Ronicky Doone Read online

  Chapter Four

  _His Victim's Trouble_

  Yet he could not help pondering on the words of old Harding. BillGregg had been a strange patient. He had never repeated his firstoffer to tell his story. He remained sullen and silent, with hisbrooding eyes fixed on the blank wall before him, and nothing couldpermanently cheer him. Some inward gloom seemed to possess the man.

  The first day after the shooting he had insisted on scrawling apainfully written letter, while Ronicky propped a writing board infront of him, as he lay flat on his back in the bed, but that was hisonly act. Thereafter he remained silent and brooding. Perhaps itwas hatred for Ronicky that was growing in him, as the sense ofdisappointment increased, for Ronicky, after all, had kept him fromreaching that girl when the train passed through Stillwater. Perhaps,for all Ronicky knew, his bullet had ruined the happiness of twolives. He shrugged that disagreeable thought away, and, reaching thehotel, he went straight up to the room of the sick man.

  "Bill," he said gently, "have you been spending all your time hatingme? Is that what keeps you thin and glum? Is it because you sit hereall day blaming me for all the things that have happened to you?"

  The dark flush and the uneasy flicker of Gregg's glance gave asufficient answer. Ronicky Doone sighed and shook his head, but not inanger.

  "You don't have to talk," he said. "I see that I'm right. And I don'tblame you, Bill, because, maybe, I've spoiled things pretty generallyfor you."

  At first the silence of Bill Gregg admitted that he felt the same wayabout the matter, yet he finally said aloud: "I don't blame you. Maybeyou thought I was a hoss thief. But the thing is done, Ronicky, and itwon't never be undone!"

  "Gregg," said Ronicky, "d'you know what you're going to do now?"

  "I dunno."

  "You're going to sit there and roll a cigarette and tell me the wholeyarn. You ain't through with this little chase. Not if I have to dragyou along with me. But first just figure that I'm your older brotheror something like that and get rid of the whole yarn. Got to have theore specimens before you can assay 'em. Besides, it'll help you a pileto get the poison out of your system. If you feel like cussing mehearty when the time comes go ahead and cuss, but I got to hear thatstory."

  "Maybe it would help," said Gregg, "but it's a fool story to tell."

  "Leave that to me to say whether it's a fool story or not. You startthe talking."

  Gregg shifted himself to a more comfortable position, as is theimmemorial custom of story tellers, and his glance misted a littlewith the flood of recollections.

  "Started along back about a year ago," he said. "I was up to theSullivan Mountains working a claim. There wasn't much to it, justenough to keep me going sort of comfortable. I pegged away at itpretty steady, leading a lonely life and hoping every day that I'd cutmy way down to a good lead. Well, the fine ore never showed up.

  "Meantime I got pretty weary of them same mountains, staring me in theface all the time. I didn't have even a dog with me for conversation,so I got to thinking. Thinking is a bad thing, mostly, don't youagree, Ronicky?"

  "It sure is," replied Ronicky Doone instantly. "Not a bit of a doubtabout it."

  "It starts you doubting things," went on Gregg bitterly, "and prettysoon you're even doubting yourself." Here he cast an envious glance atthe smooth brow of his companion. "But I guess that never happened toyou, Ronicky?"

  "You'd be surprised if I told you," said Ronicky.

  "Well," went on Bill Gregg, "I got so darned tired of my own thoughtsand of myself that I decided something had ought to be done; somethingto give me new things to think about. So I sat down and went over thewhole deal.

  "I had to get new ideas. Then I thought of what a gent had told meonce. He'd got pretty interested in mining and figured he wanted toknow all about how the fancy things was done. So he sent off to somecorrespondence schools. Well, they're a great bunch. They say: 'Writeus a lot of letters and ask us your questions. Before you're throughyou'll know something you want to know.' See?"

  "I see."

  "I didn't have anything special I wanted to learn except how to usemyself for company when I got tired of solitaire. So I sat down andwrote to this here correspondence school and says: 'I want to dosomething interesting. How d'you figure that I had better begin?' Andwhat d'you think they answered back?"

  "I dunno," said Ronicky, his interest steadily increasing.

  "Well, sir, the first thing they wrote back was: 'We have your letterand think that in the first place you had better learn how to write.'That was a queer answer, wasn't it?"

  "It sure was." Ronicky swallowed a smile.

  "Every time I looked at that letter it sure made me plumb mad. And Ilooked at it a hundred times a day and come near tearing it up everytime. But I didn't," continued Bill.

  "Why not?"

  "Because it was a woman that wrote it. I told by the hand, after awhile!"

  "A woman? Go on, Bill. This story sure sounds different from most."

  "It ain't even started to get different yet," said Bill gloomily."Well, that letter made me so plumb mad that I sat down and wroteeverything I could think of that a gent would say to a girl to let herknow what I thought about her. And what d'you think happened?"

