A hum passed down the street; it rose to a chuckle, and then fell away to sudden silence, for Donnegan was coming.

He came on a prancing chestnut horse which sidled uneasily on a weaving course, as though it wished to show off for the benefit of the rider and the crowd at once.  It was a hot afternoon and Donnegan’s linen riding suit shone an immaculate white.  He came straight down the street, as unaware of the audience which awaited him as though he rode in a park where crowds were the common thing.  Behind him came George Green, just a careful length back.  Rumor went before the two with a whisper on either side.

“That’s Donnegan.  There he comes!”

“Who’s Donnegan?”

“Gloster’s man.  The one who bluffed out Gloster and three others.”

“He pulled his shooting iron and trimmed the whiskers of one of ’em with a chunk of lead.”

“D’you mean that?”

“What’s that kind of a gent doing in The Corner?”

“Come to buy, I guess.  He looks like money.”

“Looks like a confounded dude.”

“We’ll see his hand in a minute.”

Donnegan was now opposite the dance hall, and Andy Lewis had his hand touching the butt of his gun, but though Donnegan was looking straight at him, he kept his reins in one hand and his heavy riding crop in the other.  And without a move toward his own gun, he rode straight up to the door of the dance hall, with Andy in front of it.  George drew rein behind him and turned upon the crowd one broad, superior grin.

As who should say:  “I promised you lightning; now watch it strike!”

If the crowd had been expectant before, it was now reduced to wire-drawn tenseness.

“Are you the fellow who turned back my man?” asked Donnegan.

His quiet voice fell coldly upon the soul of Andy.  He strove to warm himself by an outbreak of temper.

“They ain’t any poor fool dude can call me a fellow!” he shouted.

The crowd blinked; but when it opened its eyes the gunplay had not occurred.  The hand of Andy was relaxing from the butt of his gun and an expression of astonishment and contempt was growing upon his face.

“I haven’t come to curse you,” said the rider, still occupying his hands with crop and reins.  “I’ve come to ask you a question and get an answer.  Are you the fellow who turned back my man?”

“I guess you ain’t the kind I was expectin’ to call on me,” drawled Andy, his fear gone, and he winked at the crowd.  But the others were not yet ready to laugh.  Something about the calm face of Donnegan had impressed them.  “Sure, I’m the one that kicked him out.  He ain’t allowed in there.”

“It’s the last of my thoughts to break in upon a convention in your city,” replied the grave rider, “but my man was sent on an errand and therefore he had a right to expect courtesy.  George, get off your horse and go into Milligan’s place.  I want that mint!”