The Max Brand Megapack (183 page)

And while he kneeled there a door in the house was opened and closed softly. Donnegan stood up.

“Is the door locked?”

“No,” whispered the girl.

“Quick!”

“Too late. It’s father, and he’d hear the turning of the key.”

They waited, while the light, quick step came down the hall of the cabin. It came to the door, it went past; and then the steps retraced and the door was opened gently.

There was a light in the hall; the form of Lebrun was outlined black and distinct.

“Jack!” he whispered.

No sound; he made as if to enter, and then he heard the heavy breathing of the sleeper, apparently.

“Asleep, poor fool,” murmured the gambler, and closed the door.

The door was no sooner closed than Donnegan had raised the body of the sleeper. Once, as he rose, straining, it nearly slipped from his arms; and when he stood erect he staggered. But once he had gained his equilibrium, he carried the wounded man easily enough to the window through which George reached his long arms and lifted out the burden.

“You see?” said Donnegan, panting, to the girl.

“Yes; it was really wonderful!”

“You are laughing, now.”

“I? But hurry. My father has a fox’s ear for noises.”

“He will not hear this, I think.” There was a swift scuffle, very soft of movement.

“Nelly!” called a far-off voice.

“Hurry, hurry! Don’t you hear?”

“You forgive me?”

“No—yes—but hurry!”

“You will remember me?”

“Mr. Donnegan!”

“Adieu!”

She caught a picture of him sitting in the window for the split part of a second, with his hat off, bowing to her. Then he was gone. And she went into the hall, panting with excitement.

“Heavens!” Nelly Lebrun murmured. “I feel as if I had been hunted, and I must look it. What if he—” Whatever the thought was she did not complete it. “It may have been for the best,” added Nelly Lebrun.

CHAPTER 29

It is your phlegmatic pe
rson who can waken easily in the morning, but an active mind readjusts itself slowly to the day. So Nelly Lebrun roused herself with an effort and scowled toward the door at which the hand was still rapping.

“Yes?” she called drowsily.

“This is Nick. May I come in?”

“This is who?”

The name had brought her instantly into complete wakefulness; she was out of the bed, had slipped her feet into her slippers and whipped a dressing gown around her while she was asking the question. It was a luxurious little boudoir which she had managed to equip. Skins of the lynx, cunningly matched, had been sewn together to make her a rug, and the soft fur of the wildcat was the outer covering of her bed. She threw back the tumbled bedclothes, tossed half a dozen pillows into place, transforming it into a day couch, and ran to the mirror.

And in the meantime, the deep voice outside the door was saying: “Yes, Nick. May I come in?”

She gave a little ecstatic cry, but while it was still tingling on her lips, she was winding her hair into shape with lightning speed; had dipped the tips of her fingers in cold water and rubbed her eyes awake and brilliant, and with one circular rub had brought the color into her cheeks.

Scarcely ten seconds from the time when she first answered the knock, Nelly was opening the door and peeping out into the hall.

The rest was done by the man without; he cast the door open with the pressure of his foot, caught the girl in his arms, and kissed her; and while he closed the door the girl slipped back and stood with one hand pressed against her face, and her face held that delightful expression halfway between laughter and embarrassment. As for Lord Nick, he did not even smile. He was not, in fact, a man who was prone to gentle expressions, but having been framed by nature for a strong dominance over all around him, his habitual expression was a proud self-containment. It would have been insolence in another man; in Lord Nick it was rather leonine.

He was fully as tall as Jack Landis, but he carried his height easily, and was so perfectly proportioned that unless he was seen beside another man he did not look large. The breadth of his shoulders was concealed by the depth of his chest; and the girth of his throat was made to appear quite normal by the lordly size of the head it supported. To crown and set off his magnificent body there was a handsome face; and he had the combination of active eyes and red hair, which was noticeable in Donnegan, too. In fact, there was a certain resemblance between the two men; in the set of the jaw for instance, in the gleam of the eye, and above all in an indescribable ardor of spirit, which exuded from them both. Except, of course, that in Donnegan, one was conscious of all spirit and very little body, but in Lord Nick hand and eye were terribly mated. Looking upon so splendid a figure, it was no wonder that the mountain desert had forgiven the crimes of Lord Nick because of the careless insolence with which he treated the law. It requires an exceptional man to make a legal life attractive and respected; it takes a genius to make law-breaking glorious.

