He spent the day in that chair.

It was the middle of the afternoon when George came with a scared face and a message that a “gen’leman who looks riled, sir,” wanted to see him.  There was no answer, and George perforce took the silence as acquiescence.  So he opened the door and announced:  “Mr. Lester to see you, sir.”

Into the fiery haze of Donnegan’s vision stepped a raw-boned fellow with sandy hair and a disagreeably strong jaw.

“You’re the gent that’s here with the colonel, ain’t you?” said Lester.

Donnegan did not reply.

“You’re the gent that cleaned up on Landis, ain’t you?” continued the sandy-haired man.

There was still the same silence, and Lester burst out:  “It don’t work, Donnegan.  You’ve showed you’re man-sized several ways since you been in The Corner.  Now I come to tell you to get out from under Colonel Macon.  Why?  Because he’s crooked, because we know he’s crooked; because he played crooked with me.  You hear me talk?”

Still Donnegan considered him without a word.

“We’re goin’ to run him out, Donnegan.  We want you on our side if we can get you; if we can’t get you, then we’ll run you out along with the colonel.”

He began to talk with difficulty, as though Donnegan’s stare unnerved him.  He even took a step back toward the door.

“You can’t bluff me out, Donnegan.  I ain’t alone.  They’s others behind me.  I don’t need to name no names.  Here’s another thing:  you ain’t alone yourself.  You got a woman and a cripple on your hands.  Now, Donnegan, you’re a fast man with a gun and you’re a fast man at thinkin’, but I ask you personal:  have you got a chance runnin’ under that weight?”

He added fiercely:  “I’m through.  Now, talk turkey, Donnegan, or you’re done!”

For the first time Donnegan moved.  It was to make to big George a significant signal with his thumb, indicating the visitor.  However, Lester did not wait to be thrown bodily from the cabin.  One enormous oath exploded from his lips, and he backed sullenly through the door and slammed it after him.

“It kind of looks,” said big George, “like a war, sir.”

And still Donnegan did not speak, until the afternoon was gone, and the evening, and the full black of the night had swallowed up the hills around The Corner.

Then he left the chair, shaved, and dressed carefully, looked to his revolver, stowed it carefully and invisibly away among his clothes, and walked leisurely down the hill.  An outbreak of cursing, stamping, hair-tearing, shooting could not have affected big George as this quiet departure did.  He followed, unordered, but as he stepped across the threshold of the hut he rolled up his eyes to the stars.

“Oh, heavens above,” muttered George, “have mercy on Mr. Donnegan.  He ain’t happy.”

And he went down the hill, making sure that he was fit for battle with knife and gun.