Ronicky Doone's Reward, Max Brand [android e book reader .txt] 📗

The knowledge that the others were awake, even though they were unseen and no matter how hostile to him they might be, had kept Ronicky company, as he lay in his dark room. But, as the voices died out and all the house finally slept, he passed into a new state of alertness. It was something as sharp as that emotion to which he worked himself when he was preparing to step in and fight Charlie Loring to the death. But where there had been a fierce joy and excitement in that prospect, there was only a dreary feeling of doom in this.

Yet it was not a dull surrender. His mind kept fighting against the facts for a time and striving to contrive a means of escape. But when he got stealthily to his feet and went to the window, he saw that the rancher had spoken the truth, so far as he could make out by the starlight. There was no sign of a ledge beneath the window on which he could have secured sufficient purchase for his feet. So he returned to his place by the wall, where he sat down cross-legged and resumed his black reflections.

The time would not be very long, now, before the morning came and the tragedy with it. It might not be actual death that he would come to, but it would be something closely akin to death. He would be nearly a murdered man before the cow-punchers were through with one whom they would be led to consider a treacherous man-killer.

His hope had been that Charlie Loring could not carry the thing through. He would be forced to repent before the moment came to execute his diabolical plan.

And, as he thought of this he was brought back with a shock to the consideration of Loring and his impulses. For what could be the reason underlying and explaining the big fellow’s actions? Nothing could have been finer than the actions of Loring in Twin Springs earlier on that same day, when he faced the crowd for the sake of an idea — and Elsie Bennett. No doubt the consummate loveliness of the girl explained part of the reckless gallantry with which Charlie Loring had ridden into Twin Springs and flirted with death. But the beauty of Elsie Bennett could surely have nothing to do with the generous and big-hearted carelessness with which he again risked his safety in order to ride down the slope and save Lou from the waterfall.

The memory of that act increased the rhythm of the pulse of Ronicky Doone. It had been as fine a thing as he had ever witnessed. And now could he believe that such a man, capable of such actions, was the cunning trickster and dastard which Charlie Loring had shown himself to be on this night.

Now the wonder of it appalled him, and he bowed his head.

There was only one thing remaining for him to do, and that was to accept the villainy of Charlie Loring as an accomplished fact and, putting this and all hope behind him, turn toward the morning and the dangers which loomed before him. He must steady his nerve until it was iron. He must be ready to endure the most horrible tortures of shame and of actual physical agony when he faced the cow-punchers. And for this he already began to set his teeth.

Indefinitely the silence of the night had worn on when Ronicky heard another sign of life in the house, just loud enough to be audible above the night whispers which went to and fro in the big place. This sound was a light creaking in the hall, a creaking which advanced slowly, but regularly, toward the door of his room and stopped. It occurred to Ronicky that some of the cow-punchers on the place might well have heard of his capture, and that they had made up their minds to kidnap him from the house of the owner and take him out for a lynching, or for an ordeal nearly as terrible. So he waited breathlessly until the door opened, and through the opening a strong, cold draught blew over him. But with the wind he heard a rustling of garments at the door.

When it was closed he knew that Elsie Bennett was with him in the dark. But there was no striking of a light. Only the whisper of her gown told of her progress across the floor. She came straight to the center of the floor and paused there, quite close to Ronicky.

“Ronicky Doone!” she called, for there was a quality in her whisper that made it like a cry of alarm.

“Here!” he answered in the same tone.

He could tell by the breath she drew and the flutter of skirts that she had drawn suddenly away from the sound of his voice.

“Be quiet!” she cautioned him. “It is I, Elsie Bennett. I’ve come to do you no harm. But be quiet — make no noise, or it will be the worse for you.”

In spite of his situation he could not help smiling. There was so much frightened childishness in her caution. She had not come to harm him!

A match scratched, and presently a long, trembling flame grew up from a candle. She shielded it with one gleaming hand so that her own face was thrown in deeper shadow, while a pale glow fell upon Ronicky Doone, as he rose to his feet and stood frowning at the light. No doubt he looked villainous enough, but he set his teeth when she gave back from him in manifest fear. She began to talk rapidly, to get the message with which she had come out of her mind, so that she could be gone.

