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Gunman's Reckoning

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<h2>22</h2> To the people in Milligan's it had been most incredible that Jack Landis should withdraw from a competition of any sort. And though the girls were able to understand his motives in taking Nelly Lebrun away they were not able to explain this fully to their men companions. For one and all they admitted that Jack was imperiling his hold on the girl in question if he allowed her to stay near this red-headed fiend. But one and all they swore that Jack Landis had ruined himself with her by taking her away. And this was a paradox which made masculine heads in The Corner spin. The main point was that Jack Landis had backed down before a rival; and this fact was stunning enough. Donnegan, however, was not confused. He sent big George to ask Milligan to come to him for a moment. Milligan, at this, cursed George, but he was drawn by curiosity to consent. A moment later he was seated at Donnegan's table, drinking his own liquor as it was served to him from the hands of big George. If the first emotions of the dance-hall proprietor were anger and intense curiosity, his second emotion was that never-failing surprise which all who came close to the wanderer felt. For he had that rare faculty of seeming larger when in action, even when actually near much bigger men. Only when one came close to Donnegan one stepped, as it were, through a veil, and saw the almost fragile reality. When Milligan had caught his breath and adjusted himself, he began as follows: "Now, Bud," he said, "you've made a pretty play. Not bad at all. But no more bluffs in Milligan's." "Bluff!" Donnegan repeated gently. "About your servant. I let it pass for one night, but not for another." "My dear Mr. Milligan! However"—changing the subject easily—"what I wish to speak to you about is a bit of trouble which I foresee. I think, sir, that Jack Landis is coming back." "What makes you think that?" "It's a feeling I have. I have queer premonitions, Mr. Milligan, I'm sure he's coming and I'm sure he's going to attempt a murder." Milligan's thick lips framed his question but he did not speak: fear made his face ludicrous. "Right here?" "Yes." "A shootin' scrape here! You?" "He has me in mind. That's why I'm speaking to you." "Don't wait to speak to me about it. Get up and get out!" "Mr. Milligan, you're wrong. I'm going to stay here and you're going to protect me." "Well, confound your soul! They ain't much nerve about you, is there?" "You run a public place. You have to protect your patrons from insult." "And who began it, then? Who started walkin' on Jack's toes? Now you come whinin' to me! By heck, I hope Jack gets you!" "You're a genial soul," said Donnegan. "Here's to you!" But something in his smile as he sipped his liquor made Milligan sit straighter in his chair. As for Donnegan, he was thinking hard and fast. If there were a shooting affair and he won, he would nevertheless run a close chance of being hung by a mob. He must dispose that mob to look upon him as the defendant and Landis as the aggressor. He had not foreseen the crisis until it was fairly upon him. He had thought of Nelly playing Landis along more gradually and carefully, so that, while he was slowly learning that she was growing cold to him, he would have a chance to grow fond of Lou Macon once more. But even across the width of the room he had seen the girl fire up, and from that moment he knew the result. Landis already suspected him; Landis, with the feeling that he had been robbed, would do his best to kill the thief. He might take a chance with Landis, if it came to a fight, just as he had taken a chance with Lewis. But how different this case would be! Landis was no dull-nerved ruffian and drunkard. He was a keen boy with a hair-trigger balance, and in a gunplay he would be apt to beat the best of them all. Of all this Donnegan was fully aware. Either he must place his own life in terrible hazard or else he must shoot to kill; and if he killed, what of Lou Macon? While he smiled into the face of Milligan, perspiration was bursting out under his armpits. "Mr. Milligan, I implore you to give me your aid." "What's the difference?" Milligan asked in a changed tone. "If he don't fight you here he'll fight you later." "You're wrong, Mr. Milligan. He isn't the sort to hold malice. He'll come here tonight and try to get at me like a bulldog straining on a leash. If he is kept away he'll get over his bad temper." Milligan pushed back his chair. "You've tried to force yourself down the throat of The Corner," he said, "and now you yell for help when you see the teeth." He had raised his voice. Now he got up and strode noisily away. Donnegan waited until he was halfway across the dance floor and then rose in turn. "Gentlemen," he said. The quiet voice cut into every conversation; the musicians lowered the instruments. "I have just told Mr. Milligan that I am sure Jack Landis is coming back here to try to kill me. I have asked for his protection. He has refused it. I intend to stay here and wait for him, Jack Landis. In the meantime I ask any able-bodied man who will do so, to try to stop Landis when he enters." He sat down, raised his glass, and sipped the drink. Two hundred pairs of eyes were fastened with hawklike intensity upon him, and they could perceive no quiver of his hand. The sipping of his liquor was not an affectation. For he was drinking, at incredible cost, liquors from Milligan's store of rareties. The effect of Donnegan's announcement was first a silence, then a hum, then loud voices of protest, curiosity—and finally a scurrying toward the doors. Yet really very few left. The rest valued a chance to see the fight beyond the fear of random slugs of lead which might fly their way. Besides, where such men as Donnegan and big Jack Landis were concerned, there was not apt to be much wild shooting. The dancing stopped, of course. The music was ordered by Milligan to play, in a frantic endeavor to rouse custom again; but the music of its own accord fell away in the middle of the piece. For the musicians could not watch the notes and the door at the same time. As for Donnegan, he found that it was one thing to wait and another to be waited for. He, too, wished to turn and watch that door until it should be filled by the bulk of Jack Landis. Yet he fought the desire. And in the midst of this torturing suspense an idea came to him, and at the same instant Jack Landis entered the doorway. He stood there looking vast against the night. One glance around was sufficient to teach him the meaning of the silence. The stage was set, and the way opened to Donnegan. Without a word, big George stole to one side. Straight to the middle of the dance floor went Jack Landis, red-faced, with long, heavy steps. He faced Donnegan. "You skunk!" shouted Landis. "I've come for you!" And he went for his gun. Donnegan, too, stirred. But when the revolver leaped into the hand of Landis, it was seen that the hands of Donnegan rose past the line of his waist, past his shoulders, and presently locked easily behind his head. A terrible chance, for Landis had come within a breath of shooting. So great was the impulse that, as he checked the pressure of his forefinger, he stumbled a whole pace forward. He walked on. "You need cause to fight?" he cried, striking Donnegan across the face with the back of his left hand, jerking up the muzzle of the gun in his right. Now a dark trickle was seen to come from the broken lips of Donnegan, yet he was smiling faintly. Jack Landis muttered a curse and said sneeringly: "Are you afraid?" There were sick faces in that room; men turned their heads, for nothing is so ghastly as the sight of a man who is taking water. "Hush," said Donnegan. "I'm going to kill you, Jack. But I want to kill you fairly and squarely. There's no pleasure, you see, in beating a youngster like you to the draw. I want to give you a fighting chance. Besides"—he removed one hand from behind his head and waved it carelessly to where the men of The Corner crouched in the shadow—"you people have seen me drill one chap already, and I'd like to shoot you in a new way. Is that agreeable?" Two terrible, known figures detached themselves from the gloom near the door. "Hark to this gent sing," said one, and his name was the Pedlar. "Hark to him sing, Jack, and we'll see that you get fair play." "Good," said his friend, Joe Rix. "Let him take his try, Jack." As a matter of fact, had Donnegan reached for a gun, he would have been shot before even Landis could bring out a weapon, for the steady eye of Joe Rix, hidden behind the Pedlar, had been looking down a revolver barrel at the forehead of Donnegan, waiting for that first move. But something about the coolness of Donnegan fascinated them. "Don't shoot, Joe," the Pedlar had said. "That bird is the chief over again. Don't plug him!" And that was why Donnegan lived. <hr style="width: 65%;"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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