Ronicky Doone's Treasure - Max Brand (big screen ebook reader .txt) 📗

was not beautiful, but she was very pretty. Her hair was sand-colored and further faded by the sun. Constant exposure had tanned her dark bronze. But her big gray eyes were as bright and as steady as the torch in Ronicky’s hand. There was something wonderfully honest and wonderfully feminine about her whole body and the carriage of her head. Ronicky guessed at once that here was a true Western girl who could ride like a man, shoot like a man, perhaps, and then at the end of the trail be gentleness itself. She was tensed with excitement as she looked to Ronicky now.

“Dad,” she cried suddenly, “I believe every word he’s spoken. His name is Doone. He has nothing to do with the band. And he’s come here out of the honest goodness of his heart to warn you of Moon’s intentions.”

“Thanks, lady,” said Ronicky. “It sure does me proud to hear you say that! Dawn, will you come to and see that what she says is the truth? I’ll go one further. Now, Dawn, we’re on even terms. Would one of Moon’s men put you there?”

Hugh Dawn was staggered, for Ronicky had slipped his revolver back into his holster at his right hip. It was worse than an even break for Doone, because Dawn held in his hand, bared of the leather, the light thirty-two-caliber revolver which he had taken from the girl.

“Jerry,” he said, “I dunno — I dunno. Moon’s more full of tricks than a snake is of poison. But maybe this is square. Maybe this gent ain’t got a thing to do with Moon.”

“Then,” cried Ronicky Doone, with a sudden passion, “for Heaven’s sake act on it! Jump out of this house, saddle your hoss, and ride! Because Moon’s coming!”

There was such honest eagerness in his voice that Hugh Dawn started as though to execute the suggestion. He only hesitated to say: “How come you to do all this riding and talking for me? What d’you get out of it? What am I to you?”

“You’re a gent with four crooks on your heels,” said Ronicky calmly. “I heard them talk. I couldn’t let a murder be done if I could keep you from it. That’s why I’m here.”

The other shook his head. But the girl cried: “Don’t you see, dad? He’s simply — white! For Heaven’s sake, believe him — trust in my trust. Get your things together. I’ll saddle the gray and — “

The storm of her excited belief swept the other off his feet. He flashed one glance at Ronicky Doone, then turned on his heel and ran for his room.

The girl raced the other way, clattering down the stairs. Perhaps when she sprang outside into the night Jack Moon and his men would already be there. But she had never a thought for danger.

Ronicky Doone only delayed to run into the front room on that floor — the room from which the girl had spoken to him when he tried the front door — and there he lighted the lamp and placed it on the table near the window. After that he sped down the stairs, untethered Lou from her tree at the side of the house, and hurried with her to the back of the house and the old, tumble-down horseshed which stood there.

Lantern light showed there, where the girl was saddling a tall, gray gelding. She was working the cinch knots tight as Ronicky appeared, so fast had been her work, and now her father came from the house at a run, huddling himself into his slicker.

“How could they find out that I come here?” he asked. “After ten years!”

“No time for questions,” his daughter said, panting. “Oh, dad, for Heaven’s sake use the spurs tonight. Go back. Never return!”

“And leave you here alone?” asked Ronicky sternly. “Not when Moon and his gang are on the way. I seen their faces, lady, and they ain’t a pretty lot! Leave you to be found by them? Not in a thousand years.”

She grew a little pale at that, but she still kept her head high. “I’ve nothing to fear,” she said. “They wouldn’t dare harm me.”

“I’ll trust ‘em dead, not living,” said Ronicky. “You’re going to ride with your father and on that hoss yonder!”

There was a companion to the gray, hardly so tall, but even better formed.

“He’s right,” said Hugh Dawn. As he spoke he caught saddle and bridle from their hooks and slapped them onto the horse. “I ain’t thinking right tonight. I ain’t understanding things. Doone, you put shame on me! Of course I ain’t going to leave her alone!”

Ronicky heard these remarks with only half an ear.

He called from the door of the shed, where he had taken his stand: “Now put out the lantern! No use calling them this way with a light!”

He was hastily obeyed. Through the darkness they led out the two grays beside Lou.

“And you, Doone,” said Hugh Dawn, who seemed to have been recovering his poise rapidly during the past seconds, “ride down the east road. We’ll go over the hills. Tomorrow Jerry can come back, when it’s safe. And — Doone, shake hands! I forgive that punch that knocked me cold. Some day we — “

“Shut up,” whispered Ronicky Doone impolitely and with savage force. “There they come!”

Four ghostly, silent figures, stooping low, advancing with stealthy stride, came out of the pines and slid toward the house. They could not be distinguished individually. They were simply blurs in the mist of rainfall, but for some reason their very obscurity made them more significant, more formidable. Ronicky Doone heard a queer, choked sound — Hugh Dawn swallowing a horror that would not down.