“Ronicky Doone,” she said, “I’ve come to save you — you understand? I’ve come so that you may be let loose — on condition.”

“All right,” said Ronicky.

“On condition” — and here a forefinger was raised in stiff caution — “that you give me your solemn word of honor that you will never harm Charlie Loring on account of all that has happened between you two. I have a key here which will fit the irons that are on your wrists, and I’ll set you free. But only if you promise never to hurt him!”

Ronicky stared patiently at her. It made him feel sadly wicked and ancient to witness such innocence. He waited until the last sound of her vibrating and eager voice had died away from his ear, for it seemed to cling there. It was odd that he should feel so detached. It was as though he stood in the distance and looked in upon this scene, noting down coldly the questions and answers. And always, as they talked, his glances were prying past that single gleaming hand and the pale circle of the candle glow and trying to get at the reality of her face; and he could never succeed.

“Why don’t you answer?” she asked suddenly. “Are you sick? Or do you think I don’t mean it? I tell you, here is the key!”

She held it up. It came to Ronicky that in spite of his manacled hands he could leap at her, knock her down, tear the key from her, and unfasten his own bonds by using a little dexterity of wrist and fingers. But the thought was a distant and unreal picture to him. He could never use violence against her. The danger even could not persuade him to a serious consideration of that possibility.

“You’re wasting your time,” he answered her finally. “I won’t give you that promise, ma’am.”

The jerk of the hand which held the light and the corresponding flutter and leap of the flame, told how much she was startled by this announcement. She could not speak at once. Finally she said: “But I’m not joking with you. I’m offering you your liberty — really. Otherwise your promise wouldn’t mean anything.”

“I can’t give it,” said Ronicky.

“But,” she went on, “you don’t understand. They might even kill you in the morning. They are going to be told how you stole up behind Charlie Loring and tried to — oh, when our men hear that, they’ll be simply mad with rage, Ronicky Doone. Keep that picture in mind. Our cow-punchers are rough — very rough!”

He watched her steadily. She had come a little nearer. People always do when they are persuading.

“Yes, I know that they’re rough,” he replied, “but still I can’t promise.”

“Why not?”

“I couldn’t hold up my head if I did. A man has one thing that’s worth more’n his life, lady, and that’s his honor.”

“Honor!” gasped Elsie Bennett. “Honor — from you!”

She recovered at once.

“I didn’t mean to say that. I didn’t mean to hurt you unnecessarily. But a man who would slip up with a revolver behind another man — and still worry about such scruples as — “

She paused.

“I’m sorry,” said Ronicky. “But I told you before. You’re just wasting your time!”

She passed a hand across her forehead. This time she came so close that he could make her out quite distinctly. And in that dim light, against the velvet darkness, she seemed to Ronicky as lovely as a jewel and as radiant. And he felt again the sense of awe with which he had first looked at her, though then that emotion had been covered with a more profound feeling of shame.

“I try to make out what can be in your mind and behind your words,” said the girl faintly. “But I can’t. You bewilder me. You seem to be throwing away a — “

“Miss Bennett,” said Ronicky, “I figure that you’ll have to work it out this way: that if you believe everything Charlie Loring said about me, you never can understand.”

“You ask me to put him down as a liar?”

“I don’t ask that. Only — maybe he’s mistaken.”

“Ah, yes. I’m foolish to say so, but I can’t help it. I was interested from the very first. It was hard to believe of you all that my father, for instance, believes. And I’m half prepared to sympathize with any good explanation you can offer. You had no chance to talk downstairs. Will you talk now — to me?”

He was sharply tempted, but he shook his head.

“Words ain’t going to help me none,” declared Ronicky. “Nope! What’s needed is a little action. When I’ve done a few things, maybe you’ll be willing to take another think. But if I talk tonight, Blondy Loring will talk in the morning. And what he says will wipe out what I say.”

It was such frank, clear-cut talk that she was amazed and showed her surprise.

“You really don’t intend to buy your liberty with a promise?” she asked.

“Look here,” said Ronicky