 CHAPTER XI He was conscious then only of the green-blue eyes, very wide, very bright, and lips that parted on a word, and froze there in silence. The heart of Ronyki Dune leapt with joy. He had passed the crisis in safety. She had not cried out. You're not, he had said, in the first moment. I am not who, asked the girl with amazing steadiness. He saw her hand go back to the dressing-table and open, with incredible deafness and speed the little top drawer behind her. Don't do that," said Ronyki softly but sharply. Keep your hand off that table, lady, if you don't mind. She hesitated a fraction of a second. In that moment she seemed to see that he was in earnest, and that it would be foolish to tamper with him. Stand away from the table. Sit down yonder. Again she obeyed without a word. Her eyes, to be sure, flickered here and there about the room, as though they sought some means of sending a warning to her friends, or finding some escape for herself. Then her glance returned to Ronyki Dune. Well, she said, as she settled in the chair, well, a world of meaning in those two small words, a world of dread controlled. He merely stared at her thoughtfully. I hit the wrong trail, lady. He said quietly, I was looking for somebody else. She started. You were after. She stopped. That's right, I guess, he admitted. How many of you are there? She asked curiously, so curiously, that she seemed to be forgetting the danger. Poor Carrie Smith with a mob, she stopped suddenly. What did you do to Harry Morgan? I left him safe and quiet, said Ronyki Dune. The girl's face hardened strangely. What you are, and what your game is, I don't know, she said. But I'll tell you this, I'm letting you play as if you had all the cards in the deck. But you haven't. I've got one ace that'll take all your trumps. Suppose I call, once. What'll happen to you, pal? You don't dare call, he said. Don't dare me, she said angrily. I hate it dare worse than anything in the world, almost. For a moment her green-blue eyes were pools of light flashing angrily at him. Into the hand of Ronyki Dune, with that magic speed and grace for which his fame was growing so great in the mountain desert, came the long, glimmering body of the revolver, and holding it at his hip, he threatened her. She shrank back at that, gasping, for there was an utter surety about this man's handling of the weapon. The heavy gun balanced and steadied in his slim fingers, as if it were no more than a feather's weight. I'm talking straight, lady, said Ronyki Dune. Sit down, pronto. In the very act of obedience she straightened again. It's bluff, she said. I'm going through that door. Straight for the door she went, and Ronyki Dune said his teeth. Go back, he commanded. He glided to the door and blocked her way, but the gun hung futile in his hand. It's easy to pull a gun, eh? said the girl with something of a sneer, but it takes nerve to use it. Let me through this door. Not in a thousand years, said Ronyki. She laid her hand on the door and drew it back. It struck his shoulder, and Ronyki gave way with a groan and stood with his head bowed. Inwardly he cursed himself. Doubtless she was used to men who bullied her as if she were another man of an inferior sort. Doubtless she despised him for his weakness. But though he gritted his teeth he could not make himself firm. Those old lessons which sink into a man's soul in the West came back to him and held him. In the helpless rage which possessed him he wanted battle above all things in the world. If a half a dozen men poured through the doorway he would have rejoiced. But this one girl was enough to make him helpless. He looked up in amazement. She had not gone, in fact she had closed the door slowly and stood with her back against it, staring at him in a speechless bewilderment. What sort of a man are you? asked the girl at last. A fool, said Ronyki, slowly. Go out and round up your friends. I can't stop you. No, said the girl thoughtfully, but that was a poor bluff at stopping me. He nodded, and she hesitated still, watching his face closely. Listen to me, she said suddenly. I have two minutes to talk to you, and I'll give you those two minutes. You can use them getting out of the house. I'll show you a way, or you can use them to tell me why you've come. In spite of himself, Ronyki smiled. Lady, he said, if a rat was in a trap do you think he'd stop very long between a chance of getting clear and a chance to tell how he come to get into the place? I have a perfectly good reason for asking, she answered. Even if you now get out of the house safely you'll try to come back later on. Lady, said Ronyki, do I look as plum foolish as that? You're from the West, she said, in answer to his slang. Yes. She considered the straight-looking honesty of his eyes. Out West, she said, I know you men are different. Not one of the men I know here would take another chance as risky as this, once they were out of it. But out there in the mountains you follow long trails, trails that haven't anything but hope to lead you along them. Isn't that so? Maybe, admitted Ronyki. It's the fever out of the gold days, lady. You start chipping rocks to find the right color. Maybe you never find the right color. Maybe you never find a streak of paystuff, but you keep on trying. You're always just sort of around the corner from making a big strike. She nodded, smiling again, and the smiles changed her pleasantly, it seemed to Ronyki dune. At first she had impressed him almost as a man, with her cold, steady eyes, but now she was all woman indeed. That's why I say that you'll come back. You won't give up with one failure, am I right? He shrugged his shoulders. I don't know. If the trail fever hits me again, maybe I would come back. You