“My father said that in any circumstances he would be able to take care of me.”

This reply seemed to overwhelm Landis.

“The colonel trusts him as far as all that?” he muttered.  “Then I suppose you’re safe enough.  But what about comfort, Lou?”

“I’ve done without comfort all my life.  Run along, Jack.  And take this money with you.  I can’t have it.”

“But, didn’t the colonel send—­”

“You can express it through to him.  To me it’s—­not pleasant to take it.”

“Why, Lou, you don’t mean—­”

“Good night, Jack.  I don’t mean anything, except that I’m tired.”

The shadow swept along the wall of the tent again.  Donnegan, with a shaking pulse, saw the profile of the girl and the man approach as he strove to take her in his arms and kiss her good night.  And then one slender bar of shadow checked Landis.

“Not tonight.”

“Lou, you aren’t angry with me?”

“No.  But you know I have queer ways.  Just put this down as one of them.  I can’t explain.”

There was a muffled exclamation and Landis went from the tent and strode down the hill; he was instantly lost in the night.  But Donnegan, turning to the entrance flap, called softly.  He was bidden to come in, and when he raised the flap he saw her sitting with her hands clasped loosely and resting upon her knees.  Her lips were a little parted, and colorless; her eyes were dull with a mist; and though she rallied herself a little, the wanderer could see that she was only half-aware of him.

The face which he saw was a milestone in his life.  For he had loved her jealously, fiercely before; but seeing her now, dazed, hurt, and uncomplaining, tenderness came into Donnegan.  It spread to his heart with a strange pain and made his hands tremble.

All that he said was:  “Is there anything you need?”

“Nothing,” she replied, and he backed out and away.

But in that small interval he had turned out of the course of his gay, selfish life.  If Jack Landis had hurt her like this—­if she loved him so truly—­then Jack Landis she should have.

There was an odd mixture of emotions in Donnegan; but he felt most nearly like the poor man from whose hand his daughter tugs back and looks wistfully, hopelessly, into the bright window at all the toys.  What pain is there greater than the pain that comes to the poor man in such a time?  He huddles his coat about him, for his heart is as cold as a Christmas day; and if it would make his child happy, he would pour out his heart’s blood on the snow.

Such was the grief of Donnegan as he backed slowly out into the night.  Though Jack Landis were fixed as high as the moon he would tear him out of his place and give him to the girl.

14

The lantern went out in the tent; she was asleep; and when he knew that, Donnegan went down into The Corner.  He had been trying to think out a plan of action, and finding nothing better than to thrust a gun stupidly under Landis’ nose and make him mark time, Donnegan went into Lebrun’s place.  As if he hoped the bustle there would supply him with ideas.