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We're glad to see Waring back, of course. You two can drift out when I get to talking business with him." Quigley nodded and took up his pen. The assistant manager studied a map. Waring strode in briskly. The paymaster glanced up and nodded, expecting Donovan to speak. But Donovan sat with his back toward Waring, his head wreathed in tobacco smoke. He was apparently absorbed in a letter.
The assistant mopped his face with an immaculate handkerchief. The room was hot. "Bill," and Waring's voice was softly insulting, "you can't bluff worth a damn." Donovan's red face grew redder. "What are you driving at, anyway?" Quigley stirred and rose. The assistant got to his feet. "Just a minute," said Waring, gesturing to them to sit down. "Donovan's got something on his mind.
His shoulders were broad and set well back, his poise buoyant, and his air of absolute confidence gave a dubious tone to the words of the quidnuncs who were allowing Quigley three minutes to whip him out of all recognition. Done looked slight and small before his big opponent, but Pete's bigness was due largely to surplus material, and Pete had been anything but a temperate man of late.
Before he had moved a step forward he saw a man coming toward him. He laughed outright, a laugh of suddenly relieved nerves which had been very tense. That man would have water and would know where other water was to be found. The man came neither from the direction of Quigley nor yet of Desert Valley. Rather he was coming in from the north, would cut Howard's trail almost at right angles.
Everybody is happy in it, even Miss Quigley is happy, mamma. What nice rooms! What pretty chintz! What a oh, what a comfortable sofa!" and she falls down on the sofa, which, truth to say, was the Rev. Charles Honeyman's luxurious sofa from Oxford, presented to him by young Cibber Wright of Christchurch, when that gentleman-commoner was eliminated from the University.
Longstreet demurred. He wasn't certain that it could be done this way, nor did he like the idea of imposing upon her. But, she told him quickly, it could be done; she had acted for another gentleman in this capacity, Mr. Nate Kemble of the Quigley mines. She knew all about it. As for imposition, she broke into a timid little laugh.
'He's beaten, but my hat won't fit me for a day or two, answered Done, smiling through the water. Quigley showed his bad condition very markedly when he came up, and Jim, excepting for a cut chin and a big lump over his temple, appeared none the worse.
'He's fightin' fair, an' as long as he fights fair he'll fight as he dom well pleases! said Ben Kyley, who had constituted himself referee. Already Quigley was bleeding freely and panting from his exertions, while Done, who betrayed no excitement and conserved his energies with miserly care, was no more disturbed than if he had been taking a hand at cards.
'A man ought to toe the scratch an' take his gruel like a man. With those Johnnie-jump-ups it's all cut an' run, an' I admit it licks me. I ain't neither a foot-racer nor a acrobat, an' Done gave me as much as I cared about. Indeed, Quigley looked it. The fact was patent on the face of him, and he would not be in a condition to dispute the thoroughness of his trouncing for three weeks at least.
"Ah, dear, but I wish somebody 'ud be conthrivin' a bit of good luck for us then," said Mrs. Quigley. "Maybe there's plinty more where that's comin' from," suggested Brian Kilfoyle, hopefully. "It's apt to stay there, then," quoth Mrs. Quigley, "for any signs I can see."
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