Gunmans Reckoning | Page 9

foolhardy chance.
As it was, the fall whirled him over and over, and by the time he had picked himself up
the lighted caboose of the train was rocking past him. Donnegan watched it grow small in
the distance, and then, when it was only a red, uncertain star far down the track, he turned
to the vast country around him.
The mountains were to his right, not far away, but caught up behind the shadows so that
it seemed a great distance. Like all huge, half-seen things they seemed in motion toward
him. For the rest, he was in bare, rolling country. The sky line everywhere was clean;

there was hardly a sign of a tree. He knew, by a little reflection, that this must be cattle
country, for the brakie had intimated as much in their talk just before dusk. Now it was
early night, and a wind began to rise, blowing down the valley with a keen motion and a
rapidly lessening temperature, so that Donnegan saw he must get to a shelter. He could, if
necessary, endure any privation, but his tastes were for luxurious comfort. Accordingly
he considered the landscape with gloomy disapproval. He was almost inclined to regret
his plunge from the lumbering freight train. Two things had governed him in making that
move. First, when he discovered that the long trail he followed was definitely fruitless, he
was filled with a great desire to cut himself away from his past and make a new start.
Secondly, when he learned that Rusty Dick had been killed by Joe, he wanted desperately
to get the throttle of the latter under his thumb. If ever a man risked his life to avoid a sin,
it was Donnegan jumping from the train to keep from murder.
He stooped to sight along the ground, for this is the best way at night and often horizon
lights are revealed in this manner. But now Donnegan saw nothing to serve as a guide. He
therefore drew in his belt until it fitted snug about his gaunt waist, settled his cap firmly,
and headed straight into the wind.
Nothing could have shown his character more distinctly.
When in doubt, head into the wind.
With a jaunty, swinging step he sauntered along, and this time, at least, his tactics found
an early reward. Topping the first large rise of ground, he saw in the hollow beneath him
the outline of a large building. And as he approached it, the wind clearing a high blowing
mist from the stars, he saw a jumble of outlying houses. Sheds, barns, corrals--it was the
nucleus of a big ranch. It is a maxim that, if you wish to know a man look at his library
and if you wish to know a rancher, look at his barn. Donnegan made a small detour to the
left and headed for the largest of the barns.
He entered it by the big, sliding door, which stood open; he looked up, and saw the stars
shining through a gap in the roof. And then he stood quietly for a time, listening to the
voices of the wind in the ruin. Oddly enough, it was pleasant to Donnegan. His own
troubles and sorrow had poured upon him so thickly in the past hour or so that it was
soothing to find evidence of the distress of others. But perhaps this meant that the entire
establishment was deserted.
He left the barn and went toward the house. Not until he was close under its wall did he
come to appreciate its size. It was one of those great, rambling, two-storied structures
which the cattle kings of the past generation were fond of building. Standing close to it,
he heard none of the intimate sounds of the storm blowing through cracks and broken
walls; no matter into what disrepair the barns had fallen, the house was still solid; only
about the edges of the building the storm kept murmuring.
Yet there was not a light, neither above nor below. He came to the front of the house.
Still no sign of life. He stood at the door and knocked loudly upon it, and though, when
he tried the knob, he found that the door was latched, yet no one came in response. He

knocked again, and putting his ear close he heard the echoes walk through the interior of
the building.
After this, the wind rose in sudden strength and deafened him with rattlings; above him, a
shutter was swung open and then crashed to, so that the opening of the door was a shock
of surprise to Donnegan. A dim light from a source which he could not direct suffused
the interior of the hall; the door itself was worked open a matter of