"It takes a thief to catch a thief," said Lebrun enigmatically, when he saw that he had the ear of the crowd, "and it takes a man to catch a man."
"What the devil do you mean by that?" a dozen voices asked.
"I mean, that if you got men enough to run out this man Donnegan, The Corner is a better town than I think."
It brought a growl, but no answer. Lebrun had never been seen to lift his hand, but he was more dreaded than a rattler.
"We'll try," said Milligan dryly. "I ain't much of a man myself"—there were dark rumors about Milligan's past and the crowd chuckled at this modesty—"but I'll try my hand agin' him with a bit of backing. And first I want to tell you boys that they ain't any danger of him having aimed at Andy's hand. I tell you, it ain't possible, hardly, for him to have planned to hit a swingin' target like that. Maybe some could do it. I dunno."
"How about Lord Nick?"
"Sure, Lord Nick might do anything. But Donnegan ain't Lord Nick."
"Not by twenty pounds and three inches."
This brought a laugh. And by comparison with the terrible and familiar name of Lord Nick, Donnegan became a smaller danger. Besides, as Milligan said, it was undoubtedly luck. And when he called for volunteers, three or four stepped up at once. The others made a general milling, as though each were trying to get forward and each were prevented by the crowd in front. But in the background big Jack Landis was seriously trying to get to the firing line. He was encumbered with the clinging weight of Nelly Lebrun.
"Don't go, Jack," she pleaded. "Please! Please! Be sensible. For my sake!"