to a gate. That gate opens onto the road to Twin Springs. I suppose that's the place you're trying to find?"
"That's the place I've just left," said Ronicky, "and I don't worry about the road. My hoss and me we sort of get along where there ain't no road to speak of."
Again she was silent, but what little she had spoken left such a pleasant impression on Ronicky that he paused and hunted through his mind for the means of prolonging the talk.
"I'd an idea," he murmured at length, "that maybe you was lost yourself, being out here alone in the night. You see?"
Still she did not speak, and he could see by the increasing dimness of her figure that she was slowly drawing back from him. All at once Ronicky Doone began to laugh.
"Lady," he said, "it's sure a queer thing what the sun does to us. If this was by daylight, you wouldn't think nothing of meeting me here, but because it's night, you figure that there's danger. Is that it?"
"There's no danger of course," said the girl, her voice as steady as ever, in spite of her retreat. Then suddenly she was laughing, also. "Who are you?" she asked.
"My name," he answered, "don't matter particular. I'm just drifting through. Most like I'll never be in this valley again. What might the valley be, lady?"
"If you'll never see it again," she answered, "I don't suppose the name matters much."
"Oh, if you're going to put it that way," said Ronicky, "I'll tell you. My name is Ronicky Doone."
"Ronicky Doone!" she gasped, and then again she repeated: "Ronicky Doone! You're the man that Charlie Loring "
She stopped short, but Ronicky continued for her in perfect good nature. "Is that big Blondy's name? Yes, I'm the man that Charlie Loring knocked down and beat up, and then he got away clean, and I didn't do a thing to him!"
"But, oh," she broke in, "you're the man whose horse he saved from the river, so you bear him no grudge, of course!"
"No grudge?" asked Ronicky. "Well, he saved the hoss right enough, but he also knocked me flat when I'd done nothing to him. For saving Lou I'd sure like to save a dozen hosses for him, but for knocking me down but women can't understand things like that."
"Can't we? But we do! And you've come up here trying to find him in the dark because you don't care to face him in the daylight. Oh, how cowardly!"
If she had struck him suddenly in the face Ronicky Doone could not have been more surprised. He fumbled for an answer, found no polite rejoinder, and was still, a silence which she instantly interpreted as a confession. Certainly if she had been afraid before, all fear now vanished, as she came swiftly toward him and only halted when she was under the very nose of the mare. And she stood there, regardless of the fearless and inquisitive muzzle which Lou poked toward her. For the bay mare had the trust of those animals which have never endured pain from the hand of man. In her fury, however, the girl paid no heed to that reaching head.
"Before you can do what you hope to do," she said fiercely, "you'll have to be ten times the man that you are. Oh, I know what stories they brought out about Ronicky Doone the gun fighter and the man-killer, but no man who hunts in the dark and sneaks around to strike from behind can ever beat Charlie Loring. No man!"
She stopped. He heard her panting with her rush of anger, as she waited for his retort, but he only said, light breaking in on him: "I guess this is Hanshaw Valley? And you're Elsie Bennett?"
"What of that?" she asked.
"Only that I won't be bothering you no more," said Ronicky Doone dryly, and he turned Lou away into the darkness.
"Wait! Wait!" she cried after him, but Ronicky had had enough of facing such guns in battle. He sent Lou away at a brisk canter and shot away out of view over the next swell of ground, and the calling of the girl died out behind him.
No sooner was the rim of the hill between them, however, than he turned about and slipped back in the direction from which he had come until his
"That's the place I've just left," said Ronicky, "and I don't worry about the road. My hoss and me we sort of get along where there ain't no road to speak of."
Again she was silent, but what little she had spoken left such a pleasant impression on Ronicky that he paused and hunted through his mind for the means of prolonging the talk.
"I'd an idea," he murmured at length, "that maybe you was lost yourself, being out here alone in the night. You see?"
Still she did not speak, and he could see by the increasing dimness of her figure that she was slowly drawing back from him. All at once Ronicky Doone began to laugh.
"Lady," he said, "it's sure a queer thing what the sun does to us. If this was by daylight, you wouldn't think nothing of meeting me here, but because it's night, you figure that there's danger. Is that it?"
"There's no danger of course," said the girl, her voice as steady as ever, in spite of her retreat. Then suddenly she was laughing, also. "Who are you?" she asked.
"My name," he answered, "don't matter particular. I'm just drifting through. Most like I'll never be in this valley again. What might the valley be, lady?"
"If you'll never see it again," she answered, "I don't suppose the name matters much."
"Oh, if you're going to put it that way," said Ronicky, "I'll tell you. My name is Ronicky Doone."
"Ronicky Doone!" she gasped, and then again she repeated: "Ronicky Doone! You're the man that Charlie Loring "
She stopped short, but Ronicky continued for her in perfect good nature. "Is that big Blondy's name? Yes, I'm the man that Charlie Loring knocked down and beat up, and then he got away clean, and I didn't do a thing to him!"
"But, oh," she broke in, "you're the man whose horse he saved from the river, so you bear him no grudge, of course!"
"No grudge?" asked Ronicky. "Well, he saved the hoss right enough, but he also knocked me flat when I'd done nothing to him. For saving Lou I'd sure like to save a dozen hosses for him, but for knocking me down but women can't understand things like that."
"Can't we? But we do! And you've come up here trying to find him in the dark because you don't care to face him in the daylight. Oh, how cowardly!"
If she had struck him suddenly in the face Ronicky Doone could not have been more surprised. He fumbled for an answer, found no polite rejoinder, and was still, a silence which she instantly interpreted as a confession. Certainly if she had been afraid before, all fear now vanished, as she came swiftly toward him and only halted when she was under the very nose of the mare. And she stood there, regardless of the fearless and inquisitive muzzle which Lou poked toward her. For the bay mare had the trust of those animals which have never endured pain from the hand of man. In her fury, however, the girl paid no heed to that reaching head.
"Before you can do what you hope to do," she said fiercely, "you'll have to be ten times the man that you are. Oh, I know what stories they brought out about Ronicky Doone the gun fighter and the man-killer, but no man who hunts in the dark and sneaks around to strike from behind can ever beat Charlie Loring. No man!"
She stopped. He heard her panting with her rush of anger, as she waited for his retort, but he only said, light breaking in on him: "I guess this is Hanshaw Valley? And you're Elsie Bennett?"
"What of that?" she asked.
"Only that I won't be bothering you no more," said Ronicky Doone dryly, and he turned Lou away into the darkness.
"Wait! Wait!" she cried after him, but Ronicky had had enough of facing such guns in battle. He sent Lou away at a brisk canter and shot away out of view over the next swell of ground, and the calling of the girl died out behind him.
No sooner was the rim of the hill between them, however, than he turned about and slipped back in the direction from which he had come until his
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