“I’ll go,” said Ronicky at last, “on your own terms. You take me in to prove to the girl that I’m crooked. I accept because I want to get the girl and her father loose. We both have our eyes open—we play the game— we hope to plant each other under the sod in the end. Let’s start back!”
“Good!” said the outlaw, and, stepping briskly forth to lead the way, he began laughing softly to himself.
As for Ronicky, his mind was in a whirl of doubts as he followed. This was not his sphere, this atmosphere of trickery and suspicion. He was meant for swift decisions swiftly acted upon. But, having committed himself to this course of action, he could do nothing but submit and let chance bring what it would. At least, he could be constantly on the alert, and if Moon strove to strike by surprise the blow might recoil on his own head.
They came to the edge of the clearing. The shacks were indistinct masses of shadow now, save for the faces on which the firelight struck. A mass of dead logs had been heaped in the center of the open space, and the flames from them leaped straight up until the wind, which stirred above the treetops, lopped off the fire in great billows and extinguished them in waves of darkness.
This fire was for the purpose of giving heat, as the night was coming on chill; the cooking fire was a much humbler affair drawn well to one side. Scattered about it was the expectant circle. What Ronicky Doone saw was a blur of strong, ill-shaven faces, alternately played upon by light and shade as the men leaned toward the fire or sat back. Next he saw the shining hair of the girl, turning to red gold where the firelight struck through it.
She sat with her fingers locked about her knees, and she was talking with animation to the solemn-faced Silas Treat, her nearest neighbor on the right. Hugh Dawn flanked her on the other side.
“Looks kind of at home already, don’t she?” asked Jack Moon. “She’s one in a thousand, that girl!”
“Sure,” said Ronicky Doone. “She’s smart enough to know how to act a part.”
But he was ill at ease. If in five minutes the outlaw leader had been able to change the mind of a man bent on killing him, and had brought the would- be combatant peaceably back to his camp and really into his power, what could he not do with a girl of an impressionable age? Something must be done about this. The girl must be warned sharply to be on her guard, not against physical danger, because that could not exist among Westerners for her, but against the insidious words of Jack Moon.
It seemed that Moon read his thoughts and defied him.
“I’ll make a place for you between Treat and the girl,” he said. “You see, I figure to keep you happy, Ronicky!”
He stepped forward to the girl, and Ronicky saw her lift her head with a start and then stare beyond the leader into the darkness. Seeing no one— perhaps the firelight blinded her—she laughed and seemed highly pleased. Then he made out Moon’s voice saying: “Thought you’d be getting lonely, maybe, among all us rough gents. So I brought you a friend.”
At that she started to her feet, and Ronicky came on toward her, smiling. At sight of him she stiffened, at first as though in horror, and then with an exclamation of scorn which Ronicky Doone was never to forget.
“Don’t come near me!” she cried fiercely. “Don’t come near me! Jack Moon, I’d rather have any member of your crew beside me than that—creature! I thought there was one man in the world who valued himself above a price. But now I see there’s none. None!”
“Jerry,” said Ronicky eagerly, “inside of three days you’ll know the truth about this.”
“For money!” breathed the girl, white of face. “Sold for money! Why, a man like Jack Moon who defies the law is far finer than you! At least he isn’t sold. He may buy, but he’s never bought!”
“I could talk forever now,” said Ronicky, “and never show you why I’m here. But when the time comes, you’ll know.”
“Whatever you say,” she replied, “remember this: I don’t care to hear you. You’ve sold more than yourself. You’ve sold my faith in you. And that can be sold only once. This is the last word I’ll address to you, sir!”
She turned her back and sat down.
“I didn’t figure,” said Jack Moon, “that you’d come so close to saying kind things about me so soon.”
“Kind?” she answered. Suddenly her anger melted almost to the point of tears. “Don’t you see I hate you for what you’ve done to him? It—it’s worse than killing a man. It’s devilish, this buying of a soul!”
XVII. REWARD OF SERVICE
But the leader seemed quite unperturbed by her words. He turned cheerfully to the circle of men, and they interrupted their own talk to stare at the newcomer.
“Gents,” said Moon, “this is Ronicky Doone. I’ve brought him around to our way of thinking. I want you to take to him, and I’m pretty sure that he’ll take to us. I guess they ain’t anybody here that’d vote agin’ letting Ronicky have a share of the plunder if we find Cosslett’s gold. If they is, speak up!”
Ronicky could see the point of this speech. Without making a definite statement, the bandit allowed it to be clearly inferred that the offer of a share in the gold had been the purchase price of the new member of the band. Now the wave of silence traveled around the circle, and keen eyes looked at him from under grimly gathered brows.
Silas Treat spoke first. “This kid looks tolerable young to me. I got a right to talk. Any gent that’s brought in may be sent out with me to do a little job later on. I want to know what he’ll turn when it comes to taking a trick. How does he ride? How does he shoot? What does he know? What’s he done?”
I’ll answer that,” said the leader. “First place, I’ll answer for him as a fighting man. They ain’t such a thing as luck in a gun play. Or if there is, lucky gents are what we want. I’ve heard about Doone for two years. Take too long to tell you all. But the first of you that gets tangled with him, will find out a bunch of things pronto. About the rest—well, call your hoss, Ronicky!”
Wondering what point there could be in this, Ronicky whistled sharply, and from behind came the swift beating of hoofs. The bay mare shot into the circle of the firelight and stood, a gleaming, beautiful figure, beside her master. There she fidgeted, turning this way and that and eying the bandits with uneasy glances, as though she were not at all pleased to find her owner in such company.
“Look her over, boys,” said Moon. “Is they a hoss in the outfit that can touch her? Is a hoss like that ever going to be run down on the trail? And can’t you judge a gent pretty much by the hoss he rides?”
These words were to a large degree drowned by the murmur which had risen simultaneously from many throats, drawn forth by the exquisite lines of Lou. All doubt at once vanished.
“Glad to see you, pal,” said Silas Treat, advancing across the circle until he loomed huge above Ronicky, and he stretched forth his hand. It was not taken, and Treat drew himself back a pace.
“Gents,” said Ronicky, “I sure appreciate being taken in. But you don’t know me yet. Wait till you’ve found out what I am. If you feel the same way then—why, we’ll shake hands. But you can’t tell