She went as fast as a run would carry her straight behind the intervening houses and came to the back entrance to the gaming hall.  There she entered and stepped into the little office of her father.  Black Lebrun was not there.  She did not want him.  In his place there sat the Pedlar and Joe Rix; they were members of Lord Nick’s chosen crew, and since Nick’s temporary alliance with Lebrun for the sake of plundering Jack Landis, Nick’s men were Nelly’s men.  Indeed, this was a formidable pair.  They were the kind of men about whom many whispers and no facts circulate:  and yet the facts are far worse than the whispers.  It was said that Joe Rix, who was a fat little man with a great aversion to a razor and a pair of shallow, pale blue eyes, was in reality a merciless fiend.  He was; and he was more than that, if there be a stronger superlative.  If Lord Nick had dirty work to be done, there was the man who did it with a relish.  The Pedlar, on the other hand, was an exact opposite.  He was long, lean, raw-boned, and prodigiously strong in spite of his lack of flesh.  He had vast hands, all loose skin and outstanding tendons; he had a fleshless face over which his smile was capable of extending limitlessly.  He was the sort of a man from whom one would expect shrewdness, some cunning, stubbornness, a dry humor, and many principles.  All of which, except the last, was true of the Pedlar.

There was this peculiarity about the Pedlar.  In spite of his broad grins and his wise, bright eyes, none, even of Lord Nick’s gang, extended a friendship or familiarity toward him.  When they spoke of the Pedlar they never used his name.  They referred to him as “him” or they indicated him with gestures.  If he had a fondness for any living creature it was for fat Joe Rix.

Yet on seeing this ominous pair, Nelly Lebrun cried out softly in delight.  She ran to them, and dropped a hand on the bony shoulder of the Pedlar and one on the plump shoulder of Joe Rix, whose loose flesh rolled under her finger tips.

“It’s Jack Landis!” she cried.  “He’s gone to Milligan’s to fight the new man.  Stop him!”

“Donnegan?” said Joe, and did not rise.

“Him?” said the Pedlar, and moistened his broad lips like one on the verge of starvation.

“Are you going to sit here?” she cried.  “What will Lord Nick say if he finds out you’ve let Jack get into a fight?”

“We ain’t nursin’ mothers,” declared the Pedlar.  “But I’d kind of like to look on!”

And he rose.  Unkinking joint after joint, straightening his legs, his back, his shoulders, his neck, he soared up and up until he stood a prodigious height.  The girl controlled a shudder of disgust.

“Joe!” she appealed.

“You want us to clean up Donnegan?” he asked, rising, but without interest in his voice.

To his surprise, she slipped back to the door and blocked it with her outcast arms.

“Not a hair of his head!” she said fiercely.  “Swear that you won’t harm him, boys!”