l take both the
shacks, and he can add fifty per cent to his old price."

The bargain was concluded on the spot; the money was paid by George.
Gloster went down the hill to tell The Corner that a mystery had hit the
town and George brought the canvas bag back to Donnegan with the top
still untied--as though to let it be seen that he had not pocketed any
of the gold.

"I don't want to count it," said Donnegan. "Keep the bag, George. Keep
money in your pocket. Treat both of us well. And when that's gone I'll
get more."

If the manner in which Donnegan had handled the renting of the cabins
had charmed George, he was wholly entranced by this last touch of free
spending. To serve a man who was his master was one thing; to serve one
who trusted him so completely was quite another. To live under the same
roof with a man who was a riddle was sufficiently delightful; but to be
allowed actually to share in the mystery was a superhappiness. He was
singing when he started to wash the dishes, and Donnegan went across the
hill to the tent of Lou Macon.

She was laying the fire before the tent; and the morning freshness had
cleared from her face any vestige of the trouble of the night before;
and in the slant light her hair was glorious, all ruffling gold,
semitransparent. She did not smile at him; but she could give the effect
of smiling while her face remained grave; it was her inward calm content
of which people were aware.

"You missed me?"

"Yes."

"You were worried?"

"No."

He felt himself put quietly at a distance. So he took her up the hill to
her new home--the shack beside his own; and George cooked her breakfast.
When she had been served, Donnegan drew the big man to one side.

"She's your mistress," said Donnegan. "Everything you do for her is
worth two things you do for me. Watch her as if she were in your eye.
And if a hair of her head is ever harmed--you see that fire burning
yonder--the bed of coals?"

"Sir?"

"I'll catch you and make a fire like that and feed you into it--by
inches!"

And the pale face of Donnegan became for an instant the face of a demon.
George Washington Green saw, and never forgot.

Afterward, in order that he might think, Donnegan got on one of the
horses he had taken from Godwin and rode over the hills. They were both
leggy chestnuts, with surprising signs of blood' and all the earmarks of
sprinters; but in Godwin's trade sharp getaways were probably often
necessary. The ple