started to tell me, is it because of Carolyn Smith? Yes. You don't have to talk to me, said the girl. As a matter of fact, I shouldn't be here listening to you. But I don't know why. I want to help you. You—you are in love with Carolyn? No, said Ronyki. Her expression grew grave and cold again. Then why are you hunting for her? What do you want with her? Lady, said Ronyki, I'm going to show you the whole layout of my cards. Maybe you'll take what I say to headquarters, the man that smiles, and block my game. You know him, she asked sharply? Apparently that phrase, the man who smiles, was enough to identify him. I've seen him. I don't know what he is. I don't know what you are, lady, but I figure that you, and Carolyn Smith, and everybody in this house, is under the thumb of the gent that smiles. Her eyes darkened with a shadow of alarm. Go on, she said curtly. I'm not going to guess about what you all are. All I know is what I'm here trying to do. I'm not working for myself. I'm working for a partner. She started. That's the second man, the one who stopped her on the street today? You're pretty well posted, replied Ronyki. Yes, that's the one. He started after Carolyn Smith, not even knowing her name, with just a picture of her. We found out that she lived inside of the East River, and pretty soon we located her here. And what are you hoping to do? To find her, and talk to her straight from the shoulder, and tell her what a pile Bill has done to get to her, and a lot of other things. Can't he find her, and tell her those things himself? He can't talk, said Ronyki. Not that I'm a pile better, but I could talk better for a friend than I can talk for myself, I figure. If things don't go right, then I'll know the trouble is with the gent with the smile. And then, asked the girl, very excited, and grave. I'll find him, said Ronyki doon. And, lady, he replied obliquely, because I couldn't use a gun on a girl ain't no sign I can't use it on a gent. I've one thing to tell you, she said, breaking in swiftly on him. Do what you want. Take all the chances you care to, but if you value your life and the life of your friend, keep away from the man who smiles. I'll have a fighting chance, I guess, said Ronyki quietly. You'll have no chance at all. The moment he knows your hand is against him, I don't care how brave or how clever you are, you are doomed. She spoke with such passion of conviction that she flushed, and a moment later she was shivering. It might have been the draught from the window which made her gather the hazy green mantle closer about her, and glance over her shoulder, but a grim feeling came to Ronyki doon, that the reason why the girl trembled and her eyes grew wide was that the mention of the man who smiles had brought the thought of him into the room like a breath of cold wind. Don't you see, she went on gently, that I like you? It's the first and the last time that I'm going to see you, so I can talk. I know you're honest, and I know you're brave. Why, I can see your whole character in the way you've stayed by your friend, and if there's a possible way of helping you, I'll do it. But you must promise me first that you'll never cross the man with the sneer, as you call him. There's a sort of fate in it, said Ronyki, slowly. I don't think I could promise. There's a chill in my bones that tells me I'm going to meet up with him one of these days. She gasped at that, and stepping back from him, she appeared to be searching her mind to discover something which would finally and completely convince him. At length she found it. Do I look to you like a coward, she said? Do I seem to be weak-mead? He shook his head. And what will a woman fight hardest for? For the youngsters she's got, said Ronyki, after a moment's thought. And outside that I suppose a girl will fight hardest to marry the gent she loves, and to keep from marrying a man she doesn't love, as she'd try to keep from death. Sure, said Ronyki, but these days a girl don't have to marry that way. I'm going to marry the man with the sneer, she said simply enough, and with dull, patient eyes she watched the face of Ronyki wrinkle, and grow pale as if a heavy fist had struck him. You, he asked, you marry him? Yes, she whispered. And you hate the thought of him? I—I don't know. He's kind. You hate him, insisted Ronyki, and he's to have you—that cold-eyed snake? That devil of a man? He moved a little, and she turned toward him, smiling faintly, and allowing the light to come more clearly and fully on her face. You're meant for a king of men, lady. You've got the queen in you. It's in the lift of your head. When you find a gent you can love, why, lady, he'll be pretty near the richest man in the world. The ghost of a flesh 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 Ronyki dune bluntly. My name is Ruth Tolliver. Listen to me, Ruth Tolliver. If you was to live a thousand years, and that gent with the smile was to keep going for two thousand, it had never come about that he could ever marry you. She shook her head, still watching him from a distance. If I crossed the country and followed a hard trail, and come here to-night, and stuck my head in a trap, as you might say, for the sake of a gent like Bill Gregg, fine fellow though he is, what do you think I would do to keep a girl like you from a lifelong misery? Then he dwelt on the last word until the girl shivered. It's what it means, said Ronyki dune, lifelong misery for you. And it won't happen. It can't happen. Are you mad? Are you quite mad, asked the girl? What on earth have I and my affairs got to do with you? Who are you? I don't know, said Ronyki dune. I suppose I'm a champion of lost causes, lady. Why have I got something to do with you? I'll tell you why. Because