“No, not one.  I know your cunning tongue!”

“For the sake of the days when you loved me, my brother.  For the sake of the days when you used to wheel my chair and be kind to me.”

“You’re wasting your time.  You’re torturing us both for nothing.  Donnegan, my will is a rock.  It won’t change.”

And drawing closer his right hand gripped his gun and the trembling passion of the gunfighter set him shuddering.

“You’re armed, Garry.  Go for your gun!”

“No, no!”

“Then I’ll give you cause to fight.”

And as he spoke, he drew back his massive arm and with his open hand smote Donnegan heavily across the face.  The weight of that blow crushed the little man against the wall.

“Your gun!” cried Lord Nick, swaying from side to side as the passion choked him.

Donnegan fell upon his knees and raised his arms.

“God have mercy on me, and on yourself!”

At that the blackness cleared slowly on the face of the big man; he thrust his revolver into the holster.

“This time,” he said, “there’s no death.  But sooner or later we meet, Donnegan, and then, I swear by all that lives, I’ll shoot you down—­without mercy—­like a mad dog.  You’ve robbed me; you’ve hounded me:  you’ve killed my men:  you’ve taken the heart of the woman I love.  And now nothing can save you from the end.”

He turned on his heel and left the room.

And Donnegan remained kneeling, holding a stained handkerchief to his face.

All at once his strength seemed to desert him like a tree chopped at the root, and he wilted down against the wall with closed eyes.

But the music still came out of the throat and the heart of Lou, and it entered the room and came into the ears of Donnegan.  He became aware that there was a strength beyond himself which had sustained him, and then he knew it had been the singing of Lou from first to last which had kept the murder out of his own heart and restrained the hand of Lord Nick.

Perhaps of all Donnegan’s life, this was the first moment of true humility.

43

One thing was now clear.  He must not remain in The Corner unless he was prepared for Lord Nick again:  and in a third meeting guns must be drawn.  From that greater sin he shrank, and prepared to leave.  His order to George made the big man’s eyes widen, but George had long since passed the point where he cared to question the decision of his master.  He began to build the packs.

As for Donnegan, he could see that there was little to be won by remaining.  That would save Landis to Lou Macon, to be sure, but after all, he was beginning to wonder if it were not better to let the big fellow go back to his own kind—­Lebrun and the rest.  For if it needed compulsion to keep him with Lou now, might it not be the same story hereafter?