  "She wrote you back the prettiest letter you ever seen," suggestedRonicky, "saying as how she'd never meant to make you mad and that ifyou--"

  "Say," broke in Bill Gregg, "did I show that letter to you?"

  "Nope; I just was guessing at what a lot of women would do. You see?"

  "No, I don't. I could never figure them as close as that. Anywaythat's the thing she done, right enough. She writes me a letter thatwas smooth as oil and suggests that I go on with a composition courseto learn how to write."

  "Going to have you do books, Bill?"

  "I ain't a plumb fool, Ronicky. But I thought it wouldn't do me noharm to unlimber my pen and fire out a few words a day. So I done it.I started writing what they told me to write about, the things thatwas around me, with a lot of lessons about how you can't use the sameword twice on one page, and how terrible bad it is to use too manypassive verbs."

  "What's a passive verb, Bill?"

  "I didn't never figure it out, exactly. However, it seems like they'resomething that slows you up the way a muddy road slows up a hoss.And then she begun talking about the mountains, and then she begunasking--

  "About you!" suggested Ronicky with a grin.

  "Confound you," said Bill Gregg. "How come you guessed that?"

  "I dunno. I just sort of scented what was coming."

  "Well, anyways, that's what she done. And pretty soon she sent me asnapshot of herself. Well--"

  "Lemme see it," said Ronicky Doone calmly.

  "I dunno just where it is, maybe," replied Bill Gregg.

  "Ill tell you. It's right around your neck, in that nugget locket youwear there."

  For a moment Bill Gregg hated the other with his eyes, and then hesubmitted with a sheepish grin, took off the locket, which was made ofone big nugget rudely beaten into shape, and opened it for the benefitof Ronicky Doone. It showed the latter not a beautiful face, but apretty one with a touch of honesty and pride that made her charming.

  "Well, as soon as I got that picture," said Bill Gregg, as he tookback the locket, "I sure got excited. Looked to me like that girl wasmade for me. A lot finer than I could ever be, you see, but simple; nofancy frills, no raving beauty, maybe, but darned easy to look at.

  "First thing I done I went in and got a copy of my face made andrushed it right back at her and then--" He stopped dolefully. "Whatd'you think, Ronicky?"

  "I dunno," said Ronicky; "what happened then?"

  "Nothing, not a thing. Not a word came back from her to answer thatletter I'd sent along."

  "Maybe you didn't look rich enough to suit her, Bill."

  "I thought that, and I thought it was my ugly face that might of madeher change her mind. I thought of pretty near everything else that wasbad about me and that she might of read
in my face. Sure made me sickfor a long time. Somebody else was correcting my lessons, and thatmade me sicker than ever.

  "So I sat down and wrote a letter to the head of the school and toldhim I'd like to get the address of that first girl. You see, I didn'teven know her name. But I didn't get no answer."

  Ronicky groaned. "It don't look like the best detective in the worldcould help you to find a girl when you don't know her name." He addedgently: "But maybe she don't want you to find her?"

  "I thought that for a long time. Then, a while back, I got a letterfrom San Francisco, saying that she was coming on a train throughthese parts and could I be in Stillwater because the train stoppedthere a couple of minutes. Most like she thought Stillwater was justsort of across the street from me. Matter of fact, I jumped on a hoss,and it took me three days of breaking my neck to get near Stillwaterand then--" He stopped and cast a gloomy look on his companion.

  "I know," said Ronicky. "Then I come and spoiled the whole party. Suremakes me sick to think about it."

  "And now she's plumb gone," muttered Bill Gregg. "I thought maybe thereason I didn't have her correcting my lessons any more was becauseshe'd had to leave the schools and go West. So, right after I got thisdrilling through the leg, you remember, I wrote a letter?"

  "Sure."

  "It was to her at the schools, but I didn't get no answer. I guess shedidn't go back there after all. She's plumb gone, Ronicky."

  The other was silent for a moment. "How much would you give to findher?" he asked suddenly.

  "Half my life," said Bill Gregg solemnly.

  "Then," said Ronicky, "we'll make a try at it. I got an idea how wecan start on the trail. I'm going to go with you, partner. I've messedup considerable, this little game of yours; now I'm going to do whatI can to straighten it out. Sometimes two are better than one. AnywayI'm going to stick with you till you've found her or lost her forgood. You see?"

  Bill Gregg sighed. "You're pretty straight, Ronicky," he said, "butwhat good does it do for two gents to look for a needle in a haystack?How could we start to hit the trail?"

  "This way. We know the train that she took. Maybe we could find thePullman conductor that was on it, and he might remember her. They gotgood memories, some of those gents. We'll start to find him, which hadought to be pretty easy."

  "Ronicky, I'd never of thought of that in a million years!"

  "It ain't thinking that we want now, it's acting. When can you startwith me?"

  "I'll be fit tomorrow."

  "Then tomorrow we start."