Then he observed a table which was apparently to his fancy and crossed the floor with a light, noiseless step, big George padding heavily behind him.  At the little round table he waited until George had drawn out the chair for him and then he sat down.  He folded his arms lightly upon his breast and once more surveyed the scene, and big George drew himself up behind Donnegan.  Just once his eyes rolled and flashed savagely in delight at the sensation that they were making, then the face of George was once again impassive.

If Donnegan had not carried it off with a certain air, the whole entrance would have seemed decidedly stagey, but The Corner, as it was, found much to wonder at and little to criticize.  And in the West grown men are as shrewd judges of affectation as children are in other places.

“Putting on a lot of style, eh?” said Jack Landis, and with fierce intensity he watched the face of Nelly Lebrun.

For once she was unguarded.

“He’s superb!” she exclaimed.  “The big fellow is going to bring a drink for him.”

She looked up, surprised by the silence of Landis, and found that his face was actually yellow.

“I’ll tell you something.  Do you remember the little red-headed tramp who came in here the other night and spoke to me?”

“Very well.  You seemed to be bothered.”

“Maybe.  I dunno.  But that’s the man—­the one who’s sitting over there now all dressed up—­the man The Corner is talking about—­Donnegan!  A tramp!”

She caught her breath.

“Is that the one?” A pause.  “Well, I believe it.  He’s capable of anything!”

“I think you like him all the better for knowing that.”

“Jack, you’re angry.”

“Why should I be?  I hate to see you fooled by the bluff of a tramp, though.”

“Tush!  Do you think I’m fooled by it?  But it’s an interesting bluff, Jack, don’t you think?”

“Nelly, he’s interesting enough to make you blush; by heaven, the hound is lookin’ right at you now, Nelly!”

He had pressed her suddenly against the wall and she struck back desperately in self-defense.

“By the way, what did he want to see you about?”

It spiked the guns of Landis for the time being, at least.  And the girl followed by striving to prove that her interest in Donnegan was purely impersonal.

“He’s clever,” she ran on, not daring to look at the set face of her companion.  “See how he fails to notice that he’s making a sensation?  You’d think he was in a big restaurant in a city.  He takes the drink off the tray from that fellow as if it were a common thing to be waited on by a body-servant in The Corner.  Jack, I’ll wager that there’s something crooked about him.  A professional gambler, say!”

Jack Landis thawed a little under this careless chatter.  He still did not quite trust her.

“Do you know what they’re whispering?  That I was afraid to face him!”