He had sensed Donnegan’s mental condition accurately enough.  The heart of the little man was swelled to the point of breaking.  A twenty-hour vigil had whitened his face, drawn in his cheeks, and painted his eyes with shadow; and now he wanted action.  He wanted excitement, strife, competition; something to fill his mind.  And naturally enough he had two places in mind—­Lebrun’s and Milligan’s.

It is hard to relate the state of Donnegan’s mind at this time.  Chiefly, he was conscious of a peculiar and cruel pain that made him hollow; it was like homesickness raised to the nth degree.  Vaguely he realized that in some way, somehow, he must fulfill his promise to the girl and bring Jack Landis home.  The colonel dared not harm the boy for fear of Donnegan; and the girl would be happy.  For that very reason Donnegan wanted to tear Landis to shreds.

It is not extremely heroic for a man tormented with sorrow to go to a gambling hall and then to a dance hall to seek relief.  But Donnegan was not a hero.  He was only a man, and, since his heart was empty, he wanted something that might fill it.  Indeed, like most men, suffering made him a good deal of a boy.

So the high heels of Donnegan tapped across the floor of Lebrun’s.  A murmur went before him whenever he appeared now, and a way opened for him.  At the roulette wheel he stopped, placed fifty on red, and watched it double three times.  George, at a signal from the master, raked in the winnings.  And Donnegan sat at a faro table and won again, and again rose disconsolately and went on.  For when men do not care how luck runs it never fails to favor them.  The devotees of fortune are the ones she punishes.

In the meantime the whisper ran swiftly through The Corner.

“Donnegan is out hunting trouble.”

About the good that is in men rumor often makes mistakes, but for evil she has an infallible eye and at once sets all of her thousand tongues wagging.  Indeed, any man with half an eye could not fail to get the meaning of his fixed glance, his hard set jaw, and the straightness of his mouth.  If he had been a ghost, men could not have avoided him more sedulously, and the giant servant who stalked at his back.  Not that The Corner was peopled with cowards.  The true Westerner avoids trouble, but cornered, he will fight like a wildcat.

So people watched from the corner of their eyes as Donnegan passed.

He left Lebrun’s.  There was no competition.  Luck blindly favored him, and Donnegan wanted contest, excitement.  He crossed to Milligan’s.  Rumor was there before him.  A whisper conveyed to a pair of mighty-limbed cow-punchers that they were sitting at the table which Donnegan had occupied the night before, and they wisely rose without further hint and sought other chairs.  Milligan, anxious-eyed, hurried to the orchestra, and with a blast of sound they sought to cover up the entry of the gunman.

As a matter of fact that blare of horns only served to announce him.  Something was about to happen; the eyes of men grew shadowy; the eyes of women brightened.  And then Donnegan appeared, with George behind him, and crossed the floor straight to his table of the night before.  Not that he had forethought in going toward it, but he was moving absent-mindedly.