No wonder that Nelly Lebrun stood with her hand against her cheek, looking him over, smiling happily at him, and questioning him about his immediate past all in the same glance. He waved her back to her couch, and she hesitated. Then, as though she remembered that she now had to do with Lord Nick in person, she obediently curled up on the lounge, and waited expectantly.

“I hear you’ve been raising the devil,” said this singularly frank admirer.

The girl merely looked at him.

“Well?” he insisted.

“I haven’t done a thing,” protested Nelly rather childishly.

“No?” One felt that he could have crushed her with evidence to the contrary but that he was restraining himself—it was not worthwhile to bother with such a girl seriously. “Things have fallen into a tangle since I left, old Satan Macon is on the spot and your rat of a father has let Landis get away. What have you been doing, Nelly, while all this was going on? Sitting with your eyes closed?”

He took a chair and lounged back in it gracefully.

“How could I help it? I’m not a watchdog.”

He was silent for a time. “Well,” he said, “if you told me the truth I suppose I shouldn’t love you, my girl. But this time I’m in earnest. Landis is a mint, silly child. If we let him go we lose the mint.”

“I suppose you’ll get him back?”

“First, I want to find out how he got away.”

“I know how.”

“Ah?”

“Donnegan.”

“Donnegan, Donnegan, Donnegan!” burst out Lord Nick, and though he did not raise the pitch of his voice, he allowed its volume to swell softly so that it filled the room like the humming of a great, angry tiger. “Nobody says three words without putting in the name of Donnegan as one of them! You, too!”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Donnegan thrills The Corner!” went on the big man in the same terrible voice. “Donnegan wears queer clothes; Donnegan shoots Scar-faced Lewis; Donnegan pumps the nerve out of poor Jack Landis and then drills him. Why, Nelly, it looks as though I’ll have to kill this intruding fool!”

She blanched at this, but did not appear to notice.

“It’s a long time since you’ve killed a man, isn’t it?” she asked coldly.

“It’s an awful business,” declared Lord Nick. “Always complications; have to throw the blame on the other fellow. And even these blockheads are beginning to get tired of my self-defense pleas.”

“Well,” murmured the girl, “don’t cross that bridge until you come to it; and you’ll never come to it.”

“Never. Because I don’t want him killed.”

“Ah,” Lord Nick murmured. “And why?”

“Because he’s in love—with me.”

“Tush!” said Lord Nick. “I see you, my dear. Donnegan seems to be a rare fellow, but he couldn’t have gotten Landis out of this house without help. Rix and the Pedlar may have been a bit sleepy, but Donnegan had to find out when they fell asleep. He had a confederate. Who? Not Rix; not the Pedlar; not Lebrun. They all know me. It had to be someone who doesn’t fear me. Who? Only one person in the world. Nelly, you’re the one!”

She hesitated a breathless instant.

“Yes,” she said. “I am.”

She added, as he stared calmly at her, considering: “There’s a girl in the case. She came up here to get Landis; seems he was in love with her once. And I pitied her. I sent him back to her. Suppose he is a mint; haven’t we coined enough money out of him? Besides, I couldn’t have kept on with it.”

“No?”

“He was getting violent, and he talked marriage all day, every day. I haven’t any nerves, you say, but he began to put me on edge. So I got rid of him.”

“Nelly, are you growing a conscience?”

She flushed and then set her teeth.

“But I’ll have to teach you business methods, my dear. I have to bring him back.”

“You’ll have to go through Donnegan to do it.”

“I suppose so.”

“You don’t understand, Nick. He’s different.”

“Eh?”

“He’s like you.”

“What are you driving at?”

“Nick, I tell you upon my word of honor, no matter what a terrible fighter you may be, Donnegan will give you trouble. He has your hair and your eyes and he moves like a cat. I’ve never seen such a man—except you. I’d rather see you fight the plague than fight Donnegan!”

