le 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.

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