when a girl gets past being just pretty, and starts being plum-beautiful, she lays off being the business of any one gent. Her father, or her brother, she starts being the business of the whole world. You see, they come like that about one in ten million. And I figure, you're that one, lady. The faint smile went out. She was looking at him now with a sort of sad wonder. Do you know what I am, she said gravely? I don't know, said Ronyki dune. And I don't care. What you do don't count. It's inside that matters. And the inside of you is all right. Lady, as long as I can sling a gun, and as long as my name is Ronyki dune, you ain't going to marry the gent with a smile. If he expected an outbreak of protest from her, he was mistaken. For what she said was, Ronyki dune? Is that the name, Ronyki dune? Then she smiled at him. I'm within one ace of being foolish and saying, but I won't. She made a gesture of brushing a mist away from her, and then stepped back a little. I'm going down to see the man with the smile, and I'm going to tell him that Harry Morgan is not in his room, that he didn't answer my knock, and then that I looked around through the house and didn't find him. After that I'm coming back here, Ronyki dune, and I'm going to try to get an opportunity for you to talk to Carolyn Smith. I knew you'd change your mind, said Ronyki dune. I'll even tell you why, she said. It isn't for your friend who's asleep, but it gives you a chance to finish this business, and come to the end of this trail, and go back to your own country. Because if you stay around here long, there'll be trouble, a lot of trouble, Ronyki dune. Now stay here, and wait for me. If anyone taps at the door, you'd better slip into that closet in the corner. Will you wait? Yes. And you'll trust me. To the end of the trail, lady. She smiled at him, and was gone. Now the house was perfectly hushed. He went to the window, and looked down to the quiet street with all its atmosphere of some New England village and eternal peace. It seemed impossible that in the house behind him there were. He caught his breath. Somewhere in the house the muffled sound of a struggle rose. He ran to the door, thinking of Ruth Tolliver at once, and then he shrank back again, for a door was slammed open, and a voice shouted, the voice of a man, help, Harrison, lefty, Jerry. Other voices answered far away. Footfalls began to sound. Ronyki dune knew that Harry Morgan, his victim, had at last recovered and managed to work the cords off his feet, or hands, or both. Ronyki stepped back close to the door of the closet and waited. It would mean a search, probably, this discovery that Morgan had been struck down in his own room by an unknown intruder. And a search certainly would be started at once. First there was confusion, and then a clear musical man's voice began to give orders. Harrison, take the cellar, lefty, go up to the roof. The rest of you take the rooms one by one. The search was on. Don't ask questions, was the last instruction. When you see someone you don't know, shoot on sight, and shoot to kill. I'll do the explaining to the police. You know that. Now scatter. And the man who brings him down, I'll remember. Quick! There was a new scurry of footfalls. Ronyki dune heard them approach the door of the girl's room, and he slipped into the closet. At once a cloud of soft, cool silks brushed about him, and he worked back until his shoulders had touched the wall at the back of the closet. Luckily the enclosure was deep, and the clothes were hanging thickly from the racks. It was sufficient to conceal him from any careless search, but it would do no good if any one probed, and certainly these men were not ones to search carelessly. In the meantime it was a position which made Ronyki grind his teeth. To be found skulking in a woman's clothes in a closet, to be dragged out and stuck in the back, no doubt, like a rat, and thrown into the river, that was an end for Ronyki dune indeed. He was on the verge of slipping out, and making a mad break for the door of the house and trying to escape by taking the men by surprise when he heard the door of the girl's room open. Some ex-pugelist he heard a man's voice sing, and he recognized it at once as belonging to the man who had given the orders. He recognized also that this must be the man with the sneer. Do you think he was an amateur robber and an expert prize-fighter? Ask Ruth Tolliver. It seemed to Ronyki dune that her voice was perfectly controlled and calm. Perhaps it was her face that betrayed emotion, for after a moment of silence the man answered. What's the matter? You're as nervous as a child tonight, Ruth. Isn't there reason enough to make me nervous? She demanded. A robber? Heaven knows what, running at large in the house? Hmm, murmured the man, devilish queer that you should get so excited all at once. No, it's something else. I've trained you too well for you to go to pieces like this over nothing. What is it, Ruth? There was no answer. The voice began again, silken, smooth, and gentle, so gentle and kindly that Ronyki dune started. In the old days you used to keep nothing from me. We were companions, Ruth. That was when you were a child. Now that you're a woman, when you feel more, think more, see more, when our companionship should be like a running stream continually bringing new things into my life, I find barriers between us. What is it, my dear? Still there was no answer. The pulse of Ronyki dune began to quicken as though the question had been asked him as though he himself were fumbling for the answer. Let us talk more freely, went on the man. Try to open your mind to me. There are things which you dislike in me. I know it. Just what those things are I cannot tell. But we