For the first time Lord Nick showed real emotion; he leaned a little forward.

“Just what does he mean to you?” he asked. “I’ve stood for a good deal, Nelly; I’ve given you absolute freedom, but if I ever suspect you—”

The lion was up in him unmistakably now. And the girl shrank.

“If it were serious, do you suppose I’d talk like this?”

“I don’t know. You’re a clever little devil, Nell. But I’m clever, too. And I begin to see through you. Do you still want to save Donnegan?”

“For your own sake.”

He stood up.

“I’m going up the hill today. If Donnegan’s there, I’ll go through him; but I’m going to have Landis back!”

She, also, rose.

“There’s only one way out and I’ll take that way. I’ll get Donnegan to leave the house.”

“I don’t care what you do about that.”

“And if he isn’t there, will you give me your word that you won’t hunt him out afterward?”

“I never make promises, Nell.”

“But I’ll trust you, Nick.”

“Very well. I start up the hill in an hour. You have that long.”

CHAPTER 30

The air was thin and chilly;
snow had fallen in the mountains to the north, and the wind was bringing the cold down to The Corner. Nelly Lebrun noted this as she dressed and made up her mind accordingly. She sent out two messages: one to the cook to send breakfast to her room, which she ate while she finished dressing with care; and the other to the gambling house, summoning one of the waiters. When he came, she gave him a note for Donnegan. The fellow flashed a glance at her as he took the envelope. There was no need to give that name and address in The Corner, and the girl tingled under the glance.

She finished her breakfast and then concentrated in polishing up her appearance. From all of which it may be gathered that Nelly Lebrun was in love with Donnegan, but she really was not. But he had touched in her that cord of romance which runs through every woman; whenever it is touched the vibration is music, and Nelly was filled with the sound of it. And except for Lord Nick, there is no doubt that she would have really lost her head; for she kept seeing the face of Donnegan, as he had leaned toward her across the little table in Milligan’s. And that, as anyone may know, is a dangerous symptom.

Her glances were alternating between her mirror and her watch, and the hands of the latter pointed to the fact that fifty minutes of her hour had elapsed when a message came up that she was waited for in the street below. So Nelly Lebrun went down in her riding costume, the corduroy swishing at each step, and tapping her shining boots with the riding crop. Her own horse she found at the hitching rack, and beside it Donnegan was on his chestnut horse. It was a tall horse, and he looked more diminutive than ever before, pitched so high in the saddle.

He was on the ground in a flash with the reins tucked under one arm and his hat under the other; she became aware of gloves and white-linen stock, and pale, narrow face. Truly Donnegan made a natty appearance.

“There’s no day like a cool day for riding,” she said, “and I thought you might agree with me.”

He untethered her horse while he murmured an answer. But for his attitude she cared little so long as she had him riding away from that house on the hill where Lord Nick in all his terror would appear in some few minutes. Besides, as they swung up the road—the chestnut at a long-strided canter and Nelly’s black at a soft and choppy pace—the wind of the gallop struck into her face; Nelly was made to enjoy things one by one and not two by two. They hit over the hills, and when the first impulse of the ride was done they were a mile or more away from The Corner—and Lord Nick.

The resemblance between the two men was less striking now that she had Donnegan beside her. He seemed more wizened, paler, and intense as a violin string screwed to the snapping point; there was none of the lordly tolerance of Nick about him; he was like a bull terrier compared with a stag hound. And only the color of his eyes and his hair made her make the comparison at all.

“What could be better?” she said when they checked their horses on a hilltop to look over a gradual falling of the ground below. “What could be better?” The wind flattened a loose curl of hair against her cheek, and overhead the wild geese were flying and crying, small and far away.

“One thing better,” said Donnegan, “and that is to sit in a chair and see this.”

She frowned at such frankness; it was almost blunt discourtesy.

“You see, I’m a lazy man.”

“How long has it been,” the girl asked sharply, “since you have slept?”

“Two days, I think.”

“What’s wrong?”

He lifted his eyes slowly from a glittering, distant rock, and brought his glance toward her by degrees. He had a way of exciting people even in the most commonplace conversation, and the girl felt a thrill under his look.