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Gunman's Reckoning

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<h2>30</h2> 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. "That," said Donnegan, "is a dangerous question." And he allowed such hunger to come into his eye that she caught her breath. The imp of perversity made her go on. "And why dangerous?" It was an excellent excuse for an outpouring of the heart from Donnegan, but, instead, his eyes twinkled at her. "You are not frank," he remarked. She could not help laughing, and her laughter trailed away musically in her excitement. "Having once let down the bars I cannot keep you at arm's length. After last night I suppose I should never have let you see me for—days and days." "That's why I'm curious," said Donnegan, "and not flattered. I'm trying to find what purpose you have in taking me riding." "I wonder," she said thoughtfully, "if you will." And since such fencing with the wits delighted her, she let all her delight come with a sparkle in her eyes. "I have one clue." "Yes?" "And that is that you may have the old-woman curiosity to find out how many ways a man can tell her that he's fond of her." Though she flushed a little she kept her poise admirably. "I suppose that is part of my interest," she admitted. "I can think of a great many ways of saying it," said Donnegan. "I am the dry desert, you are the rain, and yet I remain dry and produce no grass." "A very pretty comparison," said the girl with a smile. "A very green one," and Donnegan smiled. "I am the wind and you are the wild geese, and yet I keep on blowing after you are gone and do not carry away a feather of you." "Pretty again." "And silly. But, really, you are very kind to me, and I shall try not to take too much advantage of it." "Will you answer a question?" "I had rather ask one: but go on." "What made you so dry a desert, Mr. Donnegan?" "There is a very leading question again." "I don't mean it that way. For you had the same sad, hungered look the first time I saw you—when you came into Milligan's in that beggarly disguise." "I shall confess one thing. It was not a disguise. It was the fact of me; I am a beggarly person." "Nonsense! I'm not witless, Mr. Donnegan. You talk well. You have an education." "In fact I have an educated taste; I disapprove of myself, you see, and long ago learned not to take myself too seriously." "Which leads to—" "The reason why I have wandered so much." "Like a hunter on a trail. Hunting for what?" "A chance to sit in a saddle—or a chair—and talk as we are talking." "Which seems to be idly." "Oh, you mistake me. Under the surface I am as serious as fire." "Or ice." At the random hit he glanced sharply at her, but she was looking a little past him, thinking. "I have tried to get at the reason behind all your reasons," she said. "You came on me in a haphazard fashion, and yet you are not a haphazard sort." "Do you see nothing serious about me?" "I see that you are unhappy," said the girl gently. "And I am sorry." Once again Donnegan was jarred, and he came within an ace of opening his mind to her, of pouring out the truth about Lou Macon. Love is a talking madness in all men and he came within an ace of confessing his troubles. "Let's go on," she said, loosening her rein. "Why not cut back in a semicircle toward The Corner?" "Toward The Corner? No, no!" There was a brightening of his eye as he noted her shudder of distaste or fear, and she strove to cover her traces. "I'm sick of the place," she said eagerly. "Let's get as far from it as we may." "But yonder is a very good trail leading past it." "Of course we'll ride that way if you wish, but I'd rather go straight ahead." If she had insisted stubbornly he would have thought nothing, but the moment she became politic he was on his guard. "You dislike something in The Corner," he said, thinking carelessly and aloud. "You are afraid of something back there. But what could you be afraid of? Then you may be afraid of something for me. Ah, I have it! They have decided to 'get' me for taking Jack Landis away; Joe Rix and the Pedlar are waiting for me to come back!" He looked steadily and she attempted to laugh. "Joe Rix and the Pedlar? I would not stack ten like them against you!" "Then it is someone else." "I haven't said so. Of course there's no one." She shook her rein again, but Donnegan sat still in his saddle and looked fixedly at her. "That's why you brought me out here," he announced. "Oh, Nelly Lebrun, what's behind your mind? Who is it? By heaven, it's this Lord Nick!" "Mr. Donnegan, you're letting your imagination run wild." "It's gone straight to the point. But I'm not angry. I think I may get back in time." He turned his horse, and the girl swung hers beside him and caught his arm. "Don't go!" she pleaded. "You're right; it's Nick, and it's suicide to face him!" The face of Donnegan set cruelly. "The main obstacle," he said. "Come and watch me handle it!" But she dropped her head and buried her face in her hands, and, sitting there for a long time, she heard his careless whistling blow back to her as he galloped toward The Corner. <hr style="width: 65%;"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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