must break down these foolish little barriers which are appearing more and more every day. Not that I mean to intrude myself on you every moment of your life. You understand that, of course. Of course, said the girl faintly. And I understand perfectly that you have passed out of childhood into young womanhood and that this is a dreamy time for a girl. The body is formed at last, but her mind is only half formed. There is a pleasant mist over it. Very well I don't wish to brush the mist away. If I did I would take half that charm away from you, that elusive incompleteness which Franganard and Watu tried to imitate. Heaven knows with how little success. No, I shall always let you live your own life. All I ask for, my dear, are certain meeting places. Let us establish them before it is too late, or you will find one day that you have married an old man, and we shall have silent dinners. There is nothing more wretched than that. If it should come about, then you will begin to look on me as a jailer, and—don't! Ah! he said very tenderly. I knew that I was feeling toward the truth. You are shrinking from me, Ruth, because you feel that I am too old. No. No. Here a hand pounded heavily on the door. The idiots have found something, said the man of the sneer, and now they have come to talk about their cleverness like a rooster crowing over a grain of corn. He raised his voice. Come in!" And Ronyki Dune heard a panting voice a moment later, exclaim, We've got him. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of Ronyki Dune. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, U.S.A. Ronyki Dune. By Max Brande. Chapter 12. The Strange Bargon. Ronyki drew his gun and waited. Good! Said the man of the sneer. Go ahead. It was down in the cellar that we found the first tracks. He came through the side window and closed it after him. That dropped him into the coal-bin. Did he get coal dust on his shoes? Right. And he didn't have sense enough to wipe it off. An amateur, a rank amateur, I told you, said the man of the sneer, with satisfaction. You followed his trail. Up the stairs to the kitchen and down the hall and up to Harry's room. We already knew he'd gone there. But he left that room again and came down the hall. Yes, the coal dust was pretty well wiped out by that time, but we held the light close to the carpet and got signs of it. And where did it lead? Right to this room. Ronyki stepped from among the smooth silks and pressed close to the closet door, his hand on the knob. The time had almost come for one desperate attempt to escape, and he was ready to shoot to kill. A moment of pause had come, a pause which, in the imagination of Ronyki, was filled with the approach of both the men toward the door of the closet. The man of the sneer said, That's a likely story. I can show you the tracks. Hmm, you fool, they simply grew dim when they got to this door. I've been here for some time. Go back and tell them to hunt some more. Go up to the attic and search there, that's the place an amateur would most likely hide. The man growled some retort and left, closing the door heavily behind him, while Ronyki Dune breathed freely again for the first time. Now said the man of the sneer, Tell me the whole of it, Ruth. Ronyki said his teeth. Had the clever devil guessed at the truth so easily? Had he sent his follower away merely to avoid having it known that a man had taken shelter in the room of the girl he loved? Go on, the leader was repeating, Let me hear the whole truth. I—I— stammered the girl, and she could say no more. The man of the sneer laughed, unpleasantly. Let me help you. It was somebody you met somewhere, on the train, perhaps, and you couldn't help smiling at him, eh? You smiled so much, in fact, that he followed you and found that you had come here. The only way he could get in was by stealth. Is that right? So he came in exactly that way, like a robber, but really only to keep a trist with his lady love. A pretty story, a true romance. I began to see why you found me such a dull fellow, my dear girl. Then began Ruth Tolliver, her voice shaking. Tush! He broke in as smoothly as ever. Let me tell the story for you, and spare you your blushes. When I sent you for Harry Morgan, you found Locke and Vare in the very act of slugging the poor fellow. You helped him tie Morgan, then took him here to your room. Although you were glad to see him, you warned him that it was dangerous to play with fire, fire being me. Do I gather the drift of the story fairly well? Surely you have him worked up to the right pitch. He is convinced that retreat would be advantageous, if possible. You show him that it is possible. You point out the ledge under your window, and the easy way of working to the ground, eh? Yes, said the girl, unevenly. That is. Ah! murmured the man of the sneer. You seem rather relieved that I have guessed he left the house. In that case, Runnicki Dune had held the latch of the door turned back for some time. Now he pushed it open and stepped out. He was only barely in time, for the man of the sneer was turning quickly in his direction, since there was only one hiding-place in the room. He was brought up with a shock by the sight of Runnicki's big colt held at the hip and covering him with absolute certainty. Ruth Tolliver did not cry out, but every muscle in her face and body seemed to contract, as if she were preparing herself for the explosion. You don't have to put up your hands, said Runnicki Dune, wondering at the familiarity of the face of the man of the sneer. He had brooded on it so often in the past few days that it was like the face of an old acquaintance. He knew every line in that sharp profile. Thank you, responded the leader, and turning to the girl said coldly, I