And then Landis was seen to raise the muzzle of his gun again, and crouch over it, leveling it straight at Donnegan.  He, at least, would send his bullet straight to the mark when that first chime went humming through the big room.

But Donnegan?  He made his last play to shatter the nerve of Landis.  With the minute hand on the very mark, he turned carelessly, the revolver still dangling by the trigger guard, and laughed toward the crowd.

And out of the crowd there came a deep, sobbing breath of heartbreaking suspense.

It told on Landis.  Out of the corner of his eye Donnegan saw the muscles of the man’s face sag and tremble; saw him allow his gun to fall, in imitation of Donnegan, to his side; and saw the long arm quivering.

And then the chime rang, with a metallic, sharp click and then a long and reverberant clanging.

With a gasp Landis whipped up his gun and fired.  Once, twice, again, the weapon crashed.  And, to the eternal wonder of all who saw it, at a distance of five paces Landis three times missed his man.  But Donnegan, sitting back with a smile, raised his own gun almost with leisure, unhurried, dropped it upon the mark, and sent a forty-five slug through the right shoulder of Jack Landis.

The blow of the slug, like the punch of a strong man’s fist, knocked the victim out of his chair to the floor.  He lay clutching at his shoulder.

“Gentlemen,” said Donnegan, rising, “is there a doctor here?”

24

That was the signal for the rush that swept across the floor and left a flood of marveling men around the fallen Landis.  On the outskirts of this tide, Donnegan stepped up to two men, Joe Rix and the Pedlar.  They greeted him with expectant glances.

“Gentlemen,” said Donnegan, “will you step aside?”

They followed him to a distance from the clamoring group.

“I have to thank you,” said Donnegan.

“For what?”

“For changing your minds,” said Donnegan, and left them.

And afterward the Pedlar murmured with an oddly twisted face:  “Cat-eye, Joe.  He can see in the dark!  But I told you he was worth savin’.”

“Speakin’ in general,” said Joe, “which you ain’t hardly ever wrong when you get stirred up about a thing.”

“He’s something new,” the Pedlar said wisely.

“Ay, he’s rare.”

“But talkin’ aside, suppose he was to meet up with Lord Nick?”

The smile of Joe Rix was marvelously evil.

“You got a great mind for great things,” he declared.  “You ought to of been in politics.”

In the meantime the doctor had been found.  The wound had been cleansed.  It was a cruel one, for the bullet had torn its way through flesh and sinew, and for many a week the fighting arm of Jack Landis would be useless.  It had, moreover, carried a quantity of cloth into the wound, and it was almost impossible to cleanse the hole satisfactorily.  As for the bullet itself, it had whipped cleanly through, at that short distance making nothing of its target.