He glanced at Lou to see if she had noticed, and he saw her raise her head and go on with her glance proudly straight before her; but her face was very pale, and Donnegan knew that she had guessed everything that was true and far more than the truth.  Her tone at the door of the post office was ice.

“I think you are right, Mr. Donnegan.  There’s no danger.  And if you have anything else to do, I can get back home easily enough.”

“I’ll wait for you,” murmured Donnegan sadly, and he stood as the door of the little building with bowed head.

And then a murmur came down the street.  How small it was, and how sinister!  It consisted of exclamations begun, and then broken sharply off.  A swirl of people divided as a cloud of dust divides before a blast of wind, and through them came the gigantic figure of Lord Nick!

On he came, a gorgeous figure, a veritable king of men.  He carried his hat in his hand and his red hair flamed, and he walked with great strides.  Donnegan glanced behind him.  The way was clear.  If he turned, Lord Nick would not pursue him, he knew.

But to flee even from his brother was more than he could do; for the woman he loved would know of it and could never understand.

He touched the holster that held his empty gun—­and waited!

An eternity between every step of Lord Nick.  Others seemed to have sensed the meaning of this silent scene.  People seemed to stand frozen in the midst of gestures.  Or was that because Donnegan’s own thoughts were traveling at such lightning speed that the rest of the world seemed standing still?  What kept Lou Macon?  If she were with him, not even Lord Nick in his madness would force on a gunplay in the presence of a woman, no doubt.

Lord Nick was suddenly close; he had paused; his voice rang over the street and struck upon Donnegan’s ear as sounds come under water.

“Donnegan!”

“Aye!” called Donnegan softly.

“It’s the time!”

“Aye,” said Donnegan.

Then a huge body leaped before him; it was big George.  And as he sprang his gun went up with his hand in a line of light.  The two reports came close together as finger taps on a table, and big George, completing his spring, lurched face downward into the sand.

Dead?  Not yet.  All his faith and selflessness were nerving the big man. 
And Donnegan stood behind him, unarmed!

He reared himself upon his knees—­an imposing bulk, even then, and fired again.  But his hand was trembling, and the bullet shattered a sign above the head of Lord Nick.  He, in his turn, it seemed to Donnegan that the motion was slow, twitched up the muzzle of his weapon and fired once more from his hip.  And big George lurched back on the sand, with his face upturned to Donnegan.  He would have spoken, but a burst of blood choked him; yet his eyes fixed and glazed, he mustered his last strength and offered his revolver to Donnegan.