The Essential Max Brand - 29 Westerns in One Edition. Max Brand
Читать онлайн книгу.
of smiles at the surety of his analysis. He could never escape from an old conclusion that the girl must be in large part his own product—he could never keep from attributing to her his own motives.
“But just suppose,” she said, “that Ronicky Doone broke into your house, forced one of your men to tell him where we are, and then followed us at once. He would be about due to arrive now. What if all that happened?”
He smiled at her. “If all that happened, you are quite right; he would be about due to arrive. I suppose, being a Westerner, that the first thing he would do in the village would be to hire a horse to take him out here, and he would come galloping yonder, where you see that white road tossing over the hills.”
“And what if he does come?” she asked.
“Then,” said John Mark very gravely, “he will indeed be in serious danger. It will be the third time that he has threatened me. And the third time —”
“You’ve prepared even for his coming here?” she asked, the thought tightening the muscles of her throat.
“When you have such a man as Ronicky Doone on your hands,” he confessed, “you have to be ready for anything. Yes, I have prepared. If he comes he’ll come by the straightest route, certain that we don’t expect him. He’ll run blindly into the trap. Yonder—you see where the two hills almost close over the road—yonder is Shorty Kruger behind the rocks, waiting and watching. A very good gunman is Shorty. Know him?”
“Yes,” she said, shuddering. “Of course I know him.”
“But even suppose that the he passes Kruger—down there in the hollow, where the road bends in toward us, you can see Lefty himself. I wired him to come, and there he is.”
“Lefty?” asked the girl, aghast.
“Lefty himself,” said John Mark. “You see how much I respect Ronicky Doone’s fighting properties? Yes, Lefty himself, the great, the infallible Lefty!”
She turned her back on the white road which led from the village and faced the sea.
“If we are down here long enough,” he said, “I’ll have a little wharf built inside that cove. You see? Then we can bring up a motor boat and anchor it in there. Do you know much about boats?”
“Almost nothing.”
“That’s true, but we’ll correct it. Between you and me, if I had to choose between a boat and a horse I don’t know which I should—”
Two sharp detonations cut off his words. While he raised a startled hand for silence they remained staring at one another, and the long, faint echoes rolled across the hills.
“A revolver shot first, far off,” he said, “and then a rifle shot. That metallic clang always means a rifle shot.”
He turned, and she turned with him. Covering their eyes from the white light of the sun they peered at the distant road, where, as he had pointed out, the two hills leaned together and left a narrow footing between.
“The miracle has happened,” said John Mark in a perfectly sober voice. “It is Ronicky Doone!”
27. THE LAST STAND
At the same instant she saw what his keener eye had discerned the moment before. A small trail of dust was blowing down the road, just below the place where the two hills leaned together. Under it was the dimly discernible, dust- veiled form of a horseman riding at full speed.
“Fate is against me,” said John Mark in his quiet way. “Why should this dare-devil be destined to hunt me? I can gain nothing by his death but your hate. And, if he succeeds in breaking through Lefty, as he has broken through Kruger, even then he shall win nothing. I swear it!”
As he spoke he looked at her in gloomy resolution, but the girl was on fire—fear and joy were fighting in her face. In her ecstasy she was clinging to the man beside her.
“Think of it—think of it!” she exclaimed. “He has done what I said he would do. Ah, I read his mind! Ronicky Doone, Ronicky Doone, was there ever your like under the wide, wide sky? He’s brushed Kruger out of his way —”
“Not entirely,” said John Mark calmly, “not entirely, you see?”
As he spoke they heard again the unmistakable sound of a rifle shot, and then another and another, ringing from the place where the two hills leaned over the road.
“It’s Kruger,” declared John Mark calmly. “That chivalrous idiot, Doone, apparently shot him down and didn’t wait to finish him. Very clever work on his part, but very sloppy. However, he seems to have wounded Kruger so badly that my gunman can’t hit his mark.”
For Ronicky Doone, if it were indeed he, was still galloping down the road, more and more clearly discernible, while the rifle firing behind him ceased.
“Of course that firing will be the alarm for Lefty,” went on John Mark, seeming to enjoy the spectacle before him, as if it were a thing from which he was entirely detached. “And Lefty can make his choice. Kruger was his pal. If he wants to revenge the fall of Kruger he may shoot from behind a tree. If not, he’ll shoot from the open, and it will be an even fight.”
The terror of it all, the whole realization, sprang up in the girl. In a moment she was crying: “Stop him, John—for Heaven’s sake, find a way to stop him.”
“There is only one power that can turn the trick, I’m afraid,” answered John Mark. “That power is Lefty.”
“If he shoots Lefty he’ll come straight toward us on his way to the house, and if he sees you—”
“If he sees me he’ll shoot me, of course,” declared Mark.
She stared at him. “John,” she said, “I know you’re brave, but you won’t try to face him?”
“I’m fairly expert with a gun.” He added: “But it’s good of you to be concerned about me.”
“I am concerned, more than concerned, John. A woman has premonitions, and I tell you I know, as well as I know I’m standing here, that if you face Ronicky Doone you’ll go down.”
“You’re right,” replied Mark. “I fear that I have been too much of a specialist, so I shall not face Doone.”
“Then start for the house—and hurry!”
“Run away and leave you here?”
The dust cloud and the figure of the rider in it were sweeping rapidly down on the grove in the hollow, where Lefty waited. And the girl was torn between three emotions: Joy at the coming of the adventurer, fear for him, terror at the thought of his meeting with Mark.
“It would be murder, John! I’ll go with you if you’ll start now!”
“No,” he said quietly, “I won’t run. Besides it is impossible for him to take you from me.”
“Impossible?” she asked. “What do you mean?”
“When the time comes you’ll see! Now he’s nearly there—watch!”
The rider was in full view now, driving his horse at a stretching gallop. There was no doubt about the identity of the man. They could not make out his face, of course, at that distance, but something in the careless dash of his seat in the saddle, something about the slender, erect body cried out almost in words that this was Ronicky Doone. A moment later the first treetops of the grove brushed across him, and he was lost from view.
The girl buried her face in her hands, then she looked up. By this time he must have reached Lefty, and yet there was no sound of shooting. Had Lefty found discretion the better part of valor and let him go by unhindered? But, in that case,