floor, and while George hung the lantern on a nail on
the wall, Donnegan crossed to the table and appeared to run through the
papers.

He was humming carelessly while he did it, but all the time he watched
with catlike intensity the reflection of George in the mirror above him.
He saw--rather dimly, for the cheap glass showed all its images in
waves--that George turned abruptly after hanging up the lantern, paused,
and then whipped a hand into his coat pocket and out again.

Donnegan leaped lightly to one side, and the knife, hissing past his
head, buried itself in the wall, and its vibrations set up a vicious
humming. As for Donnegan, the leap that carried him to one side whirled
him about also; he faced the big man, who was now crouched in the very
act of following the knife cast with the lunge of his powerful body.
There was no weapon in Donnegan's hand, and yet George hesitated,
balanced--and then slowly drew himself erect.

He was puzzled. An outburst of oaths, the flash of a gun, and he would
have been at home in the brawl, but the silence, the smile of Donnegan
and the steady glance were too much for him. He moistened his lips, and
yet he could not speak. And Donnegan knew that what paralyzed George was
the manner in which he had received warning. Evidently the simple
explanation of the mirror did not occur to the fellow; and the whole
incident took on supernatural colorings. A phrase of explanation and
Donnegan would become again an ordinary human being; but while the small
link was a mystery the brain and body of George were numb. It was
necessary above all to continue inexplicable. Donnegan, turning, drew
the knife from the wall with a jerk. Half the length of the keen blade
had sunk into the wood--a mute tribute to the force and speed of
George's hand--and now Donnegan took the bright little weapon by the
point and gave it back to the other.

"If you throw for the body instead of the head," said Donnegan, "you
have a better chance of sending the point home."

He turned his back again upon the gaping giant, and drawing up a broken
box before the open door he sat down to contemplate the night. Not a
sound behind him. It might be that the big fellow had regained his nerve
and was stealing up for a second attempt; but Donnegan would have
wagered his soul that George Washington Green had his first and last
lesson and that he would rather play with bare lightning than ever again
cross his new master.

At le