The Max Brand Megapack (180 page)

For George had stood to one side and watched Donnegan indomitably beat down the will of Jack Landis, and the sight would live in his mind forever. Indeed, if Donnegan had bidden the sun to stand in the heavens, the big man would have looked for obedience. That the forbearance of Donnegan should have been based on a desire to serve a girl certainly upset the mind of George, but it taught him an amazing thing—that Donnegan was capable of affection.

The terrible Donnegan went on. In his wake the crowd closed slowly, for many had paused to look after the little man. Until they came to the outskirts of the town and climbed the hill toward the two shacks. The one was, of course, dark. But the shack in which Lou Macon lived burst with light. Donnegan paused to consider this miracle. He listened, and he heard voices—the voice of a man, laughing loudly. Thinking something was wrong, he hurried forward and called loudly.

What he saw when he was admitted made him speechless. Colonel Macon, ensconced in his invalid chair, faced the door, and near him was Lou Macon. Lou rose, half-frightened by the unexpected interruption, but the liquid laughter of the colonel set all to rights at once.

“Come in, Donnegan. Come in, lad,” said the colonel.

“I heard a man’s voice,” Donnegan said half apologetically. The sick color began to leave his face, and relief swept over it slowly. “I thought something might be wrong. I didn’t think of you.” And looking down, as all men will in moments of relaxation from a strain, he did not see the eyes of Lou Macon grow softly luminous as they dwelt upon him.

“Come in, George,” went on the colonel, “and make yourself comfortable in the kitchen. Close the door. Sit down, Donnegan. When your letter came I saw that I was needed here. Lou, have you looked into our friend’s cabin? No? Nothing like a woman’s touch to give a man the feeling of homeliness, Lou. Step over to Donnegan’s cabin and put it to rights. Yes, I know that George takes care of it, but George is one thing, and your care will be another. Besides, I must be alone with him for a moment. Man talk confuses a girl, Lou. You shouldn’t listen to it.”

She withdrew with that faint, dreamy smile with which she so often heard the instructions of her father; as though she were only listening with half of her mind. When she was gone, though the door to the kitchen stood wide open, and big George was in it, the colonel lowered his bass voice so successfully that it was as safe as being alone with Donnegan.

“And now for facts,” he began.

“But,” said Donnegan, “how—that chair—how in the world have you come here?”

The colonel shook his head.

“My dear boy, you grieve and disappoint me. The manner in which a thing is done is not important. Mysteries are usually simply explained. As for my small mystery—a neighbor on the way to The Corner with a wagon stopped in, and I asked him to take me along. So here I am. But now for your work here, lad?”

“Bad,” said Donnegan.

“I gathered you had been unfortunate. And now you have been fighting?”

“You have heard?”

“I see it in your eye, Donnegan. When a man has been looking fear in the face for a time, an image of it remains in his eyes. They are wider, glazed with the other thing.”

“It was forced on me,” said Donnegan. “I have shot Landis.”

He was amazed to see the colonel was vitally affected. His lips remained parted over his next word, and one eyelid twitched violently. But the spasm passed over quickly. When he raised his perfect hands and pressed them together just under his chin. He smiled in a most winning manner that made the blood of Donnegan run cold.

“Donnegan,” he said softly, “I see that I have misjudged you. I underestimated you. I thought, indeed, that your rare qualities were qualified by painful weaknesses. But now I see that you are a man, and from this moment we shall act together with open minds. So you have done it? Tush, then I need not have taken my trip. The work is done; the mines come to me as the heir of Jack. And yet, poor boy, I pity him! He misjudged me; he should not have ventured to this deal with Lord Nick and his compatriots!”

“Wait,” exclaimed Donnegan. “You’re wrong; Landis is not dead.”

Once more the colonel was checked, but this time the alteration in his face was no more than a comma’s pause in a long balanced sentence. It was impossible to obtain more than one show of emotion from him in a single conversation.

“Not dead? Well, Donnegan, that is unfortunate. And after you had punctured him you had no chance to send home the finishing shot?”

Donnegan merely watched the colonel and tapped his bony finger against the point of his chin.