congratulate you on your good taste. A regular Apollo, my dear Ruth. He turned back to Runnicki Dune. But I suppose you have overheard our entire conversation. The whole lot of it, said Runnicki, though I wasn't playing my hand at eavesdropping. I couldn't help hearing you, partner. The man of the sneer looked him over leisurely. Western, he said at last, decidedly Western. Are you staying long in the east, my friend? I don't know, said Runnicki Dune, smiling faintly at the coolness of the other. What do you think about it? Feeling that I'm liable to put an end to your stay? Maybe. Tush, tush! I suppose Ruth has filled your head with a lot of rot about what a terrible fellow I am. But I don't use poison, and I don't kill with mysterious x-rays. I am, as you see, a very quiet and ordinary sort. Runnicki Dune smiled again. You just obliged me, partner, he replied in his own soft voice. Just stay away from the walls of the room. Even sit down. Stand right where you are. You'd murder me if I took another step? Ask the man of the sneer? And a contemptuous and sardonic expression flitted across his face for the first time? I'd sure blow you full of lead, said Runnicki, fervently. I'd kill you like a snake, stranger, which I mostly think you are. So step light, and step quick when I talk. Certainly said the other, bowing, I am entirely at your service. He turned a little to Ruth. I see that you have a most determined cavalier. I suppose he'll instantly abduct you and sweep you away from beneath my eyes. She made a vague gesture of denial. Go ahead, said the leader. By the way, my name is John Mark. I'm Dune. Some call me Runnicki Dune. I'm glad to know you, Runnicki Dune. I imagine that name fits you. Now tell me the story of why you came to this house. Of course it wasn't to see a girl. You're wrong. It was. Ah! In spite of himself the face of John Mark wrinkled with pain and suspicious rage. I came to see a girl, and her name, I figure, is Carolyn Smith. Relief, wonder, and even a gleam of outright happiness shot into the eyes of John Mark. Carolyn, you came for that? Suddenly he laughed heartily, but there was a tremor of emotion in that laughter. The perfect torture which had been ringing the soul of the man with the sneer projected through the laughter. I ask your pardon, my dear, said John Mark to Ruth. I should have guessed. You found him. He confessed why he was here. You took pity on him, and he brushed a hand across his forehead and was instantly himself calm and cool. Very well, then. It seems I've made an ass of myself. But I'll try to make up for it. Now what about Carolyn? There seems to be a whole host of Westerners annoying her. Only one. I'm acting as his agent. And what do you expect? I expect you will sin for her and tell her that she is free to go down with me, leave this house, and take a ride or a walk with me. As much as that, if you have to talk to her, why not do the talking here? I don't know, replied Ronnicki Doon. I figure she'd think too much about you all the time. The basilisk, A, asked John Mark. Well, you were going to persuade her to go to Bill Greg. You know the name, A. Yes, I have a curious stock of useless information. Well, you're right. I'm going to try to get her back to Bill. But you can't expect me to assent to that. I sure do. And why this Carolyn Smith may be a person of great value to me? I have no doubt she is, but I got a good argument. What is that? The gun, partner. And if you couldn't get the girl? But see how absurd the whole thing is, Ronnicki Doon? I sinned for the girl. I request her to go down with you to the street and take a walk, because you wish to talk to her. Heavens, man! I can't persuade her to go with a stranger at night. Surely you see that. I'll do the persuading, said Ronnicki Doon, calmly. 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 Ronnicki Doon, I don't ask no favors. Let your men come on. All I got to say is I come from a country 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. Not that I figure on bragging, but I want you to pick good men for my trail and tell them to step soft. Is that square? Aside from certain idiosyncrasies, such as your manner of paying a call by the way of a cellar window, I think you were the soul of honor, Ronnicki Doon. Now may I sit down? Sure. Suppose we shake hands to bind the bargain, said Ronnicki. You send for Carolyn Smith. I'm to do the persuading to get her out of the house. We're safe to the doors of the house. The minute we step into the street, you're free to do anything you want to get either of us. Will you shake on that? For a moment the leader hesitated. Then his fingers closed over the extended hand of Ronnicki Doon, and clamped down on them like so many steel wires contracting. At the same time a flush of excitement and fierceness passed over the face of John Mark. Ronnicki Doon, taken utterly by surprise, was at a great disadvantage. Then he put the whole power of his hand into the grip, and it was like iron, meaning iron. A great rage came into the eyes of John Mark. A great wonder came into the eyes of the Westerner. Where did John Mark get his sudden strength? Well, said Ronnicki, we've shaken hands, and now you can do what you please. Sit down, leave the room, anything. He shoved the gun away in his clothes. That brought a start from John Mark, and a flash of eagerness, but he repressed the idea after a single glance at the girl. We've shaken hands, he admitted slowly, as though just realizing the full extent of the meaning of that act. Very well, Ronnicki, I'll send for Carolyn Smith, and more power to your tongue, but you'll never get her away from this house without force. End of Chapter 12 CHAPTER XIII of Ronnicki Doon. