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

Why Jenkins should have said this, and particularly why it should have been accompanied by a tremendous wink, Ronicky could not tell. But Jenkins himself seemed to be perfectly satisfied. He changed the subject abruptly, and when he left a little later, he paused at the door.

“The sheriff may be up to see you,” he said, “but you can lay to it that I’ll see the sheriff before he sees you, so I guess he won’t take up much of your time. About the girl —

Here he paused and studied Ronicky with narrowed eyes.

“You’ve started your fight,” said Jenkins, “and you’ll have to keep it up along the same lines. You’ve started by knocking down the walls around her and getting at her that way. You’ll have to keep it up, son, until you’ve taken her by force. And as soon as you see that I’m right, I guess you’ll be coming along to talk to Uncle Al Jenkins. Good-by for a while!”

He turned away but checked himself again.

“There’s seven days left,” he said. “I’m going to give Bennett seven days’ grace to get a new foreman to take Blondy’s place. And when that time’s up, I’m going to start a drive that’ll sweep Bennett’s place as clean as the palm of your hand. Get ready to be with me before that time comes, Ronicky!”

With his final advice he left the younger man and sauntered away. Ronicky remained in his room, plunged in his sorrowful reflections and walking hastily up and down. Every now and then he paused, and whenever he paused, it was because a new picture of the face of the girl had started up before him and startled him to a stop. She was beginning to grow into his mind and become a part of him from which he could not rid himself.

In the evening, just after the rim of the sun was down, his meditations were broken in upon by a sudden hubbub in the street of the town, and Ronicky jerked up the window and leaned out to listen.

He could not hear enough to form any connected story. But he gathered by the disjointed exclamations that the good people of Twin Springs were greatly distraught because of a daring and outrageous raid which had recently been made, half a dozen outlaws having scooped up a freight wagon, loaded with all manner of supplies, and taken it away with them into the mountains toward their camp. More than this, they had ridden on down the road, leaving the driver of the wagon bound behind them, and they had come to the very outskirts of Twin Springs, where they had gathered in a large quantity of money from one of the leading citizens of Twin Springs.

Then, leaving their victims bound and gagged, they had stolen away again and were safely gone, leaving behind them no clew except the sound of their voices and the description of their masks. And Twin Springs was literally roaring with rage and excitement. Ronicky caught a little of the drift of the talk from the window of his room. When he went down stairs, eager to mix in anything that would free him from the burden of his own thoughts, he heard the details.

No one blamed the sheriff for failing to apprehend the criminals. It was simply that they had found a secure refuge among the impregnable mountains near Twin Springs. The vital question was whether or not the forces of the entire town would be able to find the robbers and rout them. Ronicky drew the soberest man he could find to one side and learned still more about the men who lived beyond the law.

On the crests of Solomon Mountain, which was really many mountains rising to one ragged top, the gang had lived for several months now, growing in strength from time to time, as the rumor of their impregnable position spread abroad and drew in recruits of chosen skill. And as their strength of numbers and quality increased, so also did their boldness. At first they had secured their shelter by committing their depredations at a distance. And so long as they did this, the men of Twin Springs were by no means inclined to bother with the formidable little group, but since then they had begun to come nearer and nearer to the town on occasion, and now at last the blow which all had been dreading, had fallen. The Solomon Mountain gang had struck the precincts of Twin Springs itself, and now the honor of the town was pledged to run them down.

When Ronicky inquired why this was a task of such size, he was informed that Solomon Mountain was a literal labyrinth of canyons and sharp-sided gorges, running one into the other and connecting in a thousand unsuspected places by underground tunnels which were mostly natural caves. A little adroit blasting and pick-and-shovel work had opened them up and made them practicable for man and horse. Not only was this a hole-in-the-wall country, where the shrewdest sheriff in the world would be baffled with a posse of a thousand men, but it was also a place where the outlaws had laid up such provisions that they could stand siege and disappear into their subterranean resorts for an indefinite period. Moreover, it was possible to take advantage of the broken nature of the ground and the many outlook points so as to keep an advancing force under observation and, drifting just ahead and inside the limits of safety, make life wretched for those who attempted to break through and capture the miscreants.

