Ronicky Doones Reward | Page 4

build, but he knew it was the height of good
opinion.
The moment Blondy turned from his horse Ronicky knew that the
youngster had courage. His head was still high. His cheek had blanched
a little, to be sure, as he approached the long line of prospective
enemies, but his eye was still bold and unabashed. And he walked with
an unshortened stride.
And something about him -- his youth, his boldness -- appealed
strongly to Ronicky. He lunged forward until he was erect, sitting
lightly on the very edge of his chair and ready to jump into action in
any direction.

Whether the courage of the stranger was the courage of mere
dare-deviltry which makes a man ready in taking up a dare, for instance,
he could not guess. But something told him that it was well for Blondy
that the test he was meeting was merely to pass through the village
rather than one which demanded a long stay under fire in it. There was
something immensely attractive in this proposition to Ronicky. If
Blondy could stay here on the veranda of the hotel for the length of
time needed to pass a few words about the weather, for instance, and
then step back to his horse and ride on out of town, all would be well.
He would have accomplished the thing which the men of Twin Springs
had sworn that no hired man of Bennett could ever do.
But, before he had been ten seconds on that veranda, it was very
probable that about twenty different kinds of trouble would start
happening to the tall cow-puncher.
He advanced magnificently up the steps, however, waving his hand in
careless good cheer to the waiting line. And when he reached the top of
the steps he said to the nearest man, smiling: "Mighty hot day, partner,
eh?"
Much, much would depend upon the manner in which that question
was answered. If the person addressed acquiesced with a nod, all was
well. But he might make some impertinent answer which, to be sure,
would draw danger upon his own head, but which would also insure
him the enlisted support of all the other men on either side of him.
Ronicky listened breathlessly.
The man addressed was little. He was wiry and sun-dried in appearance.
And he had two yellow streaks of mustaches which dripped down past
his mouth. He took some moments in answering.
"I dunno," he said at last. "It might be hot to some and cold to others.
But I always been taught: If you don't like a place, leave it!"
This had been uttered in the unmistakable accent. It was surcharged
with scorn. But the important point was that the old man had not been
able to find a remark stinging enough to force Blondy into a sharp

retort which, in turn, would have precipitated action of one kind or
another. The best that the old cow-puncher had been able to find in his
mental armory had been a remark which might have its point turned in
the manner in which it was taken, and this was exactly what Blondy
proceeded to do. He took off his hat, nodded, and laughed
good-naturedly.
"That's just what I've done, you see," he said. "I was hot in the sun, so
I've come into the shade."
And so saying, he slowly and deliberately turned his back upon the
other and stood resting one shoulder against a pillar of the porch.
It had been very well done, Ronicky decided, Blondy had acquitted
himself with just the right edge to his voice. He had not been
sickeningly acquiescent. Neither had he been stupidly defiant. But with
a nice twist of the wrist he had avoided the full brunt of danger and still
retained his dignity. And now, behold, his broad back was turned full
upon the others!
The beauty of this maneuver actually filled Ronicky with awe. It was,
he decided, perfect. They could not strike a man from behind. Neither
could they find it very easy to think up insulting things to say to that
same back. Ronicky Doone clasped his hands around his knees and
rocked himself back and forth in a silent ecstasy. He was delighted.
And now he saw Blondy slowly produce cigarette papers and tobacco.
He saw the cigarette manufactured; he saw it placed between Blondy's
lips; he saw the sulphur match separated carefully from the rest of the
pack; he saw the cigarette lighted; he saw the handsome head of
Blondy wreathed in thin blue-brown smoke.
And every other person on the veranda was following every act with
similar exactitude of interest and observation. For they had instantly
seen the throwing of the gage. The unspoken challenge of Blondy, as
plain as words could have stated it,