The Max Brand Megapack (240 page)

He saw the big cow-puncher reach the edge of the water, saw him plant and brace his feet on the rocks, and then the rope shot out from his hand toward the head of the mare. It struck true on its target, but the current swung it on past the head of Lou.

Ronicky Doone closed his eyes. When he looked again, expecting to see an empty stretch of water and the horror ended, he was amazed to see the courageous mare still near to the verge, but not yet swept over. Perhaps she had struck shallows and was dragging at the yielding sand with her hoofs. At any rate now was her last moment.

The rope shot again from the hand of Blondy. It poised in the air at the end of the throw, then it shot down. Heavy with the water, the noose struck true around the head of Lou and disappeared under the surface. And then Blondy began to pull back. At once the rope was whipped above the river; the noose had tightened around the neck of the mare, and she was saved.

Saved, at least, if they could draw her to the bank before she was drowned or strangled.

It seemed to Ronicky afterward that his feet were rooted deep in the ground, and that he could hardly move in that nightmare, and run to the help of big Blondy. As a matter of fact he literally flung himself over the intervening distance and reached the bank and the side of the rescuer.

Swiftly, with their combined strength, pursued and pursuer, tugged on the rope and swept the bay closer to the shore, dragged her in the lee of it to still water, and then of one accord they both leaped, found the water not higher than their breasts, loosed the strangling knot from the neck of Lou, and raised her head above the water.

And for a moment, deafened by the roar of the waterfall, they waited until they were sure. But it was only an instant before the glazed eyes cleared and the breathing recommenced. And the two opened their mouths and shouted with all their power, a faint, small sound in the infernal uproar of the fall.

After that they turned their attention to getting her up the bank, but this proved a smaller matter than they had expected; for Lou was quickly herself again, and with her own unaided strength she clambered up to the dry land, shook herself like a dog, and then struggled up to the trail above.

She was touching friendly noses with the gray when the two weary, dripping men dragged themselves to the same place and faced each other. And not until that moment did they realize what had happened—the fugitive with the charge of murder on his head shaking hands with one of his pursuers whom he had insulted mortally with words and with a blow.

“Partner,” Ronicky Doone was saying, “I’ve seen gents do some fine things in my time, but never one that was cleaner from the heart than what you done right now.”

“It’s nothing,” Blondy was answering. “You’d have done the same if you’d seen my ‘Jack,’ yonder, in the same sort of a mess.”

“I dunno,” said Ronicky. “I’d like to think that I would, but if I was streaking it with a bunch like that behind me I—”

He paused, and big Blondy drew back. They had both remembered all that went before, and both their faces had darkened, Blondy’s with pride, and Ronicky Doone’s with savagery.

“Doone,” said Blondy, “I ain’t ashamed out here by ourselves to say that I’m sorry I knocked you down that way when you were stepping in to keep me out of trouble. But I was seeing black and—”

“Listen, son,” answered Ronicky. “You’ve saved my hoss. And that makes up for the words you said. Yes, it more’n makes up. But it don’t make up for the fist you hit me with.”

He quivered with a sudden influx of wrath.

“I’ve been over quite a pile of country, Blondy. And I’ve had dealings with a whole pile of folks, but I never had anybody do what you’ve done to me.” And he touched the wound and the swelling on his forehead.

Blondy glanced up the mountainside and made out that there was no pursuit in sight.

“Do what you please,” he said coldly. “You don’t have to bust yourself wide open to thank me for getting the mare. I done that for her sake, not for yours!”

“Partner, I’ll write that down and remember it,” said Ronicky. “If you—”

“I’d like to stand and chatter with you,” said Blondy scornfully, “but I ain’t got the time. If you want to do something about that knockdown, start it right now!”

There was an instant when Ronicky was on the verge of accepting the invitation, and then it was that the bay mare touched his shoulder with her nose. And he relented.

“I can’t do it,” he muttered. “You go down your trail, Blondy, and I’ll go back down mine. You start streaking, because the boys will sure be along this way before long. Ride like the wind and get shut of them and this whole section of the country, Blondy. After you’ve done that, then you can start worrying about me and what I might do.”

