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Corrigan's malignance had struck a responsive passion in him, and the sodden impact of fist on flesh, the matching of strength against strength, the strain of iron muscles, the contact of their bodies, the sting and burn of blows, had aroused the latent savage in him.
He was reeling in their grasp, his chin on his chest, his face dust-covered, disfigured, streaked with blood. He was conquered, his spirit broken, and her heart ached with pity for him despite her horror for his black deeds. The loop of a rope swung out as she watched; it fell with a horrible swish over Corrigan's head and was drawn taut, swiftly, and a hoarse roar of approval drowned her shriek.
He stood for a moment, watching with bulging eyes, half drew a pistol, thought better of the notion and replaced it, and then darted back to the saloon from which he had emerged, croaking hoarsely: "Fight! fight!" Trevison had not had the agility to evade one of Corrigan's heavy blows. It had caught him as he had tried to duck, striking fairly on the point of the jaw, and he was badly dazed.
Corrigan's voice was dangerously even, and the Judge squirmed and coughed before he spoke the hesitating word that was an admission of his deception: "I told him where it was." Paralyzed with fear, the Judge watched Corrigan slip off the desk and approach him. He got to his feet and raised his hands to shield his throat as the big man stopped in front of him.
The eager, pleased light died out of Corrigan's face, his lips set in an ugly pout. But he contrived to smile as he got up. "You've done well so far. But don't give him up. Maybe he'll change his mind. Stay here I'll stake you to the limit." He laid a roll of bills on a stand she did not look at them and approached her in a second endeavor to console her.
And then a mass of men, close-packed, undulating, moved down the street toward the private car. Benham's face whitened and he rose from his chair. "Good God!" he said; "what's happened?" He felt Corrigan's hand on his shoulder, forcing him back into his chair. "It can't concern us," said the big man; "wait; we'll know pretty soon. Something's broke loose."
He laughed again as he looked down at the banker. Reaching down, he grasped the inert man by the scruff of the neck and dragged him through the door, out into the banking room, past Corrigan, who watched him wonderingly and to the front, there he dropped him and turning, answered the question that he saw shining in Corrigan's eyes: "I don't work in the dark!
Not for an instant did Corrigan's eyes wander from those of the rider. He saw from them that he might expect no further words. None came. The rider's right hand fell to the butt of the pistol that swung low on his right hip. Simultaneously, Corrigan's hand dropped to his hip pocket. Rosalind saw the black horse lunge forward as though propelled by a sudden spring.
The girl flushed at the last sentence; she replied to the preceding one: "Yes. Hester Keyes threw him over, after he broke with his father." She did not see Corrigan's eyes quicken, for she was wondering if, after all, Hester Keyes had not acted wisely in breaking with Trevison.
Corrigan could not hurt him, and he could not resist laughing at Corrigan's face it was so hideously repulsive. A man came out of the front door of Hanrahan's saloon across the street from the bank building, and stood in the street for a moment, looking about him.
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