Ronicky Doone's Reward by Max Brand (ebook offline reader .txt) 📕

He would never forget what followed. Old Steve Bennett left the room, was gone for a minute, and then returned with an accompanying sound of clanking iron. When he reappeared he carried manacles in his hand.

“Old-fashioned irons, but strong,” he told Charlie Loring. “Like a lot of old-fashioned things, they don’t look as good as they really are.” And he snapped them over the wrists of Ronicky. Here the girl protested again.

“Charlie — father!” she exclaimed, coming between them and Ronicky. “There’s something wrong about all this. He — he might have something to say. Why don’t we give him a chance to talk — to explain — perhaps to put forward his side of the story.”

Charlie Loring fired into a rage at once.

“D’you think there is another side to the story?” he asked.

“No, no! Don’t lose your temper, Charlie. I only mean that he should have a chance to talk. Men have that right in a law court. Why shouldn’t we give him that right here?”

“Nobody’s stopping him from talking,” said Charlie Loring, but the scowl with which he turned upon Ronicky was thunderous in blackness. “Go ahead and tell your little lie, Ronicky. We ain’t stopping you!”

He stepped back, his face working and pale, and the fingers with which he rolled his cigarette were uneasy at their work.

“Look at him!” said Ronicky Doone. “Does he look like a gent that’s just finished telling the truth, or like a liar that figures his lie might possibly be found out?”

“You — ” cried Charlie Loring. He crushed the cigarette to shapelessness and stepped a long stride toward Ronicky, but Elsie Bennett faced him and pushed him back with the lightest pressure of her hand.

“Why, Charlie!” she cried, and again, “Why, Charlie!”

“Al Jenkins is right,” thought Ronicky in the depths of his miserable heart. “She’s an angel! She’ll look right through him!”

Charlie Loring was facing the girl in desperation.

“You weren’t going to strike him when his hands are in the irons?” she asked, wonder and a tinge of scorn giving her voice an edge.

“I — I’ve stood a good deal from him, Elsie,” said the big man. “I saved his hoss to-day and might have throwed my life away doing it, with that posse of madmen spurring down the trail to get at me. And after doing that for him, he comes and tried to kill me from behind. Ain’t that enough to make a gent forget himself?”

“I suppose it is,” said Elsie Bennett and turned toward Ronicky, with a peculiar mixture of loathing and curiosity. He met her glance. His own eyes widened to meet it. For a moment they stared steadily at each other, and with all his might he was sending the message to her through that glance: “Don’t you see that I’m an honest man?”

Some of the loathing finally passed from her expression. She came a little closer and no longer held her skirts together, as though in touching him they might float against a permanent defilement.

“Talk,” she said. “Tell us what you have to say to explain yourself!”

Ronicky Doone smiled and shook his head.

“I tell you seriously,” said the girl, “that if you don’t talk you’ll be given tomorrow morning, a terrible punishment for what you’ve tried to do.”

Again he shook his head, again he smiled faintly, and Steve Bennett said angrily: “Don’t you see that he ain’t able to frame a lie to fit? That’s the only reason he ain’t wagging his tongue this minute, girl!”

She turned troubled eyes to her father and then looked back to Ronicky.

“I don’t know,” she whispered more to herself than to the others. “But you two know so much more than I do. Surely you won’t make a mistake!”

“Make a mistake? Of course not! The hound knows what he’s done, and he knows what he has to expect if he’s caught trying to do it. He’ll have the nerve to take his dose without whining beforehand, I hope!”

This from Charlie Loring, and again Ronicky Doone favored the big man with an eloquent glance. The girl had stepped back again, but still she studied the prisoner, as if her mind were not yet entirely made up, as though she still leaned toward mercy.

“If there is a mistake,” she said at last, as Ronicky rose in obedience to a command from Loring, “it’s a most terrible one. I warn you of that, Charlie!”

Charlie Loring turned at the door.

“What’s the matter, Elsie?” he asked. “Good Lord, if you almost believe his silence, what would you do if he started talking?”