There were already a score of stories to be told, in spite of the fact that the headquarters on Solomon Mountain was new, of celebrated man hunters who had rushed at the stronghold and broken the teeth of their reputation on its jagged sides and gone back shorn of honor. Ronicky Doone, as he heard these things, looked up from the town to the ragged crest of the peak and then turned back to the hotel, carrying with him the interesting item that recruits were added to the gang simply by riding to the top of the mountain in broad daylight and waiting for what would happen to them. No matter where they paused, they would be sure to be looked over by some invisible spy, and, if they proved acceptable, they would be taken into the inner circle.

But Ronicky paid little heed to the story. His interests were too closely attached to the proprietor’s room in the hotel. Here the doctor and Elsie Bennett were fighting to save the life of the man he had shot down.

He learned that Blondy, though still living, was still hardly improved. He had come out of the coma, but he had passed into the almost equally dreaded state of delirium, and now the shrill sounds of his ravings at times were clearly audible through the halls of the ramshackle building. Ronicky walked past the room on the rear veranda and paused by the two big windows which opened upon it from Blondy’s quarters. And he heard the murmurings of the injured man clearly. The strong manliness had passed out of the voice. It was a whining complaint.

“What have I done that I got to stand for this? Where’s old Bennett? Why ain’t he standing his share? Where’s the girl? Where’s Elsie? Why ain’t she helping — why — ” Ronicky felt his heart leap into his throat and swell there to choking. A great sense of wretchedness swept over him. With his bullet he had not only struck down a strong man, but, worse than this, he had destroyed his pride.

A cool-toned, pleasant voice broke in on the rough current of the raving: “I’m here, Charlie. I’m here, dear. There’s nothing to worry about; you’re only having bad dreams now. Don’t you see? You’re only having bad dreams now!”

He looked through the door, feeling like a miserable spy, and he saw her sitting by the bed. The lamp had been lighted, as the dusk of the evening increased. And now it was so placed that, while the man on the bed was left veiled in the darkness, a mild radiance fell upon Elsie Bennett. Her hand was on the forehead of Blondy. She was looking down to him with a smile. And at the tenderness in her voice, in her smile, Ronicky felt his pulse leap again.

What lucky star had Charlie Loring been born under? He reverted to what wise old Al Jenkins had said and shook his head. Wise Jenkins might be, but in this case he was mistaken. With all his heart and soul she loved the man she had chosen, or else Ronicky felt that there was no such thing as true and faithful love of woman for man.

He listened, with a guilty and tortured happiness in hearing her, until she rose from the bed and went to the doctor. The latter sat near the lamp with a newspaper shaken out before him, the very picture of indifferent ease. He bent his head and looked up at the girl over the rim of his glasses, still keeping his paper spread out

“Doctor,” she was saying, “is that the true man that I’m hearing talk over there? Can I believe what he’s saying about himself and about other people?”

There was a rustling of the bedclothes, as Charlie Loring stirred his nervous arms.

“If I can only get it over with in a rush,” he was saying in a mutter. “If I can only get at him and kill him — shoot him down before I got to stand up to them eyes of his — them clear, straight-looking eyes!”

Here the girl caught her breath in something between a sob and a gasp of horror, and the sound apparently broke into the delirious mind of the man, for his talking ceased.

“Does it mean that he was really afraid of Ronicky Doone?” asked the girl faintly. “Oh, doctor, tell me true!”

The doctor lowered his paper, cleared his throat, scratched his head. In short he had not the slightest idea what to answer.

“It might be true, and then again it mightn’t,” he said. “The mind turns a lot of corners from the truth in a delirium, sometimes. But then again a man will tell the naked truth.”

“It can’t be the truth here,”