“Ah,” murmured the colonel, “I see another possibility. It is almost as good—it may even be better than his death. You have disabled him, and having done this you at once take him to a place where he shall be under your surveillance—this, in fact, is a very comfortable outlook—for me and my interests. But for you, Donnegan, how the devil do you benefit by having Jack flat on his back, sick, helpless, and in a perfect position to excite all the sympathies of Lou?”

Now, Donnegan had known cold-blooded men in his day, but that there existed such a man as the colonel had never come into his mind. He looked upon the colonel, therefore, with neither disgust nor anger, but with a distant and almost admiring wonder. For perfect evil always wins something akin to admiration from more common people.

“Well,” continued the colonel, a little uneasy under this silent scrutiny—silence was almost the only thing in the world that could trouble him—“well, Donnegan, my lad, this is your plan, is it not?”

“To shoot down Landis, then take possession of him and while I nurse him back to health hold a gun—metaphorically speaking—to his head and make him do as I please: sign some lease, say, of the mines to you?”

The colonel shifted himself to a more comfortable position in his chair, brought the tips of his fingers together under his vast chin, and smiled benevolently upon Donnegan.

“It is as I thought,” he murmured. “Donnegan, you are rare; you are exquisite!”

“And you,” said Donnegan, “are a scoundrel.”

“Exactly. I am very base.” The colonel laughed. “You and I alone can speak with intimate knowledge of me.” His chuckle shook all his body, and set the folds of his face quivering. His mirth died away when he saw Donnegan come to his feet.

“Eh?” he called.

“Good-by,” said Donnegan.

“But where—Landis—Donnegan, what devil is in your eye?”

“A foolish devil, Colonel Macon. I surrender the benefits of all my work for you and go to make sure that you do not lay your hands upon Jack Landis.”

The colonel opened and closed his lips foolishly like a fish gasping silently out of water. It was rare indeed for the colonel to appear foolish.

“In heaven’s name, Donnegan!”

The little man smiled. He had a marvelously wicked smile, which came from the fact that his lips could curve while his eyes remained bright and straight, and malevolently unwrinkled. He laid his hand on the knob of the door.

“Donnegan,” cried the colonel, gray of face, “give me one minute.”

CHAPTER 25

Donnegan stepped to a chair and sat down. He took
out his watch and held it in his hand, studying the dial, and the colonel knew that his time limit was taken literally.

“I swear to you,” he said, “that if you can help me to the possession of Landis while he is ill, I shall not lay a finger upon him or harm him in any way.”

“You swear?” said Donnegan with that ugly smile.

“My dear boy, do you think I am reckless enough to break a promise I have given to you?”

The cynical glance of Donnegan probed the colonel to the heart, but the eyes of the fat man did not wince. Neither did he speak again, but the two calmly stared at each other. At the end of the minute, Donnegan slipped the watch into his pocket.

“I am ready to listen to reason,” he said. And the colonel passed one of his strong hands across his forehead.

“Now,” and he sighed, “I feel that the crisis is passed. With a man of your caliber, Donnegan, I fear a snap judgment above all things. Since you give me a chance to appeal to your reason I feel safe. As from the first, I shall lay my cards upon the table. You are fond of Lou. I took it for granted that you would welcome a chance to brush Landis out of your path. It appears that I am wrong. I admit my error. Only fools cling to convictions; wise men are ready to meet new viewpoints. Very well. You wish to spare Landis for reasons of your own which I do not pretend to fathom. Perhaps, you pity him; I cannot tell. Now, you wonder why I wish to have Landis in my care if I do not intend to put an end to him and thereby become owner of his mines? I shall tell you frankly. I intend to own the mines, if not through the death of Jack, then through a legal act signed by the hand of Jack.”

“A willing signature?” asked Donnegan, calmly.

A shadow came and went across the face of the colonel, and Donnegan caught his breath. There were times when he felt that if the colonel possessed strength of body as well as strength of mind even he, Donnegan, would be afraid of the fat man.

“Willing or unwilling,” said the colonel, “he shall do as I direct!”

“Without force?”

