Ronicky Doones Treasure

by Max Brand
1922

Chapter One
Strange Company
Snow had already fallen above timber line, and the horseman,
struggling over the summit, looked eagerly down into the broad valleys
below, dark with evergreens. There was half an hour more of sunshine,
but by the time he had ridden through the belt of lodge-pole pines,
those stubborn marchers up to the mountaintops, a stiffening north
wind had sheeted the sky from horizon to horizon with clouds.
Even before the rain began he put on his slicker to turn the edge of the
gale, but, as he came out of the pines and into the more open and gently
rolling lands beyond, the rain was beginning to drive down the valley.
The lower he dropped toward the bottom lands the lower dropped the
storm clouds above him, until the summits were quite lost in rolling
gray masses and a mist of thin rain slanted across the trail.
The mare turned her head sideways to it, taking the brunt on one
flattened ear and from time to time shaking off the drops of moisture.
Between her and the rider there existed an almost conversational
intimacy, it seemed. He had spread out the skirt of his slicker so as to
cover as great a portion of her barrel as possible; as the chill of the rain
increased, he encouraged her with talk. She replied with a slight
pricking of her ears from time to time and often threw up her head in
that way horses have when they wish to see the master the more
clearly.
Meanwhile, she descended the precipitous trail with such cat-footed

activity that it was plain she had spent her life among the mountains.
The rider made little effort to direct her but allowed her to follow her
own fancy, as though confident that she would take the quickest way to
the bottom of the slope. This, indeed, she did, sometimes slackening
her pace for a moment to study the lay of the land ahead, sometimes
taking a steep down pitch on braced legs, sometimes wandering in easy
loops to one side or the other.
In such a manner she came in the dusk of that late, stormy afternoon to
the almost level going of the valley floor. Now it was possible to see
her at her best, for she sprang out in a smooth and stretching gallop
with such easily working muscles that her gait was deceptively fast.
Here, again, the rider simply pointed out the goal and then let her take
her own way toward it.
That goal was the only building in sight. Perhaps for miles and miles it
was the only structure, and the face of the rider brightened as he made
out the sharp angle of the roof. The ears of the mare pricked. Their way
across the mountains had been a long one; they had been several hours
in the snows above timber line; and this promise of shelter was a
golden one.
But it was a deceptive promise, for when they came in the face of the
driving storm they found that the tall building was not a ranch house
but merely a ruined barn. It had once been a portion of a large
establishment of some cattle owner, but the house proper and its
outlying structures had melted away with the passage of time and the
beating of such storms as that of this day. The sheds were mere
crumbling ridges; the house was a ragged mound from which rotting
timber ends projected. Only the barn subsisted.
It was of vast size. Hundreds of tons of loose hay could have been
stored in its mow; scores of horses could have been stalled along its
sides. And it had been built with such unusual solidity that, whereas the
rest of the buildings had disintegrated, this one kept its original
dimensions intact through half of its length. The south front was whole.
Only the northern portion of the building had crushed in. But for some
reason this combination of ruin and repair was more melancholy than

the utter destruction of the rest of the ranch.
The horseman regarded this sight with a shake of the head and then
looked again up the valley. But it would be difficult to continue. By
this time it must have been sunset, and the storm dimmed the earth to
the colors of late twilight. Every moment the wind freshened out of the
north, picking up the drifts of rain and whirling them into gray ghost
forms. To continue down a blind trail in the face of this gale, with no
definite destination, was madness. The horseman resigned himself with
a sigh to staying in the ruined barn until dawn.
He rode the mare, therefore, through a fallen section of