddly enough, Donnegan at this set his teeth and turned upon his heel, and the girl stole out the door again, and closed it softly behind her. As a matter of fact, not even the terrible colonel inspired in her quite the fear which Donnegan instilled.

CHAPTER 19

“Big Lan
dis lost his nerve and sidestepped at the last minute, and then the whole gang faded.”

That was the way the rumors of the affair always ended at each repetition in Lebrun’s and Milligan’s that night. The Corner had had many things to talk about during its brief existence, but nothing to compare with a man who entered a shooting scrape with such a fellow as Scar-faced Lewis all for the sake of a spray of mint. And the main topic of conversation was: Did Donnegan aim at the body or the hand of the bouncer?

On the whole, it was an excellent thing for Milligan’s. The place was fairly well crowded, with a few vacant tables. For everyone wanted to hear Milligan’s version of the affair. He had a short and vigorous one, trimmed with neat oaths. It was all the girl in the blue calico dress, according to him. The posse couldn’t storm a house with a woman in it or even conduct a proper lynching in her presence. And no one was able to smile when Milligan said this. Neither was anyone nervy enough to question the courage of Landis. It looked strange, that sudden flight of his, but then, he was a proven man. Everyone remembered the affair of Lester. It had been a clean-cut fight, and Jack Landis had won cleanly on his merits.

Nevertheless some of the whispers had not failed to come to the big man, and his brow was black.

The most terribly heartless and selfish passion of all is shame in a young man. To repay the sidelong glances which he met on every side, Jack Landis would have willingly crowded every living soul in The Corner into one house and touched a match to it. And chiefly because he felt the injustice of the suspicion. He had no fear of Donnegan.

He had a theory that little men had little souls. Not that he ever formulated the theory in words, but he vaguely felt it and adhered to it. He had more fear of one man of six two than a dozen under five ten. He reserved in his heart of hearts a place of awe for one man whom he had never seen. That was for Lord Nick, for that celebrated character was said to be as tall and as finely built as Jack Landis himself. But as for Donnegan—Landis wished there were three Donnegans instead of one.

Tonight his cue was surly silence. For Nelly Lebrun had been warned by her father, and she was making desperate efforts to recover any ground she might have lost. Besides, to lose Jack Landis would be to lose the most spectacular fellow in The Corner, to say nothing of the one who held the largest and the choicest of the mines. The blond, good looks of Landis made a perfect background for her dark beauty. With all these stakes to play for, Nelly outdid herself. If she were attractive enough ordinarily, when she exerted herself to fascinate, Nelly was intoxicating. What chance had poor Jack Landis against her? He did not call for her that night but went to play gloomily at Lebrun’s until Nelly walked into Lebrun’s and drew him away from a table. Half an hour later she had him whirling through a dance in Milligan’s and had danced the gloom out of his mind for the moment. Before the evening was well under way, Landis was making love to her openly, and Nelly was in the position of one who had roused the bear.

It was a dangerous flirtation and it was growing clumsy. In any place other than The Corner it would have been embarrassing long ago; and when Jack Landis, after a dance, put his one big hand over both of Nelly’s and held her moveless while he poured out a passionate declaration, Nelly realized that something must be done. Just what she could not tell.

And it was at this very moment that a wave of silence, beginning at the door, rushed across Milligan’s dance floor. It stopped the bartenders in the act of mixing drinks; it put the musicians out of key, and in the midst of a waltz phrase they broke down and came to a discordant pause.

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?”