“And — and I near stayed there in the house and waited — for this!” he breathed.

Ronicky Doone jerked up a threatening fist. Not that there was a real danger that they might be overheard at that distance, but because he had odd superstitions tucked away in him here and there, and one of those superstitions was that words were more than mere sounds. They were thoughts that went abroad in an electric medium and possessed a life of their own. They might dart across a great space, these things called words. They might enter the minds and souls of men to whom they were not addressed. The idea had grown up in Ronicky Doone during long periods of silence in the mountains, in the desert where silence itself is a voice.

That raised fist brought the hunted man’s teeth together with a snap. Then the gesture of Ronicky commanded them to go forward, on foot, leading their horses. He himself went last and acted as the rear guard while they trudged out past the horseshed — blessing the double night of its shadow! — and up the grade, then swerving around among the trees on the narrow uptrail which would eventually take them over the hills. They came even with the side of the house.

“Good Lord!” breathed Dawn. “They sure ain’t got up that high already — but — they’s a light in the front room — your room, Jerry!”

“I left that lamp,” Ronicky Doone told them, grinning. “I thought it’d keep ‘em nice and quiet for a while and make ‘em sneak up to that door slow and easy, slow and easy — then pop! wide goes the door, and they run in and find — nothing!”

He laughed fiercely, silently — no sound coming save the light catching of his breath.

“You got a brain,” said the rescued man.

“Heaven bless you!” whispered his daughter.

“We can climb the hosses now,” said Ronicky, who seemed to have been admitted into the post of commander. “No danger of being seen. But ride slow. Things that move fast are seen a pile quicker than things that stand still. Now!”

He gave the example of swinging into the saddle on Lou. The girl, as she imitated, went up lightly as a feather, but Hugh Dawn’s great bulk brought a loud grunt from the gray he bestrode, and the three sat a moment, straining in fear. But there was no sound. The four shadows had melted into the greater shadow of the house.

They began at a walk. They climbed higher on the swinging trail among the trees until they were above another eminence and looked down. The house seemed as near as ever, the trail had zigzagged so much to make the altitude. They could see the front of the building clearly, and suddenly the light wobbled, flashed to the side, and almost went out; then it grew dimmer in the center of the apartment.

“They’ve found out the trick,” said Ronicky Doone, speaking in a natural voice and chuckling.

“Hush!” panted the girl.

“We can talk out now, long’s we don’t do no shouting. They’ve sprung the trap, and they’ve got nothing! Not a thing!” He laughed again.

“Thanks to you, partner,” said Hugh Dawn. “Thanks to you, lad!” There was a ring to his low voice.

The girl added a pleasant grace note to what her father had said: “To think,” she said, “that when you spoke from the door — such a little time ago! — I was paralyzed with fear. I thought you were they. I thought they had come for dad! And — well, every day that he lives from now on, is a day due to you, Mr. Doone; and he will never forget. I will never forget.”

For some reason that assurance that she would never forget meant more to Ronicky Doone than any assurance from the grown man.

“Look here,” he said, “you don’t owe nothing to me. It’s Lou that done it. It’s Lou that outfooted their hosses and give me the half hour’s head start. She piled that up inside of twenty miles’ running, too, and after she’d gone a weary way yesterday. Yep, if you got anything to thank, it’s Lou. Me, I just done what anybody’d do. I’ll leave you folks here,” he added, as he got to the top of the crest of the hills with them.

“Leave us? Oh, no!” cried the girl and added hastily: “But of course. You see, I forget, Mr. Doone. It seems that so many things have happened to the three of us tonight that we are all bound together.”

“I wish we were,” said Hugh Dawn. “But you got your business, lad. Besides, I bring bad luck. Stay clear of me, or you’ll have the back luck, too!”

Ronicky’s esteem of the man rose up the scale.

“Folks,” he said kindly, “I’m one of them with nothing on my hands but a considerable lot of time and an itch for action. Seems to me that there may be some more action before this game’s done and over, and I’d sort of like to horn in and have my say along with you, Dawn — if you want me and need me, I mean!”

Dawn answered: “It’s on your own head, if you do. Doone, I’m in fear of death. But — need you? Why, man, I have the greatest thing in the world to do, and I’m single-handed in the doing of it. That’s all. But if you’ll take the chance, why, I’ll trust you, and I’ll let you in on the ground floor. But if you come with me, lad, you’ll be taking the chances. You’ll be playing for millions of dollars. But you’ll be putting up your life in the gamble. How does that sound to you? But remember that if you come along with me, you get Jack Moon and his tribe of bloodhounds on your trail, and if they ever come up with you, you’re dead. Understand?”

“Dad,” cried the girl, “I’m burning with shame to hear