a fast man with a gun and you're a fast man at thinkin', but I
ask you personal: have you got a chance runnin' under that weight?"

He added fiercely: "I'm through. Now, talk turkey, Donnegan, or you're
done!"

For the first time Donnegan moved. It was to make to big George a
significant signal with his thumb, indicating the visitor. However,
Lester did not wait to be thrown bodily from the cabin. One enormous
oath exploded from his lips, and he backed sullenly through the door and
slammed it after him.

"It kind of looks," said big George, "like a war, sir."

And still Donnegan did not speak, until the afternoon was gone, and the
evening, and the full black of the night had swallowed up the hills
around The Corner.

Then he left the chair, shaved, and dressed carefully, looked to his
revolver, stowed it carefully and invisibly away among his clothes, and
walked leisurely down the hill. An outbreak of cursing, stamping,
hair-tearing, shooting could not have affected big George as this quiet
departure did. He followed, unordered, but as he stepped across the
threshold of the hut he rolled up his eyes to the stars.

"Oh, heavens above," muttered George, "have mercy on Mr. Donnegan. He
ain't happy."

And he went down the hill, making sure that he was fit for battle with
knife and gun.

He had sensed Donnegan's mental condition accurately enough. The heart
of the little man was swelled to the point of breaking. A twenty-hour
vigil had whitened his face, drawn in his cheeks, and painted his eyes
with shadow; and now he wanted action. He wanted excitement, strife,
competition; something to fill his mind. And naturally enough he had two
places in mind--Lebrun's and Milligan's.

It is hard to relate the state of Donnegan's mind at this time. Chiefly,
he was conscious of a peculiar and cruel pain that made him hollow; it
was like homesickness raised to the nth degree. Vaguely he realized
that in some way, somehow, he must fulfill his promise to the girl and
bring Jack Landis home. The colonel dared not harm the boy for fear of
Donnegan; and the girl would be happy. For that very reason Donnegan
wanted to tear Landis to shreds.

It is not extremely heroic for a man tormented with sorrow to go to a
gambling hall and then to a dance hall to seek relief. But Donnegan was
not a hero. He was only a man, and, since his heart was empty, he wanted
something that might fill it. Indeed, like most men, suffering made him
a good