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Coming By Rowdy Delaney Idaho, USA Ronnicki Doon By Max Brand Chapter 13 Doon Wins A servant answered the bell almost at once. Tell Miss Smith she's wanted in Miss Tolliver's room, said Mark. And when the servant disappeared, he began pacing up and down the room. Now and then he cast a sharp glance to the side, and scrutinized the face of Ronnicki Doon. With Ruth's permission the latter had lighted a cigarette and was smoking it in bland enjoyment. Again the leader paused directly before the girl, and with his feet spread and his head bowed in an absurd Napoleonic posture he considered every feature of her face. The uncertain smile which came trembling on her face elicited no response from Mark. She dreaded him, Ronnicki saw, as a slave dreads a cruel master. Still she had a certain affection for him, partly as a result of many benefications, no doubt, and partly from long acquaintance. And above all she respected his powers of mind intensely. The play of emotion in her face, fear, anger, suspicion, as John Mark paced up and down before her, was a study. With a secret satisfaction Ronnicki Doon saw that her glances continually sought him, timidly, curiously. All vanity aside he had dropped a bomb under the feet of John Mark, and some day the bomb might explode. There was a tap at the door. It opened, and Carolyn Smith entered in a dressing-gown. She smiled brightly at Ruth, and wonly at John Mark, then started at the side of the stranger. This, said John Mark, is Ronnicki Doon. The westerner rose and bowed. He has come, said John Mark, to try to persuade you to go for a stroll with him, so that he can talk to you about that curious fellow Bill Gregg. He is also going to try and soften your heart, I believe, by telling you all the inconveniences which Bill Gregg has endured to find you here. But he will do his talking for himself. Just why he has to take you out of the house at night before he can talk to you is, I admit, a mystery to me. But let him do the persuading. Ronnicki Doon turned to his host, a cold gleam in his eyes. His case had been presented in such a way as to make his task of persuasion almost impossible. Then he turned back and looked at the girl. Her face was a little pale, he thought, but perfectly composed. I don't know, Bill Gregg, she said, simply. Of course, I'm glad to talk to you, Mr. Doon, but why not here? Doon Mark covered a smile of satisfaction, and the girl looked at him, apparently to see if she had spoken correctly. It was obvious that the leader was pleased, and she glanced back at Ronnicki with a flush of pleasure. I'll tell you why I can't talk to you here, said Ronnicki gently, because while you're under the same roof with this gent with the sneer, he turned and indicated Mark, sneering himself as he did so, you're not yourself. You don't have a half-way chance to think for yourself. You feel him around you, and behind you, and beside you every minute, and you keep wondering not what you really feel about anything but what John Mark wants you to feel. Ain't that the straight of it? She glanced apprehensively at John Mark, and seeing that he did not move to resent this assertion, she looked again with wide-eyed wonder at Ronnicki Doon. You see, said the man of the sneer to Carolyn Smith, that our friend from the West has a childlike faith in my powers of, what shall I say, hypnotism? A faint smile of agreement flickered on her lips and went out. Then she regarded Ronnicki with an utter lack of emotion. If I could talk like him, said Ronnicki Doon, I sure wouldn't care where I had to do the talking, but I haven't any smooth lingo. I ain't got a lot of words already and handy. I'm a pretty single-minded sort of gent, Miss Smith. That's why I want you to go out of this house where I can talk to you alone. She paused, then shook her head. As far as going out with me goes, went on Ronnicki, well, there's nothing I can say except to ask you to look at me close, lady, and then ask yourself if I'm the sort of gent a girl has got anything to be afraid about. I won't keep you long. Five minutes is all I ask. And we can walk up and down the street in plain view of this house if you want. Is it a go? At least he had broken through the surface crust of indifference. She was looking at him now, with a shade of interest and sympathy, but she shook her head. I'm afraid, she began. Don't refuse right off without thinking, said Ronnicki. I've worked pretty hard to get a chance to meet you face to face. I busted into this house tonight like a burglar. Oh! cried the girl. You're the man. Harry Morgan. She stopped. Aghast. He's the man who nearly killed Morgan, said John Mark. Is that against me? Ask Ronnicki, eagerly. Is that all against me? I was fighting for a chance to find you and talk to you. Give me that chance now. Obviously she could not make up her mind. It had been curious that this handsome boyish fellow should come as an emissary for Bill Gregg. It was more curious still that he should have the daring and the strength to beat Harry Morgan. What shall I do, Ruth? She asked suddenly. Ruth Tolliver glanced apprehensively at John Mark, and then flushed, but she raised her head bravely. If I were you, Carolyn, she said steadily, I'd simply ask myself if I could trust Ronnicki Dune. Can you? The girl faced Ronnicki again. Her hands clasped in indecision and excitement. Certainly, if clean honesty was ever written in the face of a man, it stood written in the clear-cut features of Ronnicki Dune. Yes, she said at last, I'll go, for five minutes, only in the street, in full view of the house. There was a hard, deep-throated exclamation from John Mark. He rose and glided across the room as if to go and vent his anger elsewhere. But