The Max Brand Megapack (222 page)

“But what good do four jumbled names do us,” asked the father.

“I have it!” cried Ronicky. “It’s sure plain now that it’s down in black and white. ‘Get Noah and The Crescent in line, and then get The Vixen and Ravenhead in line. And at the point where the lines cross, dig down twenty feet!”

Both father and daughter shouted as the whole riddle became clear.

“Heaven bless that iron box!” cried Hugh Dawn.

“And the hammer that busted it!” Ronicky supplemented.

“We’re rich,” went on Hugh Dawn. “The money’s as good as ours. We can start planning how to spend twenty millions. Don’t I know the old Ravenhead Mountain? And don’t I know The Crescent? And maybe they’s a couple of smaller mountains around them parts that are called The Vixen and Mount Noah. I dunno. But well start right now for old Ravenhead Mountain!”

CHAPTER TEN

Disaster

In that determination, however, he was ruled down by Ronicky and Jerry Dawn. For now the twilight was deepening, and the way toward Ravenhead, over rough trails and twenty miles away, according to Dawn’s recollection, would make bitter work in the darkness. It was determined, therefore, to wait until the morning. With the first gray of dawn they would start, and by that light they should easily manage to get over the trail to Ravenhead by midmorning.

Ronicky Doone estimated the time at their disposal.

“We ought,” he said, “to have the stuff located by tomorrow night, and while we’re working Jerry can ride over the hills and get a wagon and a team of hosses from the nearest town. We’ll load and start straight back, and when we get near civilization we can hire enough gents to hold off Moon and his three.”

“His three?” Hugh Dawn groaned. “His thirty, more like! He’s got ’em scattered through the country, son, and he has ways of getting in touch with ’em pronto. If he got excited about this trail, he might have the whole crowd out combing the country for me inside of twenty-four hours. Still, I think we got time. He’ll spend most of today hunting by himself. Tonight he’ll send out his call. Tomorrow they’ll spend getting together. And day after tomorrow in the morning he’ll be ready to send out his search parties. I’ve seen him work that way before. But when he sends ’em out, well already be snaking south for the railroad, hit it, and slide off east! Ronicky, for the first time in his life Moon is going to be beat! Not a chance in a million that he’ll ever connect me up with the old Cosslett treasure. Not a chance that he’ll think I’m hunting for it. He’ll figure me to be lying out in the hills waiting for a few days. And he’ll comb the country around Trainor before he steps out farther.”

The matter was allowed to rest there. Before the shack of Cosslett they built a fire of the wood which had been torn from the little veranda floor, and there they cooked their evening meal.

It was dark before they had ended. Afterward they went inside the shack. It was possible to clear the bunk and prop up its broken side after removing the fallen rafter. That made a comfortable bed for the girl. As for Ronicky and Hugh Dawn, they would sleep on the floor.

In the meantime, after putting down their blankets, Ronicky declared his intention of taking a ride on Lou by way of a nightcap. For he declared that he could not possibly sleep so soon after their rest of the midday. Father and daughter had too much to talk over to object strenuously. And a moment later he left the cabin. They heard his mare whinny a greeting to him, and then the roll of her gallop passed down the hill and out of hearing. Hugh Dawn listened to the disappearing sound, his head cocked upon one side.

“There,” he said, “goes a queer one!”

“Queer?” echoed Jerry, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“That’s what I said. Never saw the like of him yet, and I’ve seen a pile of men, rough and smooth and all kinds.”

“Of all the kinds I’ve known,” said his daughter hotly, “he’s the the finest, the bravest, the most generous.”

“Sure, sure! He’s all of that and more. I’m not holding it against him. But he’s a wild one, if ever I saw a man!”

“Wild?”

“What d’you call it when a fellow hears news about somebody he’s never heard mentioned before, and then rides twenty miles and takes his life in his hands to give a warning?”

“You haven’t told me yet—so many things have been happening—how you came to catch him in the hall of the house.”

