inscrutable, whether concerning her or the affairs of other people. She
had heard men come into their house cursing Colonel Macon with death in
their faces; she had seen them sneak out after a soft-voiced interview
and never appear again. In her eyes, her father was invincible,
all-powerful. When she thought of superlatives, she thought of him. Her
conception of mystery was the smile of the colonel, and her conception
of tenderness was bounded by the gentle voice of the same man.
Therefore, it was entirely sufficient to her that the colonel had said:
"Go, and trust everything to Donnegan. He has the power to command you
and you must obey--until Jack comes back to you."

That was odd, for, as far as she knew, Jack had never left her. But she
had early discarded any will to question her father. Curiosity was a
thing which the fat man hated above all else.

Therefore, it was really not strange to her that throughout the journey
her guide did not speak half a dozen words to her. Once or twice when
she attempted to open the conversation he had replied with crushing
monosyllables, and there was an end. For the rest, he was always
swinging down the trail ahead of her at a steady, unchanging, rapid
stride. Uphill and down it never varied. And so they came out upon the
shoulder of the hill and saw the storm center of The Corner. They were
in the hills behind the town; two miles would bring them into it. And
now Donnegan came back to her from the mule. He took off his hat and
shook the dust away; he brushed a hand across his face. He was still
unshaven. The red stubble made him hideous, and the dust and
perspiration covered his face as with a mask. Only his eyes were rimmed
with white skin.

"You'd better get off the horse, here," said Donnegan.