“Thanks,” said Blondy, still sneering. “I ain’t ever formed the habit of worrying about any man and what he might do!”

“That’s because you’re a kid,” said Ronicky with more calm.

“I aim to be about as old as you, Doone.”

“Years ain’t what count. But let that go. Start on down the trail, Blondy. But, after you’ve got out of this section, you can lay to it that I’m going to come after you; and when we meet up there’ll be trouble to pay. Understand? I’m going to have you where you had me—lying flat on your back, bleeding and helpless. The only thing is that I won’t do just the way you did—I’ll tell you I’m ready to fight when the time comes and give you a chance to get in shape to protect yourself.”

The blow told, for the big man flushed hotly, seemed on the verge of attacking Ronicky, and then changed his mind and swung into the saddle on the gray, which had now had a chance to catch a second wind.

He hesitated again.

“Doone,” he said, “will you tell me if that gent is going to be laid up long with that slug I sent into him?”

“Kind of long,” said Ronicky coldly. “He’s dead.”

“Dead!” gasped Blondy. “My God!”

He lost all vestige of color, rubbed the back of his hand across his face, as though the blow had numbed him, and then turned the gray horse down the trail. His head was sagging. He was as spent in spirit as Jack was spent in wind.

CHAPTER VI

RONICKY R
EFLECTS

After he had watched the other out of sight, Ronicky then sat down to wait for what he knew must happen. First he stripped Lou of the saddle and turned it up so that the wind and sun might begin to dry the blanket and padding. Lou herself found a grassy place for rolling, and in a trice she was dry and, stripped of both saddle and bridle, had wandered up the slope and was nibbling here and there.

So carefree were they, Ronicky smoking at his ease, and the mare roving as her pleasure dictated, that no one could have surmised that a few moments before poor Lou had been struggling at the very door of death. But now and again Ronicky would turn and look fondly after her, or with a low whistle he brought her to him, as readily as a dog answers a call.

There was a fine, free spirit in the mare. She carried herself with the nonchalance and the gayety and good nature of a man who has no heavy burdens on his conscience. So she would play around Ronicky Doone, and he followed her with a lazy and contented eye through the drifts and hazes of his cigarette smoke. She was all that he wished in the line of horseflesh. And, as he often said to his friends, she was better than most company because she never lost her temper and started talking back and thinking for herself in a crisis when he needed cooperation. So it was with her on this day. And when she strayed near him, his hand would go out and pass in a caress down her silken neck.

They had idled there for some minutes before the sound of hoofs, for which he had been waiting, came up the ravine toward him, and then, around the corner of the valley, there pounded half a dozen riders, all that were left from the horde which started out of Twin Springs. They shouted at the sight of Ronicky Doone, and in another instant they were halting their horses around him. They wanted to know, in a burst of questioning, exactly what had happened, and he told them, while they wondered.

When he ended, they wanted to know why he had not fought it out with the murderer before the latter left. Because, they declared, saving the life of a horse was one thing, but taking the life of a man was quite another, and so completely did it outbalance the former that it ceased to exist on the books. But Ronicky Doone was not of that opinion. And when they asked him if he were not going to saddle and continue the trail with them, he rose and made his answer briefly and to the point.

“Gents, I’d sure like to see the insides of big Blondy. But I’d rather be plugged myself, I guess, than to have another gent do the opening of him. No, I ain’t going to ride down that trail any more, and if you ask me straight, I don’t mind saying that I’m plumb set against any of the rest of you riding down that trail. Is that clear?”

They could hardly believe him. For upon his head they could see still the crimson imprint which the fist of big Blondy had made. And yet here was the enemy barring their way!

They shouted furiously at him to step aside, but he remained firm in their path.

“In the first place,” he told them, “I’ve promised Blondy that he ain’t going to be followed after to-day, and that he’s going to have a chance to get clean of this section of the country. And I aim to do what I’ve said for him. In the second place, boys, before you get all riled and boiling and ready to eat me up, you can lay to it that you wouldn’t never catch him even if you went on ahead. That little gray hoss of his has a pile of running in it still. It could take up with the best hoss in your whole bunch and run the legs right off of it.”

