Ronicky Doones Reward | Page 7

going to be shamed. It was needless
for his neighbor on the right to whisper: "Great guns, Oliver Hopkins,
say something!"
For instantly he spoke: "I sure dunno why you're talking to me, you
nester. What you mean by talking up loud while they's growed men
around?"
"Growed men around?" cried Blondy, trembling with anger, as the fear
was convened into fighting rage, to which he gave the rein until it
galloped. "Growed men around? Why, I ain't seen that kind of men
around these parts. They tell me that they don't have that kind of men
around this town of Twin Springs!"
It had come. There was no turning from that remark. It had to be
answered with the pulling of a gun. Ronicky Doone marked the
companions of the big man drawing away to the right or the left, to
keep clear of the bullets when they flew. And he decided that he would
do his best to stop the murder, or murders, before they took place. He
rose and stepped between the two combatants, turning his back to the
big man and his face to Blondy.
"Blondy," he said, "I guess this here has gone about far enough. There
ain't any need in you two boys making a killing party out of what ought
to be only a joke!"

He was a slender, boyish figure standing between those two mighty
men of war, as Oliver Hopkins rose from his chair to confront Blondy.
But though the spirit of the whole group had been expressed by
Ronicky Doone, it was by no means possible to stop Blondy's course of
anger through mere words. He was wild with rage.
"And who in hell are you?" he roared at Ronicky.
"A gent that means well by you, Blondy," said Ronicky gently.
"You talk too smooth to mean well by anybody. You sat back there and
laughed at me a minute ago."
"I didn't laugh at anyone," said Ronicky; and though he set his jaw, he
continued to smile.
"You lie," said Blondy.
Would Ronicky Doone draw a gun? No, no, he was no hair-trigger
man-killer to shoot at the first opportunity. He merely raised a
protesting hand.
"You can do the talking now, Blondy," he said. "You and me can find
plenty of time to argufy about these things later on. Right now we had
ought to talk hoss sense, and hoss sense means for you to sit down and
me to -- "
But the big man felt that he was being stifled with words. He brushed
all kindness away.
"I don't know you," he roared. "Who are you?"
"Ronicky Doone," said Ronicky.
At that announcement two or three of the watchers pricked up their
heads and gasped. But the name had no influence with Blondy. He
merely shook his big head and scowled more heavily than before.
"Get out of my way," cried Blondy. "These boys want something out of

me, and they're going to get it. They've been raising trouble too long,
right here in Twin Springs. It's about time that somebody stepped up
and asked 'em what was what. And I'm the gent to do it. Stand out of
the way, Doone, or I'll knock you out of the way!"
"Blondy!" pleaded Ronicky.
"Curse you, then. Take it!" shouted the madman and smashed out with
his great right fist, a blow made quick as the stroke of a snake's head by
the loosing of his power of anger. In vain Ronicky Doone cast up a
guard. The blow smashed through his blocking forearm, brushed that
guard aside, and thudded heavily on his forehead. He was bent almost
double backward and fell with a shock that made the floor of the
veranda shake. And, as he fell, the blow to the back of his head so
paralyzed him that he lay stretched out, incapable of movement, but
still his mind and his eye were clear.
The striking of the blow had been enough to clear the brain of Blondy.
He gasped in amazement at the prostrate form of Ronicky, as though he
were waking from a dream. Then he whirled on his heel, strode to his
horse, jerked the reins loose, and flung himself into the saddle.
A deep shout of protest and excitement rose from the men on the
veranda at this point, half of them clamoring that he should not be
permitted to get away, and the other half saying that there would be
another day to make up for this, and that there was no need in staining
the repute of Twin Springs on account of a fist fight and some foolish
words.
They even tried to drag Oliver Hopkins back, as he started forward. But
here they could not prevail. Slow to have an idea