he checked and controlled himself at the door, then turned. You seem to have won, Dune. I congratulate you. When he's talking to you, Carolyn, I want you constantly to remember that. Wait! Cut in Ronnicki sharply. She'll do her own thinking without your help. John Mark bowed with a sardonic smile, but his face was colorless. Plainly he had been hard hit. Later on, he continued, we'll see more of each other, I expect. A great deal more, Dune. It's something I'm sure I'll wait for, said Ronnicki savagely. I got more than one thing to talk over with you, Mark. Maybe about some of them we'll have to do more than talking. Goodbye. Lady, I'll be waiting for you down by the front door of the house. Carol and Smith nodded, flung one frightened and appealing glance at Ruth Tolliver for direction, then hurried out to her room to dress. Ronnicki Dune turned back to Ruth. In my part of the country, he said simply, they's some gents we know sort of casual, and some gents we have for friends. Once in a while you bump into somebody that's so straight and square shooting that you'd like to have him for a partner. If you were out west, lady, and if you were a man, well, I'd pick you for a partner, because you've sure played straight and square with me to-night. He turned, hesitated, and facing her again caught up her hand, flushed it to his lips, then hurried past John Mark and threw the doorway. They could hear his rapid footfalls descending the stairs, and John Mark was thoughtful indeed. He was watching Ruth Tolliver as she stared down at her hand. When she raised her head and met the glance of the leader she flushed slowly to the roots of her hair. Yes, but are John Marks still thoughtfully in half to himself? There's true steel in him. He's done more against me in one half hour than any other dozen men in ten years. End of CHAPTER XIII. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libervox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, U.S.A. RONNICKY DUNE. By Max Brand. CHAPTER XIV. HER LITTLE JOKE. A brief ten minutes of waiting beside the front door of the house, and RONNICKY DUNE heard a swift pattering of feet on the stairs. Presently the girl was moving very slowly toward him down the hall. Plainly she was bitterly afraid when she came beside him under the dim hall light. She wore that same black hat, turned back from her white face, and the red flower beside it was a dull, uncertain blur. Decidedly she was pretty enough to explain Bill Gregg's sorrow. RONNICKY gave her no chance to think twice. She was in the very act of murmuring something about a change of mind when he opened the door, and stepping out into the starlight, invited her with a smile and a gesture to follow. In a moment they were in the freshness of the night air. She took her arm, and they passed slowly down the steps. At the bottom she turned and looked anxiously at the house. Lady, murmured RONNICKY, there's nothing to be afraid of. We're going to walk right up and down this street, and never get out of sight of the friends you've got in this here house. At the word friends she shivered slightly, and he added, unless you want to go farther of your own free will. No! No! She exclaimed, as if frightened by the very prospect. Then we won't. It's all up to you. You're the boss. I'm the cow-puncher, lady. But tell me quickly, she urged. I—I have to go back. I mustn't stay out too long. Starting in right at the first, RONNICKY said, I got to tell you that Bill told me pretty much everything that went on between you two. All about the corresponded schoolwork, and about the letters, and the pictures. I don't understand, murmured the girl faintly. But RONNICKY diplomatically raised his voice and went on, as if he had not heard her. You know what he's done with that picture of yours? No, she said faintly. He got the biggest nugget that he's ever taken out of the dirt. He got it beaten out into the right shape, and then he made a locket of it, and put your picture in it. And now he wears it around his neck, even when he's working at the mine. Her breath caught. That silly, cheap snapshot? She stopped. She had admitted everything already, and she had intended to be a very sphinx with this strange westerner. It was only a joke, she said. I—I didn't really mean to— Do you know what that joke did? Ask RONNICKY. It made two men fight. Then cross the continent together, and get on the trail of a girl whose name they didn't even know. They found the girl, and then she said she'd forgotten. But no, I don't mean to blame you. There's something queer behind it all. But I want to explain one thing. The reason that Bill didn't get to that train wasn't because he didn't try. He did try. He tried so hard that he got into a fight with a gent that tried to hold him up for a few words, and Bill got shot off his house. Shot?—asked the girl?—shot? Suddenly she was clutching his arm, terrified at the thought. She recovered herself at once and drew away, eluding the hand of RONNICKY. He made no further attempt to detain her. But he had lifted the mask and seen the real state of her mind, and she, too, knew that the secret was discovered. It angered her, and threw her instantly on the aggressive. I tell you what I guessed from the window, said RONNICKY. You went down to the street, all prepared to meet up with poor old Bill. Prepared to meet him? She started up at RONNICKY. How in the world could I ever guess? She was looking up at him, trying to drag his eyes down to hers. But RONNICKY diplomatically kept his attention straight ahead. You couldn't guess, he suggested, but there was someone who could guess for you. Someone who pretty well knew we were in town, who wanted to keep you away from Bill because he was afraid. Of what, she