“D’you think,” they roared, “that we’re going to turn around and go back and tell the boys that the six of us got scared or tired of following the trail of the gent that killed poor Oliver Hopkins?”

“What I think you’ll do,” said Ronicky, diplomatically, “is to go back to Twin Springs and tell the folks there that when you come up with me and seen what Blondy had stopped and done for my hoss when it was drowning, you just nacherally didn’t have it in your hearts to go after him any more that day. Besides, he was too far ahead of you anyway! That’ll sound good, and it’ll give all the boys a fine warm feeling, like they’d had a good drink or just finished the reading of a pretty story.”

He grinned as he spoke, and the others were forced to agree with him. There was nothing else for them to do but bring their horses about and journey slowly, wearily back toward the little town, and this finally they did. But all the way the bay mare, Lou, with the dried saddle bound once more upon her back, danced along among the jaded horses, as though she had not that day run down one good horse and looked death in the face.

So that they all agreed, as they neared the town of Twin Springs, that there was never a horse more honest and fleet of foot than Lou. Moreover, there was no particular sting of shame in having been blocked in their pursuit by Ronicky Doone. As a matter of fact he had simply warned them that if they continued on the trail of Blondy, there would be trouble in great chunks ahead of them. But he had said it in such a manner that they were fairly certain he would never make what he had done a subject of boasting. There was nothing insulting in his attitude, as they returned. He picked up with them the subject of Blondy, and be agreed with them that for what he had done that day Blondy must die. It merely happened that on this occasion Blondy’s horse had been good enough to outfoot the pursuers.

“And yet,” they admitted, when they cantered back into Twin Springs, “ain’t it a shame that a game gent like Blondy has to be plugged because he done what any one of the rest of us, being in Blondy’s boots, would have done.”

No sooner were they within the confines of Twin Springs, however, than they began to learn new things with great rapidity. In the first place they were greeted by a crowd of men at the hotel, where, as at the seat of knowledge, the crowd was assembled to await bulletins which would give them the latest information from the battle front, so to speak. And when the little host learned that big Blondy still rode unmolested over the hills, there was a howl of rage.

The reason for their sorrow was a strange one. For it was discovered that Oliver Hopkins was not dead—he was not even seriously wounded; for the bullet had simply taken a glancing course around his body, and what had seemed mortal had been no more than a stunning and surface injury! Oliver Hopkins was not dead, and therefore there was no reason for killing the victor. But there was another angle from which the case had to be viewed.

When it was thought that Oliver was dead, the whole affair had taken on a somber and gloomy atmosphere. What had started as a prank had resulted as a killing, and only grim and joyless duty forced the riders along the trail of Blondy. But now it appeared that Hopkins lived, and the infuriated townsmen knew that they had been insulted, slapped in the face, and baffled!

It was enough to spread a thick layer of shame over two generations, such an event as this. The cow-punchers ground their teeth. All sympathy for Blondy was conjured away into a thin mist immediately, and in its place there was fury. Law had now nothing to do with it The insult had been to the entire town. It became known that that morning Blondy had loudly boasted of how he intended to ride into Twin Springs, show his undaunted face wheresoever he pleased, and then return unscathed and thereby break the spell of dread with which the cow-punchers at the Bennett Ranch had come to regard the village.

What was more, old Bennett had tried to dissuade him. And pretty Elsie Bennett, so they said, had followed him clear to his horse, entreating him with tears in her eyes not to take such a terrible chance.

And how had he answered? He had laughed loudly as he sat in the saddle, and, waving his hat to her, he had cried that they didn’t make men big enough in Twin Springs to keep him from riding peaceably into the town and peaceably out again.

And he had done what he promised!

In the completeness of their rage the foiled townsmen could not devise future punishment terrible enough to satisfy their spirits. Some suggested tar and feathers when they caught him. Others would have been content with riding him on a rail and kindred amusements. But here Ronicky Doone murmured his belief that the fugitive would never come back to face them. They laughed him to scorn. Short as was the time Blondy had been on the Bennett Ranch, it was an open secret that he was devoted body and soul to gay little Elsie. He would return to her as inevitably as iron must go to the magnet. As a matter of fact, they swore, he had simply undertaken this daring feat to make himself out a hero in the eyes of the girl.