The Essential Max Brand - 29 Westerns in One Edition. Max Brand
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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