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!"