Ronicky Doones Reward | Page 8

seep into his mind, he
was, nevertheless, sure as death, once he was started. Now he cast away
men from either arm and leaped to the ground beyond the veranda, a
magnificent figure of a man, straight, sinewy, active in spite of his
great bulk.
"Look here," he cried, "nobody can fight my fights for me. I don't need
to have anybody do it. Blondy, you got to get off that hoss and talk

business to me for what you've done!"
"I'll see you in China first," cried Blondy.
"You've said enough. Blondy, get off that hoss, or I'll -- "
He gripped his revolver as he spoke, but before the barrel had been
jerked clear there was a wink and flash of steel in the hand of Blondy,
as the latter made a lightning draw. The gun exploded, and Hopkins
cast up both arms, hurling the revolver far from him. As it fell in a
shining arc, Hopkins whirled and toppled forward upon his side.
Ronicky, drawing himself up upon one hand, looked down from the
edge of the porch and saw the big benumbed face and heard the fallen
giant gasping: "It hadn't ought to have happened -- it ain't right! It was
all because of an accident that -- "
And then he fainted.

CHAPTER IV
RONICKY SADDLES LOU
It caused a yell of mingled horror and anger from the men on the
veranda, that revolver shot and that fall. For it so chanced that there
was not a man in Twin Springs more popular, and justly so, than Oliver
Hopkins. He had been born and raised in the vicinity; and his course of
life had been as honest as it was dull and stupid. Half a dozen guns
winked in the sunshine to avenge his fall, but they had reckoned
without big Blondy.
The latter snapped his cat-footed horse around and shot him about the
corner of the building and out of sight as the first brace of wild shots
hummed after him harmlessly. The entire crowd lunged for the side of
the house to open fire, but, by the time they reached it, Blondy,
flattened along the neck of his horse and whipping and spurring for
dear life -- in all the meaning of that phrase -- had placed many a

priceless yard between him and the guns of the townsmen.
Instantly they sent a rattling volley after him, but one discharge of shots
was all that they could manage; for in the very next instant he had
whipped out of sight behind the corner of the first house down the
street from the hotel and was sliding away toward security. It seemed
incredible that he could have vanished so soon.
A wild rush for the horses and the beginning of the pursuit followed.
And, as they swung into the saddles, they saw the familiar form of the
bald-headed old doctor run out of the hotel and drop upon his knees by
the side of big Hopkins. Then he started up from the fallen man and
raised high in the air two hands which were incarnadined.
"He's dead, boys!" he shouted. "Poor Hopkins is dead! Get the skunk
that done this!"
And that announcement sent the whole troup away with yells and wails
of rage. They had seen a fall, and they had seen crimson stains, and
now there was sad need of haste and help for big Blondy. For the best
fighting men of a fighting community, mounted upon horses as durable
as buckskin, were upon his trail, and a death trail it must prove unless
the unprecedented happened.
Ronicky Doone, glancing over his shoulder, saw the gang shoot away
into a flurry of dust, man after man swinging into his saddle and
plunging away in that direction with a yell, as he got under way. And
Ronicky himself drew a deep breath of sobbing rage.
Would they catch him before he arrived? Ronicky hurled the saddle on
the back of the bay mare, "Lou." And then the cinches were made
literally to fly into place. An instant later he was off, riding like a
jockey and calling the name of the mare softly, softly in her ear. Down
his face, as he rode, streaked the crimson of the cut on his forehead,
where the knuckle of the big man had split the skin. And that crimson
stain touched his mouth.
Brushing his face with the back of his hand, he saw the stain and cursed.

There are some men whom the sight of their own blood throws into a
panic, some whom it horrifies, and others, again, whom it drives into a
frenzy of cold rage. And Ronicky Doone was one of the last-named
kind. He was ready to kill now. He had attempted his