LITMIR.BIZ

      V. HIS HAT IN THE RING

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      What it all meant Ronicky could only vaguely guess. It was not only the death of Dawn that Moon wished. The renegade also possessed a secret which the outlaws considered beyond price, and for the retention of this secret the man was willing to lay down his life. Naturally enough, the man refused to believe that Ronicky was not an agent of the leader.

      “Partner,” said Ronicky, “my name’s Doone. I ain’t very well known up around these parts of the range, but down farther south they’ll tell you that I’m a tolerable square shooter. Maybe I ain’t any wonder, but nobody that walks on two feet ever accused me of lying. And I give you my word of honor that I got nothing to do with Jack Moon or whatever his name is—him and his men. I’ve come here to tell you the straight of what I heard tonight. I rode ahead to warn you to start on your way if you want to start without being salted down with lead.”

      The other was staggered a little.

      “How come you to beat out Moon?” he asked.

      “I’ve got the fastest trick in the line of hossflesh that ever packed a saddle,” said Ronicky proudly. “I got half an hour to the good on Moon. But you’ve used up most of that time already. I say, Dawn, if you want to save your life and your secret, whatever that is, start riding now!”

      “And jump into the hands of Moon the minute I leave the house?” cried Dawn, the perspiration streaming down his face. “No, sir.”

      For the first time the girl turned from her father and faced Ronicky. She was not beautiful, but she was very pretty. Her hair was sand-colored and further faded by the sun. Constant exposure had tanned her dark bronze. But her big gray eyes were as bright and as steady as the torch in Ronicky’s hand. There was something wonderfully honest and wonderfully feminine about her whole body and the carriage of her head. Ronicky guessed at once that here was a true Western girl who could ride like a man, shoot like a man, perhaps, and then at the end of the trail be gentleness itself. She was tensed with excitement as she looked to Ronicky now.

      “Dad,” she cried suddenly, “I believe every word he’s spoken. His name is Doone. He has nothing to do with the band. And he’s come here out of the honest goodness of his heart to warn you of Moon’s intentions.”

      “Thanks, lady,” said Ronicky. “It sure does me proud to hear you say that! Dawn, will you come to and see that what she says is the truth? I’ll go one further. Now, Dawn, we’re on even terms. Would one of Moon’s men put you there?”

      Hugh Dawn was staggered, for Ronicky had slipped his revolver back into his holster at his right hip. It was worse than an even break for Doone, because Dawn held in his hand, bared of the leather, the light thirty-two- caliber revolver which he had taken from the girl.

      “Jerry,” he said, “I dunno—I dunno. Moon’s more full of tricks than a snake is of poison. But maybe this is square. Maybe this gent ain’t got a thing to do with Moon.”

      “Then,” cried Ronicky Doone, with a sudden passion, “for Heaven’s sake act on it! Jump out of this house, saddle your hoss, and ride! Because Moon’s coming!”

      There was such honest eagerness in his voice that Hugh Dawn started as though to execute the suggestion. He only hesitated to say: “How come you to do all this riding and talking for me? What d’you get out of it? What am I to you?”

      “You’re a gent with four crooks on your heels,” said Ronicky calmly. “I heard them talk. I couldn’t let a murder be done if I could keep you from it. That’s why I’m here.”

      The other shook his head. But the girl cried: “Don’t you see, dad? He’s simply—white! For Heaven’s sake, believe him—trust in my trust. Get your things together. I’ll saddle the gray and—”

      The storm of her excited belief swept the other off his feet. He flashed one glance at Ronicky Doone, then turned on his heel and ran for his room.

      The girl raced the other way, clattering down the stairs. Perhaps when she sprang outside into the night Jack Moon and his men would already be there. But she had never a thought for danger.

      Ronicky Doone only delayed to run into the front room on that floor —the room from which the girl had spoken to him when he tried the front door—and there he lighted the lamp and placed it on the table near the window. After that he sped down the stairs, untethered Lou from her tree at the side of the house, and hurried with her to the back of the house and the old, tumble-down horseshed which stood there.

      Lantern light showed there, where the girl was saddling a tall, gray gelding. She was working the cinch knots tight as Ronicky appeared, so fast had been her work, and now her father came from the house at a run, huddling himself into his slicker.

      “How could they find out that I come here?” he asked. “After ten years!”

      “No time for questions,” his daughter said, panting. “Oh, dad, for Heaven’s sake use the spurs tonight. Go back. Never return!”

      “And leave you here alone?” asked Ronicky sternly. “Not when Moon and his gang are on the way. I seen their faces, lady, and they ain’t a pretty lot! Leave you to be found by them? Not in a thousand years.”

      She grew a little pale at that, but she still kept her head high. “I’ve nothing to fear,” she said. “They wouldn’t dare harm me.”

      “I’ll trust ‘em dead, not living,” said Ronicky. “You’re going to ride with your father and on that hoss yonder!”

      There was a companion to the gray, hardly so tall, but even better formed.

      “He’s right,” said Hugh Dawn. As he spoke he caught saddle and bridle from their hooks and slapped them onto the horse. “I ain’t thinking right tonight. I ain’t understanding things. Doone, you put shame on me! Of course I ain’t going to leave her alone!”

      Ronicky heard these remarks with only half an ear.

      He called from the door of the shed, where he had taken his stand: “Now put out the lantern! No use calling them this way with a light!”

      He was hastily obeyed. Through the darkness they led out the two grays beside Lou.

      “And you, Doone,” said Hugh Dawn, who seemed to have been recovering his poise rapidly during the past seconds, “ride down the east road. We’ll go over the hills. Tomorrow Jerry can come back, when it’s safe. And—Doone, shake hands! I forgive that punch that knocked me cold. Some day we—”

      “Shut up,” whispered Ronicky Doone impolitely and with savage force. “There they come!”

      Four ghostly, silent figures, stooping low, advancing with stealthy stride, came out of the pines and slid toward the house. They could not be distinguished individually. They were simply blurs in the mist of rainfall, but for some reason their very obscurity made them more significant, more formidable. Ronicky Doone heard a queer, choked sound—Hugh Dawn swallowing a horror that would not down.

      “And—and I near stayed there in the house and waited—for this!” he breathed.

      Ronicky Doone jerked up a threatening fist. Not that there was a real danger that they might be overheard at that distance, but because he had odd superstitions tucked away in him here and there, and one of those superstitions was that words were more than mere sounds. They were thoughts that went abroad in an electric medium and possessed a life of their own. They might dart

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