6

Even the old woman, whose eyes were sharpened by her habit of looking constantly for the weaknesses and vices of men, could not guess what was going on behind the thin, rather ugly face of Donnegan; the girl, perhaps, may have seen more.  For she caught the glitter of his active eyes even at that distance.  The hag began to explain with vicious gestures that set the light flaring up and down.

“He ain’t come from nowhere, Lou,” she said.  “He ain’t going nowhere; he wants to stay here for the night.”

The foot which had been suspended to take the next step was now withdrawn.  Donnegan, remembered at last, whipped off his cap, and at once the light flared and burned upon his hair.  It was a wonderful red; it shone, and it had a terrible blood tinge so that his face seemed pale beneath it.  There were three things that made up the peculiar dominance of Donnegan’s countenance.  The three things were the hair, the uneasy, bright eyes, and the rather thin, compressed lips.  When Donnegan slept he seemed about to waken from a vigorous dream; when he sat down he seemed about to leap to his feet; and when he was standing he gave that impression of a poise which is ready for anything.  It was no wonder that the girl, seeing that face and that alert, aggressive body, shrank a little on the stairs.  Donnegan, that instant, knew that these two women were really alone in the house as far as fighting men were concerned.

And the fact disturbed him more than a leveled gun would have done.  He went to the foot of the stairs, even past the old woman, and, raising his head, he spoke to the girl.

“My name’s Donnegan.  I came over from the railroad—­walked.  I don’t want to walk that other eight miles unless there’s a real need for it.  I—­” Why did he pause?  “I’ll pay for anything I get here.”

His voice was not too certain; behind his teeth there was knocking a desire to cry out to her the truth.  “I am Donnegan.  Donnegan the tramp.  Donnegan the shiftless.  Donnegan the fighter.  Donnegan the killer.  Donnegan the penniless, worthless.  But for heaven’s sake let me stay until morning and let me look at you—­from a distance!”

But, after all, perhaps he did not need to say all these things.  His clothes were rags, upon his face there was a stubble of unshaven red, which made the pallor about his eyes more pronounced.  If the girl had been half blind she must have felt that here was a man of fire.  He saw her gather the wrap a little closer about her shoulders, and that sign of fear made him sick at heart.

“Mr. Donnegan,” said the girl.  “I am sorry.  We cannot take you into the house.  Eight miles—­”

Did she expect to turn a sinner from the gates of heaven with a mere phrase?  He cast out his hand, and she winced as though he had shaken his fist at her.

“Are you afraid?” cried Donnegan.

“I don’t control the house.”