Ronicky Doones Treasure | Page 9

favored his progress immensely. It
covered other footfalls, to be sure, but it also covered his own. In order
that the noise he made might be completely blanketed by the shakings
of the wind, he waited for flurries of the storm and took advantage of
them to make swift progress forward, then paused through the intervals
of comparative silence.
So he rumbled down the upper hall balustrade until it swerved to the
right and down, leading him onto the stairs. In this way he came down
to the second story, where, he was sure, he had first heard the footfalls.
It was in utter darkness. Yet by striving continually to pierce the wall of
shadow he had so far accustomed his eyes to the strain that he could

make out the vague proportions of that wide and lofty hall.
Where the stairs turned easily onto the hall flooring he paused a
moment, in a lull of the gale, to wait for the next flurry and the crashing
of the rain against the roof. The moment it began he started once more,
turning to the right, determined to try each door he came to and so start
a gradual examination of the house. But he had hardly taken a step on
his way when a light click sounded close behind him, and then a shaft
of light struck past his head.
Ronicky Doone whirled and dived down, not away from the direction
of the light, but toward it, whipping out his revolver as he fell upon his
supporting left arm. The shaft of light, launched from a pocket electric
torch, was wandering wildly. Behind it he caught the dimly outlined
figure of a man. Then the light fell on him as he gathered himself for
another leap, and a revolver roared straight before him.
There was a twitch at the shoulder of his coat -- the bullet had come as
close as that! -- then Ronicky Doone sprang, animallike, from hands to
knees, swerving out of the flash of the light as the gun spoke again and
missed again. He struck with his left hand as he shot in. All his force,
multiplied threefold by nervous ecstasy, went into that whipping punch,
and the knuckles crunched home against bone. It was a solid impact.
The jar of it left his arm numb to the shoulder, and the vague outline of
the man behind the light collapsed.
As he did so, the electric torch fell from his hand, spinning and filling
the hall with wild flashings until it struck the floor. The revolver
crashed to the boards an instant later, and Ronicky, scooping up the
light, turned it down into the face of his victim.
It was a big body, lying with the long arms thrown out crosswise, so
completely stunning had the blow been. Ronicky, estimating the power
in that now inert bulk, was grateful that his first punch had struck home.
In a struggle hand to hand he would not have had a chance for victory.
Somewhere in the distance there was a woman's shrill cry of terror.
Ronicky paid little heed to it, for he was too busy examining that

upturned face. His victim was a man of about forty-five, with a seamed
and lined face, clean shaven, rather handsome, and sadly worn by the
passage of time and many troubles, no doubt. But the expression was
neither savage nor sneaking. The forehead was broad and high with
noble capacity for thought. The nose was strongly but not cruelly
arched. The mouth was sensitive. If this were Hugh Dawn, he was by
no means the criminal type as Ronicky Doone knew it, and in his
wanderings he had known many a yegg, many a robber.
The knocked-out man began to revive and came suddenly to his senses,
sitting up and blinking at the dazzling shaft of light. Then he reached
for his fallen gun, but the foot of Ronicky stamped over it at the same
instant.
All this, of course, from the first snapping on of the light, had filled
only a few seconds. Now the calling of the girl broke out clearly upon
them as she threw open a door. Ronicky saw her form rushing down
toward them and heard the rustling of her clothes. There was the dim
flicker of a gun in her hand.
"Lady," said Ronicky, holding the electric light far from him, but still
keeping it focused on the face of the other man so that his own body
would be in deep comparative shadow. "I'm here for no harm. But mind
your gun. If this is Hugh Dawn -- if he means anything to you -- mind
what you do. I've got him covered!"
"Oh, dad!" cried the girl excitedly. "Are you -- "
"I'm