“Listen to me,” said the colonel. “You and I are not children, and therefore we know that ordinary men are commanded rather by fear of what may happen to them than by being confronted with an actual danger. I have told you that I shall not so much as raise the weight of a finger against Jack Landis. I shall not. But a whisper adroitly put in his ear may accomplish the same ends.” He added with a smile. “Personally, I dislike physical violence. In that, Mr. Donnegan, we belong to opposite schools of action.”

The picture came to Donnegan of Landis, lying in the cabin of the colonel, his childish mind worked upon by the devilish insinuation of the colonel. Truly, if Jack did not go mad under the strain he would be very apt to do as the colonel wished.

“I have made a mess of this from the beginning,” said Donnegan, quietly. “In the first place, I intended to play the role of the self-sacrificing. You don’t understand? I didn’t expect that you would. In short, I intended to send Landis back to Lou by making a flash that would dazzle The Corner, and dazzle Nelly Lebrun as well—win her away from Landis, you see? But the fool, as soon as he saw that I was flirting with the girl, lowered his head and charged at me like a bull. I had to strike him down in self-defense.

“But now you ask me to put him wholly in your possession. Colonel, you omit one link in your chain of reasoning. The link is important—to me. What am I to gain by placing him within the range of your whispering?”

“Tush! Do I need to tell you? I still presume you are interested in Lou, though you attempted to do so much to give Landis back to her. Well, Donnegan, you must know that when she learns it was a bullet from your gun that struck down Landis, she’ll hate you, my boy, as if you were a snake. But if she knows that after all you were forced into the fight, and that you took the first opportunity to bring Jack into my—er—paternal care—her sentiments may change. No, they will change.”

Donnegan left his chair and began to pace the floor. He was no more self-conscious in the presence of the colonel than a man might be in the presence of his own evil instincts. And it was typical of the colonel’s insight that he made no attempt to influence the decision of Donnegan after this point was reached. He allowed him to work out the matter in his own way. At length, Donnegan paused.

“What’s the next step?” he asked.

The colonel sighed, and by that sigh he admitted more than words could tell.

“A reasonable man,” he said, “is the delight of my heart. The next step, Donnegan, is to bring Jack Landis to this house.”

“Tush!” said Donnegan. “Bring him away from Lebrun? Bring him away from the tigers of Lord Nick’s gang? I saw them at Milligan’s place tonight. A bad set, Colonel Macon.”

“A set you can handle,” said the colonel, calmly.

“Ah?”

“The danger will in itself be the thing that tempts you,” he went on. “To go among those fellows, wild as they are, and bring Jack Landis away to this house.”

“Bring him here,” said Donnegan with indescribable bitterness, “so that she may pity his wounds? Bring him here where she may think of him and tend him and grow to hate me?”

“Grow to fear you,” said the colonel.

“An excellent thing to accomplish,” said Donnegan coldly.

“I have found it so,” remarked the colonel, and lighted a cigarette.

He drew the smoke so deep that when it issued again from between his lips it was a most transparent, bluish vapor. Fear came upon Donnegan. Not fear, surely, of the fat man, helpless in his invalid’s chair, but fear of the mind working ceaselessly behind those hazy eyes. He turned without a word and went to the door. The moment it opened under his hand, he felt a hysterical impulse to leap out of the room swiftly and slam the door behind him—to put a bar between him and the eye of the colonel, just as a child leaps from the dark room into the lighted and closes the door quickly to keep out the following night. He had to compel himself to move with proper dignity.

When outside, he sighed; the quiet of the night was like a blessing compared with the ordeal of the colonel’s devilish coldness. Macon’s advice had seemed almost logical the moment before. Win Lou Macon by the power of fear, well enough, for was not fear the thing which she had followed all her life? Was it not through fear that the colonel himself had reduced her to such abject, unquestioning obedience?

He went thoughtfully to his own cabin, and, down-headed in his musings, he became aware with a start of Lou Macon in the hut. She had changed the room as her father had bidden her to do. Just wherein the difference lay, Donnegan could not tell. There was a touch of evergreen in one corner; she had laid a strip of bright cloth over the rickety little table, and in ten minutes she had given the hut a semblance of permanent livableness. Donnegan saw her now, with some vestige of the smile of her art upon her face; but she immediately smoothed it to perfect gravity. He had never seen such perfect self-command in a woman.