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Updated: May 14, 2025
"But just suppose," she said, "that Ronicky Doone broke into your house, forced one of your men to tell him where we are, and then followed us at once. He would be about due to arrive now. What if all that happened?" He smiled at her. "If all that happened, you are quite right; he would be about due to arrive.
Only the old man who had been the spokesman called after him: "Gregg, don't be a fool. Maybe you don't recognize the name of Doone, but the whole name is Ronicky Doone. Does that mean anything to you?" Into the back of Gregg's mind came several faint memories, but they were obscure and uncertain. "Blast your Ronicky Doone!" he replied.
"Only this time." "Always! Fellows like you are as lonesome without a gun as they are without a skin." Ronicky turned at the door and laughed back at the gloomy face, and then they were gone down the steps and into the street. The New York Trail On the train to New York that night they carefully summed up their prospects and what they had gained. "We started at pretty near nothing," said Ronicky.
The ghost of a flush bloomed in her cheeks, but her faint smile did not alter, and she seemed to be hearing him from far away. "The man with the sneer," she said at length, "will never talk to me like that, and still I shall marry him." "Tell me your name," said Ronicky Doone bluntly. "My name is Ruth Tolliver."
The sound of the coughing of the engine, as it started up, came faintly to them after a moment. "Of all the darned fools!" said the two men in one voice. And then they grinned at each other. Certainly it was not the first fight or the first wound for either of them. "I'm sorry," they began again, speaking together in chorus. "Matter of fact," said Ronicky Doone, "that bay means a pile to me.
"No, no!" "I swear!" "Bless you, but never venture near again. But, oh, Ronicky Doone, I wish ten other men in the whole world could be half so generous and wild as you!" Suddenly her hand was slipped from his, and she was gone into the shadows.
Presently a shooting pain would pass through her body then death. Opening her bewildered eyes she beheld John Mark staggering, the automatic lying on the ground, his hands clutching at his breast. Then glancing to one side she saw the form of Ronicky Doone riding as fast as spur would urge his horse, the long Colt balanced in his hand.
"And, when you're on the streets with the girl, do you suppose I'll rest idle and let you walk away with her?" "Once we're outside of the house, Mark," said Ronicky Doone, "I don't ask no favors. Let your men come on. All I got to say is that I come from a county where every man wears a gun and has to learn how to use it. I ain't terrible backward with the trigger finger, John Mark.
In a word Ronicky Doone was a dandy, but he had this peculiarity, that he seemed to dress to please himself rather than the rest of the world. His glances never roved about taking account of the admiration of others.
The true story was, of course, known almost at once, but, since Ronicky Doone swore that he would tackle the first man who accused him of having shot down Bill Gregg, the talk was confined to whispers. In the meantime Stillwater rejoiced in its possession of Ronicky Doone.
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