“A murderer by intention,” exclaimed Milligan.  He had hunted long and hard before he found a man with a face like that of Lewis, capable of maintaining order by a glance; now he wanted revenge.  “A murder by intention!” he cried to the crowd, standing beside the place where the imprint of Andy’s knees was still in the sand.  “And like a murderer he ought to be treated.  He aimed to kill Andy; he had luck and only broke his hand.  Now, boys, I say it ain’t so much what he’s done as the way he’s done it.  He’s given us the laugh.  He’s come in here in his dude clothes and tried to walk over us.  But it don’t work.  Not in The Corner.  If Andy was dead, I’d say lynch the dude.  But he ain’t, and all I say is:  Run him out of town.”

Here there was a brief outburst of applause, but when it ended, it was observed that there was a low, soft laughter.  The crowd gave way between Milligan and the mocker.  It was seen that he who laughed was old Lebrun, rubbing his olive-skinned hands together and showing his teeth in his mirth.  There was no love lost between Lebrun and Milligan, even if Nelly was often in the dance hall and the center of its merriment.

“It takes a thief to catch a thief,” said Lebrun enigmatically, when he saw that he had the ear of the crowd, “and it takes a man to catch a man.”

“What the devil do you mean by that?” a dozen voices asked.

“I mean, that if you got men enough to run out this man Donnegan, The Corner is a better town than I think.”

It brought a growl, but no answer.  Lebrun had never been seen to lift his hand, but he was more dreaded than a rattler.

“We’ll try,” said Milligan dryly.  “I ain’t much of a man myself”—­there were dark rumors about Milligan’s past and the crowd chuckled at this modesty—­“but I’ll try my hand agin’ him with a bit of backing.  And first I want to tell you boys that they ain’t any danger of him having aimed at Andy’s hand.  I tell you, it ain’t possible, hardly, for him to have planned to hit a swingin’ target like that.  Maybe some could do it.  I dunno.”

“How about Lord Nick?”

“Sure, Lord Nick might do anything.  But Donnegan ain’t Lord Nick.”

“Not by twenty pounds and three inches.”

This brought a laugh.  And by comparison with the terrible and familiar name of Lord Nick, Donnegan became a smaller danger.  Besides, as Milligan said, it was undoubtedly luck.  And when he called for volunteers, three or four stepped up at once.  The others made a general milling, as though each were trying to get forward and each were prevented by the crowd in front.  But in the background big Jack Landis was seriously trying to get to the firing line.  He was encumbered with the clinging weight of Nelly Lebrun.

“Don’t go, Jack,” she pleaded.  “Please!  Please!  Be sensible.  For my sake!”

She backed this appeal with a lifting of her eyes and a parting of her lips, and Jack Landis paused.