“And what’s more, I don’t care,” said Gloster defiantly but with his voice instinctively lowered.  He stared past George, and behold, the man in the dressing gown still sat in quiet and sipped his coffee.

“It’s Donnegan,” whispered George.

“Don—­who’s he?”

“You don’t know Donnegan?”

The mingled contempt and astonishment of George would have moved a thing of stone.  It certainly troubled Gloster.  And he turned to the three.

“Gents,” he said, “they’s two things we can do.  Try the law—­and law’s a lame lady in these parts—­or throw him out.  Say which?”

The three looked from Gloster to the shack; from the shack to Donnegan, absently sipping his coffee; from Donnegan to George, who stood exhibiting a broad grin of anticipated delight.  The contrast was too much for them.

There is one great and deep-seated terror in the mountain desert, and that is for the man who may be other than he seems.  The giant with the rough voice and the boisterous ways is generally due for a stormy passage west of the Rockies; but the silent man with the gentle manners receives respect.  Traditions live of desperadoes with exteriors of womanish calm and the action of devils.  And Donnegan sipping his morning coffee fitted into the picture which rumor had painted.  The three looked at one another, declared that they had not come to fight for a house but to rent one, that the real estate agent could go to the devil for all of them, and that they were bound elsewhere.  So they departed and left Gloster both relieved and gloomy.

“Now,” said Donnegan to George, “tell him that we’ll take both the shacks, and he can add fifty per cent to his old price.”

The bargain was concluded on the spot; the money was paid by George.  Gloster went down the hill to tell The Corner that a mystery had hit the town and George brought the canvas bag back to Donnegan with the top still untied—­as though to let it be seen that he had not pocketed any of the gold.

“I don’t want to count it,” said Donnegan.  “Keep the bag, George.  Keep money in your pocket.  Treat both of us well.  And when that’s gone I’ll get more.”

If the manner in which Donnegan had handled the renting of the cabins had charmed George, he was wholly entranced by this last touch of free spending.  To serve a man who was his master was one thing; to serve one who trusted him so completely was quite another.  To live under the same roof with a man who was a riddle was sufficiently delightful; but to be allowed actually to share in the mystery was a superhappiness.  He was singing when he started to wash the dishes, and Donnegan went across the hill to the tent of Lou Macon.

She was laying the fire before the tent; and the morning freshness had cleared from her face any vestige of the trouble of the night before; and in the slant light her hair was glorious, all ruffling gold, semitransparent.  She did not smile at him; but she could give the effect of smiling while her face remained grave; it was her inward calm content of which people were aware.