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

She repaid his scowl with an indignant, scornful glance which said plainly enough, “You here?” And then, as he fell in chagrin and surprise, she stepped into the room. She left Ronicky to close the door behind her. The throwing out of her arms narrowed all the world to what lay before her hands, and that one thing was Charlie Loring.

Ronicky Doone was so fascinated by what followed that he only subconsciously and ineffectually resisted the pressure upon the door from the outside. When the door opened again and another stood beside him, Ronicky made no move to shut out the newcomer. He was too busy filling his eyes with the sight of beautiful Elsie Bennett dropping on her knees by the side of the bed of Charlie Loring. He saw the slender hands cherishing the pale face of Charlie Loring. And Ronicky Doone groaned silently. If they brought a man to this, the work of bullets was not all tragic.

Then he turned his head and saw that he who had just intruded was not Bennett, as he had subconsciously expected, but Al Jenkins himself! The big fellow had settled his shoulders against the door, as though to endure a shock, and with his head thrust forward between his great shoulders he was glaring at Elsie Bennett, as though she were an enemy with a gun pointed at him. Ronicky could see the stiff lips of the man working a little. But the murmur was inaudible. Then the doctor drew Elsie from the bed.

“You’re apt to do him harm,” said he. “He’s got to have quiet. But if you’ll stay and help nurse him — if you’ll stay and take care of him, that’s just what I want. He needs a woman’s hands around him. The hands of a man are too thick, too heavy. Will you stay and help me with him?”

“Will I stay?” murmured she. “No one could make me leave!”

She turned and saw Ronicky and Al Jenkins together. There was one flash of anger and scorn for Ronicky, and then her gaze centered bright and wide upon big Al Jenkins. She pointed.

“Who is that?” she whispered.

“You don’t know him? That’s Jenkins — Al Jenkins!”

“Oh!” cried the girl and buried her face in her hands. It seemed impossible to Ronicky that she should never have seen the big rancher before. But then he remembered how recently it was that Jenkins had come back to that district, and how his way with Bennett must have kept the two apart, and the mystery was not so strange. It dawned on him in a burst that these two were seeing one another actually for the first time, the girl and her formidable antagonist. Ronicky was struck by the horror in the face of Jenkins, the look as if he were facing a ghost. Perhaps that sprang from the similarity he saw between her and her mother whom he had loved before her.

At any rate she recovered before he did. Jenkins was still leaning against the door, overcome as it. seemed, when Elsie Bennett came swiftly to them, flushed with a lofty anger.

“You and your hired man!” she said to Jenkins. “Is there no shame in you? Have you come here to gloat over him? Oh, I’ve heard of base things, but never anything so base as this! Will you go?”

They looked at one another, as though each hoped the other would be able to speak, and then they turned of one accord and faded through the doorway.

“I’m going up to my room,” said Ronicky, when they stood outside, silent and shamefaced.

“And I’m going with you,” declared Jenkins. They climbed the stairs together, but at his door Ronicky turned to his companion. “I’d sort of like to be alone,” he said. “You think you would,” said Jenkins, “but you’re wrong. You wouldn’t like it a bit. You need company. I’m going in there and get you cheered up.”

To this insistence there was nothing which Ronicky could oppose, and they went into the room and sat down. But almost immediately Ronicky was up and walking to and fro. The rancher watched him with a keen and measuring eye. Presently Ronicky spoke.

“Did you ever see such love as she has for Blondy? Did you ever see anything like it, Jenkins?”

He stopped, stared at the wall or vacancy, and shook his head as he remembered. To Ronicky’s surprise, Al Jenkins merely shrugged his shoulders.

“It looks like love to you, son. But you never can tell.”

“Eh?” cried Ronicky. “What do you mean by that?”

“How old are you?” asked the rancher.

“Twenty-seven,” said Ronicky. “But what the devil has that to do with — “

‘Twenty-seven! That’s about what I thought. You’re too young.”

“Too young for what?” asked Ronicky, his irritation growing apace under the cross fire of apparently irrelevant questions.

“To young to know anything about women. About ten years is what you need on top of your age, son.”

Ronicky merely glared. His face might be youthful, he told himself, but inside him there was a weary sense of age. “I’m old enough to use my eyes and my ears,” he said. “I could see what she did and hear what she said.”

“Sure you could,” said Jenkins, yawning. “My guns, ain’t she beautiful, Ronicky? I’ve only seen her a couple of times in the distance before. But today when I stood up and faced her in the same room, it was like having a gun shoved in my face. It carried me back twenty years in a second!”

He stopped and sighed.

“But what she did and said don’t mean nothing,” he declared presently.

“Maybe she’s sort of weak-minded?” asked Ronicky fiercely. “Maybe that’s why what she says and does don’t mean anything?”

This savage sarcasm left Jenkins untouched. He yawned again.

“She’s in love with the idea of being in love, maybe,” he said at last.

“Now what the devil do you mean by that?”

“She’s at the ripe age for it, you see,” said Jenkins. “Most likely she’s been cramming her head full of stories about love, poems about love, music about love. Understand?”

“I’m trying to follow you,” said Ronicky. “Go on.”

“And presently along comes a young gent pretty well set up and with a good clear voice and a fine set of teeth and a handsome face. Well, she brings herself up short. ‘This is a man,’ says she to herself. ‘He’s young; he’s handsome; he’s a stranger. Why ain’t I in love with him?’

“Well, sir, if you ask old folks a question the first thing that pops into their heads is to say ‘no’ tolerable loud. But if you ask young folks they all have ‘yes’ bubbling right behind their teeth. Take you, for instance. If I say to you: ‘Let’s start out and go to Alaska tomorrow,’ the first way you feel is that you’d sure like it a terrible lot if you could go. And you want to say yes. And it ain’t no different with girls.

“They look different, but right down under their hides they’re just the same as boys, only more so. Well, when she asked herself that question about Charlie Loring, the first thing she did was to say ‘yes’ to herself. And no sooner did she say yes than she began to think the same way that she’d been talking. It’s easy to do that. Don’t take much to change a man’s mind. If you frown by accident, pretty soon you’re beginning to feel mad all the way through. But if you make yourself smile, pretty soon you’re smiling all the way through. So after she’d said yes, pretty soon she was feeling that she was in love with Loring!”

Here Ronicky interrupted with an infusion of spectacular oaths that would have done credit to a mule skinner on a mountain road.

“It was a fool question to ask herself!” he declared.

“If that was the only fool thing that girls do,” said Jenkins, “it wouldn’t be so bad. But I’ve knowed it to go on and get worse and worse. Yes, sir, I’ve known girls to start fooling themselves that way and never wake up out of their dream till they was gray-headed grandmothers. And then all at once they give a start and a shake like Rip van Winkle. ‘Why,’ says they to themselves, ‘I been sleeping; I ain’t been living all this!’ And they wake up and get ready to live their real lives, but they find that their real lives are just about up, and by the time they find out what they’ve done with themselves they’re ready to die.”

He concluded this dark sermon with a shake of his ponderous head, leaning back in his chair until it creaked loudly.

“What difference does it make?” asked Ronicky gloomily. “If they go ahead and marry and all that, because they’re sort of hypnotized, what’s the real difference between hypnotism and being awake? It gives you the same results!”

“D’you think it does?” asked Al Jenkins with a singular smile. “No, lad! There was Elsie’s mother before her. She hypnotized herself and married that skunk Bennett But the real girl that I knew was never Bennett’s wife. No, sir. Things ain’t always what they look to be. Inside the shell they’s a kernel. What she was, I know. But she wasn’t the woman that the world thought she was — the whole damned world, starting right in with Bennett himself! Same