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Gunman's Reckoning

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<h2>32</h2> The big man crossed the floor with one vast stride, and, seizing Donnegan by both shoulders, dragged him under the full light of the window; and still the crazy laughter shook Donnegan and made him helpless. "They tied me to a board—like a papoose," said Donnegan, "and they straightened my back—but they left me this way—wizened up." He was stammering; hysterical, and the words tumbled from his lips in a jumble. "That was a month after you ran away from home. I was going to find you. Got bigger. Took the road. Kept hunting. Then I met a yegg who told about Rusty Dick—described him like you—I thought—I thought you were dead!" And the tears rolled down his face; he sobbed like a woman. A strange thing happened then. Lord Nick lifted the little man in his arms as if he were a child and literally carried him in that fashion to the bunk. He put him down tenderly, still with one mighty arm around his back. "You are Garry? You!" "Garrison Donnegan Reardon. Aye, that's what I am. Henry, don't say that you don't know me!" "But—your back—I thought—" "I know—hopeless they said I was. But they brought in a young doctor. Now look at me. Little. I never grew big—but hard, Henry, as leather!" And he sprang to his feet. And knowing that Donnegan had begun life as a cripple it was easy to appreciate certain things about his expression—a cold wistfulness, and his manner of reading the minds of men. Lord Nick was like a man in a dream. He dragged Donnegan back to the bunk and forced him to sit down with the weight of his arms. And he could not keep his hands from his younger brother. As though he were blind and had to use the sense of touch to reassure him. "I heard lies. They said everybody was dead. I thought—" "The fever killed them all, except me. Uncle Toby took me in. He was a devil. Helped me along, but I left him when I could. And—" "Don't tell me any more. All that matters is that I have you at last, Garry. Heaven knows it's a horrible thing to be kithless and kinless, but I have you now! Ah, lad, but the old pain has left its mark on you. Poor Garry!" Donnegan shuddered. "I've forgotten it. Don't bring it back." "I keep feeling that you should be in that chair." "I know. But I'm not. I'm hard as nails, I tell you." He leaped to his feet again. "And not so small as you might think, Henry!" "Oh, big enough, Garry. Big enough to paralyze The Corner, from what I've heard." "I've been playing a game with 'em, Henry. And now—if one of us could clear the road, what will we do together? Eh?" The smile of Lord Nick showed his teeth. "Haven't I been hungry all my life for a man like you, lad? Somebody to stand and guard my back while I faced the rest of the world?" "And I'll do my share of the facing, too." "You will, Garry. But I'm your elder." "Man, man! Nobody's my elder except one that's spent half his life—as I have done!" "We'll teach you to forget the pain I'll make life roses for you, Garry." "And the fools outside thought—" Donnegan broke into a soundless laughter, and, running to the door, opened it a fraction of an inch and peeped out. "They're standing about in a circle. I can see 'em gaping. Even from here. What will they think, Henry?" Lord Nick ground his teeth. "They'll think I've backed down from you," he said gloomily. "They'll think I've taken water for the first time." "Why, confound 'em, the first man that opens his head—" "I know, I know. You'd fill his mouth with lead, and so would I. But if it ever gets about—as it's sure to—that Lord, Nick, as they call me, has been bluffed down without a fight, I'll have every Chinaman that cooks on the range talking back to me. I'll have to start all over again." "Don't say that, Henry. Don't you see that I'll go out and explain that I'm your brother?" "What good will that do? No, do we look alike?" Donnegan stopped short. "I'm not very big," he said rather coldly, "but then I'm not so very small, either. I've found myself big enough, speaking in general. Besides, we have the same hair and eyes." "Why, man, people will laugh when they hear that we call ourselves brothers." Donnegan ground his teeth and the old flush burned upon his face. "I'll cut some throats if they do," he said, trembling with his passion. "I can hear them say it. 'Lord Nick walked in on Donnegan prepared to eat him up. He measured him up and down, saw that he was a fighting wildcat in spite of his size, and decided to back out. And Donnegan was willing. They couldn't come out without a story of some kind—with the whole world expecting a death in that cabin—so they framed a crazy cock-and-bull story about being brothers.' I can hear them say that, Donnegan, and it makes me wild!" "Do you call me Donnegan?" said Donnegan sadly. "No, no. Garry, don't be so touchy. You've never got over that, I see. Still all pride and fire." "You're not very humble yourself, Henry." "Maybe not, maybe not. But I've been in a certain position around these parts, Don—Garry. And it's hard to see it go!" Donnegan closed his eyes in deep reverie. And then he forced out the words one by one. "Henry, I'll let everybody know that it was I who backed down. That we were about to fight." He was unable to speak; he tore the stock loose at his throat and went on: "We were about to fight; I lost my nerve; you couldn't shoot a helpless man. We began to talk. We found out we are brothers—" "Damnation!" broke out Lord Nick, and he struck himself violently across the forehead with the back of his hand. "I'm a skunk, Garry, lad. Why, for a minute I was about to let you do it. No. no, no! A thousand times no!" It was plain to be seen that he was arguing himself away from the temptation. "What do I care what they say? We'll cram the words back down their throats and be hanged to 'em. Here I am worrying about myself like a selfish dog without letting myself be happy over finding you. But I am happy, Garry. Heaven knows it. And you don't doubt it, do you, old fellow?" "Ah," said Donnegan, and he smiled to cover a touch of sadness. "I hope not. No, I don't doubt you, of course. I've spent my life wishing for you since you left us, you see. And then I followed you for three years on the road, hunting everywhere." "You did that?" "Yes. Three years. I liked the careless life. For to tell you the truth, I'm not worth much, Henry. I'm a loafer by instinct, and—" "Not another word." There were tears in the eyes of Lord Nick, and he frowned them away. "Confound it, Garry, you unman me. I'll be weeping like a woman in a minute. But now, sit down. We still have some things to talk over. And we'll get to a quick conclusion." "Ah, yes," said Donnegan, and at the emotion which had come in the face of Lord Nick, his own expression softened wonderfully. A light seemed to stand in his face. "We'll brush over the incidentals. And everything is incidental aside from the fact that we're together again. They can chisel iron chain apart, but we'll never be separated again, God willing!" He looked up as he spoke, and his face was for the moment as pure as the face of a child—Donnegan, the thief, the beggar, the liar by gift, and the man-killer by trade and artistry. But Lord Nick in the meantime was looking down to the floor and mustering his thoughts. "The main thing is entirely simple," he said. "You'll make one concession to my pride, Garry, boy?" "Can you ask me?" said Donnegan softly, and he cast out his hands in a gesture that offered his heart and his soul. "Can you ask me? Anything I have is yours!" "Don't say that," answered Lord Nick tenderly. "But this small thing—my pride, you know—I despise myself for caring what people think, but I'm weak. I admit it, but I can't help it." "Talk out, man. You'll see if there's a bottom to things that I can give!" "Well, it's this. Everyone knows that I came up here to get young Jack Landis and bring him back to Lebrun's—from which you stole him, you clever young devil! Well, I'll simply take him back there, Garry; and then I'll never have to ask another favor of you." He was astonished by a sudden silence, and looking up again, he saw that Donnegan sat with his hand at his breast. It was a singularly feminine gesture to which he resorted. It was a habit which had come to him in his youth in the invalid chair, when the ceaseless torment of his crippled back became too great for him to bear. And clearly, indeed, those days were brought home to Lord Nick as he glanced up, for Donnegan was staring at him in the same old, familiar agony, mute and helpless. <hr style="width: 65%;"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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