“I was at the window in the hall. I saw Ronicky climb up the side of the house, but the distance and the dark made it a hard job to shoot from where I was, even though I was sure that he was one of Moon’s men come for me. I sneaked around into the place in front of the stairs where they turn into the hall on the second floor, and when he came down I flashed the electric torch at him and shot. How I missed, I don’t know. But he changed into a wild cat the minute the light hit him. He jumped here and there like a flash, and before I could land him he swung on me and knocked me out. Where he got the muscle to do it out of those skinny arms of his, beats me; but it ain’t the only thing about him that beats me. Look at the way he talks to his hoss like she was human. Look at the way he goes off riding alone by night!”

“I can understand everything you mention,” replied his daughter.

“Sure you can,” and Hugh Dawn grinned. “That’s because he’s smiled at you a couple of times today.”

“Do you mean to infer—” began Jerry.

“Don’t be proud,” chuckled her father.

“I never heard of anything so absurd,” said Jerry indignantly. “Why, I—I don’t know the man! He’s a stranger!”

“Sure. That’s why you’re blushing like this. You are your mother all over again, my dear, and she was always forming quick likes and dislikes. Heaven bless her! But me, I take more time to think things and folks over. You’ll find out that it pays, Jerry, in the long run.”

“I don’t know what all the talk’s about,” said the girl a trifle uneasily. “If you think that I’ve been forward with Mr. Doone—”

“There you go!” Her father laughed as he spoke. “I will ask you to stop climbing mountains, and you jump over a cliff instead. I don’t mean nothing, except for you to watch your ways with Ronicky. You ain’t an ordinary girl, Jerry, dear. You got more looks than most. Not that you’re the most beautiful I ever seen, but you got a downright pleasing way, and when you smile your whole face lights up a lot.”

“Of course all this is absurd,” said Jerry. “But if I choose to be courteous to a man who saved your life—both our lives, perhaps—is there anything wrong in it?”

“Courtesy is one thing; it ain’t what I’m talking about,” said her father gravely.

“And the other thing?”

“Well, Jerry, I’d a pile rather see you dead than get seriously interested in a gent like Ronicky Doone.”

She stared at him, almost frightened.

“I see,” said he, very grave, “that you’ve been thinking even more than I suspected.”

“Dad,” she cried, “this is insufferable. Oblique expressions like these only serve to—”

“Tie them big words up, brand ’em, and keep ’em for the fancy markets,” said her father gruffly. “I don’t foller ’em easy. Talk plain. I’m a plain man. And I tell you plainly that I love you too much to see you throw away time on one like Doone. For why? Because he’s a will-o’-the-wisp, my dear. He’s one of these gents who go through life without ever settling down to one thing. He’s about what? Twenty-five, I’d take him to be. Well, Jerry, he’s crammed ten times more fighting inside his twenty-five years than I’ve put inside forty-five. A fighting man is like a fighting wolf—they’d better hunt alone!”

“You don’t mean,” she said, “that he’s a gun fighter!”

“Don’t I? Well, honey, you got to learn to use your eyes! What does it mean when a gent carries his holster slung away down low on his right hip so’s it’s just within twitching distance of his finger tips? Ain’t that to have it ready for a fast draw? And what does it mean when a gent’s left hand is all pale from being in a glove, and when his right hand is brown as a berry?”

“Because the left hand is the bridle hand.”

“Because the right hand is the gun hand, Jerry!”

She winced at his surety.

“I’m as sure of it,” said her father, blowing a great cloud of smoke from his pipe, “as I am that my name is Hugh Dawn. And watch his hands. Long and slender and nervous. No flesh on ’em. He’s never made a living by work. No calluses on those hands. Nothing to keep them from being fast as a flash of light—like the hands of a musician, they look to me. Always doing something with that right hand of his. His left hand is used to hanging steady on the reins, and it’s always lying still. But his right hand ain’t never still. It’s always jumping about and rapping on something, or going here and there and everywhere just for the sake of being under way. I’ll tell you why: Because that’s the right hand that’s saved the life of Ronicky Doone more’n once! It’s the hand that’s got his trigger finger! It’s his fortune!”

“You mean,” breathed the girl, “that he’s a professional gunman—a murderer?”

“Not a bit! He wouldn’t take advantage of his skill with a gun—not to hurt anybody. But I’ll wager he’s got his man before now. I’ll wager that before he dies he’ll get a pile more. It’s wrote in big letters all over him.”

“He’ll change,” said Jerry Dawn feverishly. “I know that he’ll change!”

“Maybe you could do the changing?” said her father.