But she made no answer, merely bowing her head in thought. And the last Ronicky saw of her, as he went through the door, was the gold of her head against the blue-gray of the faded wall paper.

Then he turned his eyes to the front and followed old Steve Bennett, as the latter mounted the steps, with a lamp raised high above his head and the lamplight brilliant in the edges of his white and misty hair. Just behind him followed Charlie Loring, revolver in hand.

“Watch yourself every minute,” Charlie advised Steve Bennett. “This fellow is apt to try some snake trick almost any minute.”

Ronicky plodded on. He might cast himself suddenly back down the stairs and trust to luck that movement would surprise Loring. But he had a shrewd idea that if he tried such a maneuver a forty-five slug, would tear through his vitals. He slowed up, thinking of this problem, and was prodded in the small of the back by the muzzle of the big gun. Yes, it would not do to attempt a surprise movement while Charlie Loring walked behind him with a gun. In the upper hall they turned aside into the first room, and there the lamp was placed on the floor.

There was no other place for it. The room was denuded of all furniture. Dust was thick on walls and floor, and an atmosphere of unutterable desolation pervaded the apartment.

“You make yourself comfortable here,” said the old man with a grim humor. “Just take as much room as you want. And if you got any requests, holler.”

He turned his back to leave.

“Are you going to leave this light here?” asked Charlie Loring.

“Why not? Or would it be too much comfort for him if he could have the light to see by?”

“The thoughts he has to think ain’t going to be much more pleasant in the light than in the dark,” chuckled Charlie. “But the hound might dump the lamp over and trust to luck that the flames would bite down through the floor, and so he could get loose. We’ll leave him no light, I guess. What about the window?”

“There ain’t nothing that he can climb down by without using his arms. If he tries to get out that way, we won’t have to bother the boys with him in the morning.”

This thought pleased Steve Bennett, and he continued to chuckle the rest of the time that he was in the room. This was not long, for Charlie said that he wished to have a moment alone with Ronicky, and the rancher obligingly stepped out of the room. When he was gone, the big man stepped over to the prisoner, holding the lamp high. There he waited, his forehead covered with wrinkles of doubt and thought which were deeply outlined in shadows which struck up from the lamp in his hand. And his whole face in that manner was made older in appearance.

“Ronicky,” he said very softly, “I hate what I’ve been doing. I hate it like death. But I had to do it. And now I’ve got in so deep that I’ve got to go through with it”

“You think you will,” said Ronicky, “but you’ll change your mind. You’ll change your mind when the morning comes, Charlie. That’s why I didn’t talk downstairs, I wanted to give you a chance to work out of this all by yourself, because I know you ain’t snake enough to do what you’re trying to do.”

Charlie Loring waited and said nothing. A hundred things seemed to be pressing toward the tip of his tongue, but none of them was formed into words.

“Good Heaven!” he muttered at last. “I only wish — “

His wish was never expressed, but turning hastily on his heels, he literally fled out of the room and slammed the door heavily and locked it behind him.

Ronicky heard his steps descending the stairs, and a little later he could make out the voices, as the girl and her father and Charlie talked. And by the sharp sounds he knew that a hot argument was in progress. For a time he strained his ears to make out the words, but after a while he abandoned that effort, because each syllable was sufficiently removed to blur.

This continued for some time, and after that he heard them go off to bed, Charlie Loring remaining in the house. This struck Ronicky as odd indeed. The report had it that Charlie was a new man on the Bennett ranch, but while the other cow-punchers slept in the bunk house, which he had distinguished by its lights, he, the new hand, was given the privilege of sleeping in the owner’s house. And the granting of that privilege showed what a poor judge of human nature Bennett was. It was enough to raise a revolt among self-respecting cow-punchers. Only tramps and loafers would submit to the making of such distinctions, no matter how necessary Charlie might have made himself to Bennett, or how agreeable to the girl.

He heard the voices of Charlie and Elsie now mount the stairs until they reached the hall just opposite his door, and now he could understand the words they spoke.

“Stop thinking