Her flush was at least a partial admission that she had had the thought.

“Some girls,” said he, “are so plumb good that they marry a man for the sake of being close to him and reforming him. Sometimes they do. Ronicky Doone is a fine gent. Brave, honest as the day’s long, generous. But he ain’t meant for a girl to love. I’m putting it strong. I don’t mean that you feel anything like that for him yet. I’m just warning you. Because if you just give a gent like that a kind look, you may set him on fire; he starts making love like a fire in a storm; first thing you know, you’re engaged. And that’s the end. Jerry, you’ll watch out?”

As he leaned earnestly toward her he saw her face whiten, saw her eyes widen. There was a ghost-seeing look about her, and instantly Hugh Dawn knew that a horror was standing in the door of the cabin. Instinctively he measured the distance to his gun. Like a fool he had hung it with his belt on a nail against the wall. It was hopelessly out of arm’s length.

He turned his head with a convulsive jerk, and there in the door he saw Jack Moon.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Trap

There was no gun in his hand, and yet the man radiated danger. His silent coming, the very smile with which he looked down on them, were filled with terror-inspiring qualities. As for Hugh Dawn, he uttered a faint groan and then whirled out of his chair and stood upon his widely braced feet. Even when Dawn reeled back within reaching distance of his gun on the wall and made a motion toward it, the tall man in the door did not offer to draw his own weapon, but the smile hardened a little on his mouth, and his eyes grew fixed.

Jerry knew that it was Jack Moon. She had never seen his face, never even heard it accurately described; but somehow she knew that the man there in the doorway was the root of all evil.

Suddenly she leaped from the bunk and cast herself before her father. That sudden motion had brought the revolver into the hand of Moon, but it was instantly restored to its holster. The double movement had been merely a flash of light. Such speed of hand was uncanny.

“Steady,” said the outlaw. “No cause for jumping in front of the sneak, lady. I ain’t going to shoot him right away. Not right away. Maybe never. All depends on how him and me come to agree. Or maybe well agree to disagree. Just you sit down yonder where you were, miss. No harm’ll come to you.” He removed his hat and bowed to her, and in so doing he half turned his back on her father.

She knew that the devilish brain of the man had inspired this maneuver to tempt her father into action. But Hugh Dawn was in no condition to fight. His will was paralyzed. He could not fight any more than the bird can escape from the hypnotic eye of the snake.

“They tell hard tales about Jack Moon,” went on the big man, thus announcing himself, “but they never yet whispered a story about him laying a finger on a woman, young or old. I can tell you to lay to it that you’re as safe with me as if you was a six-months-old baby in the arms of your mother. It ain’t you I aim to talk to—it’s that!”

He indicated her father with a jerk of his thumb. But for some reason his contempt did not degrade Hugh Dawn. The man would fight willingly enough against odds which were at all even. But he recognized the madness of a bulldog attacking a lion. Even as great as this was the contrast, it was not that Moon was so much larger in physical dimensions. But he was made bigger by an inward lordliness that overflowed. The poise of his head was that of a conqueror. His spirit towered above her father like the young Achilles over some nameless Trojan warrior.

“I seen the box outside,” said Jack Moon. “What was in it, Dawn?”

There was no resistance in Dawn. He pointed sullenly to the slip of paper lying on the bed—the paper on which had been written the directions for reaching the site of the treasure.

The bandit strode across the room and reached for it, but the girl, with a lightning movement, forestalled him. She swept it up, leaped away from Moon, who followed with a startled exclamation, and, balling the paper to a hard knot as she ran, she reached the window above the lake and threw the paper as far as her strength allowed. The wind was blowing in that direction, and the precious slip would be wafted down to the waters of the lake.

The hand of Jack Moon was checked in the very act of falling on her shoulder and turning her around. But when she faced him, white and drawn about the lips, he was smiling again.

“That took nerve,” he said, “seeing the reputation I got around these parts. But I got to tell you this, lady. It don’t do even for ladies to fool with Jack Moon. I don’t handle ’em the way I handle men, but most generally I find ways of makin’ ’em behave. Now”—and here he turned on Hugh Dawn—”tell me what was on that paper!”

“No, no,” shouted the girl. “Don’t you see, dad, that it’s the price of your own head?”