demanded sharply? Afraid of losing you. This seemed to frighten her. What do you know, she asked? I know this, he answered, that I think a girl like you, all in all, is too good for any man. But if any man ought to have her, it's the gent that is fondest of her. And Bill is terrible fond of you, lady. He don't think of nothing else. He's grown thin as a ghost, long and for you. So he sends another man to risk his life, to find me, and tell me about it, she demanded, between anger and sadness. He didn't send me, I just came. But the reason I came was because I knew Bill would give up without a fight. I hate a man who won't fight, she said. It's because he figures he's so much beneath you, said RONNICKY. And besides, he can't talk about himself. He's no good at that at all. But if it comes to fighting, lady, why, he wrote a couple of hausses to death, and stole another, and had a gunfight, all for the sake of seeing you when a train passed through town. She was speechless. So I thought I'd come, said RONNICKY DUNE, and tell you the insides of things, the way I knew Bill wouldn't and couldn't, but I figure it don't mean nothing much to you. She did not answer directly. She only said, are men like this in the West? Do they do so much for their friends? For a gent-like Bill that's simple and straight from the shoulder, they ain't nothing too good to be done for him. What I'd do for him, he'd do mighty pronto for me. And what he'd do for me, well, don't you figure that he'd do ten times as much for the girl he loves? Be honest with me, said RONNICKY DUNE. Tell me if Bill means any more to you than any stranger. No, yes. Which means simply yes, but how much more, lady? I hardly know him. How can I say? It's sure an easy thing to say. You've wrote to him. You've had letters from him. You've sent him your picture, and he sent you his. And you've seen him on the street. Lady, you sure know Bill, Greg. What do you think of him? I think. Is he a square sort of gent? Yeah, yes. The kind you'd trust? Yes, but is he the kind of man that would stick to a girl he loved and take care of her through thick and thin? You mustn't talk like this, said Carolyn Smith, but her voice trembled, and her eyes told him to go on. I'm going back, until Bill Greg, that down in your heart, you love him just about the same as he loves you. Oh, she asked, would you say a thing like that? It isn't a bit true. I'm afraid that's the way I see it. When I tell him that, you can lay to it that old Bill will let loose all holds, and start for you, and, if there's ten brick walls, and twenty gunmen in between, it won't make no difference. He'll find you, or die trying. Before he finished, she was clinging to his arm. If you tell him, you'll be doing a murder, John Akedoon. What he'll face will be worse than twenty gunmen. The gent that smiles, eh? Yes. John Mark. No. No. I didn't mean— But you did. And I knew it too. It's John Mark that's between you and Bill. I seen you in the street, when you were talking to poor Bill, look back over your shoulder at that devil standing in the window of this house. Don't call him that. Do you know of one drop of kindness in his nature, lady? Are we quite alone? Not a soul around. Then he is a devil, and being a devil, no ordinary man has a chance against him. Not a chance, Ronikey Doon. I don't know what you did in the house, but I think you must have out-faced him in some way. Well, for that you'll pay. Be sure. You'll pay with your life, Ronikey. Every minute now you're in danger of your life. You'll keep on being in danger, until he feels he squared his account with you. Don't you see that if I let Bill Gregg come near me, then Bill Gregg will be in danger of this same wolf of a man, eh? And in spite of the fact that you like Bill, ah, yes I do. That you love him, in fact. Why shouldn't I tell you, demanded the girl breaking down suddenly, I do love him, and I can never see him to tell him, because I dread John Mark. Rest easy, said Ronikey. You'll see Bill, or else he'll die trying to get to you. If you're his friend, I'd rather see him dead than living the rest of his life plum unhappy. She shook her head, arguing, and so they reached the corner of Beckman Place again, and turned into it, and went straight toward the house opposite that of John Mark. Still the girl argued, but it was in a whisper, as if she feared that terrible John Mark might overhear. In the home of John Mark, that calm leader was still with Ruth Tolliver. They had gone down to the lower floor of the house, and at his request she sat at the piano, while Mark sat comfortably beyond the sphere of the piano light and watched her. You're thinking of something else, he told her, and playing abominably. I'm sorry. You ought to be, he said. It's bad enough to play poorly for someone who doesn't know, but it's torture to play like that for me. He spoke without violence, as always, but she knew that he was intensely angry, and that familiar chill passed through her body. It never failed to come when she felt that she had aroused his anger. Why doesn't Carolyn come back, she asked at length. She's letting him talk himself out, that's all. Carolyn's a clever youngster. She knows how to let a man talk till his throat is dry, and then she'll smile and tell him it's impossible to agree with him. Yes, there are many possibilities in Carolyn. Do you think Ronnicky Dune is a gambler, she asked, harking back to what he had said earlier? I think so, answered John Mark, and again there was a tightening in the muscles around his mouth. A gambler has a certain way of masking his own face, and looking at yours, as if he were dragging your thoughts out through your eyes. Also, he's very cool. He belongs at a table with cards on it, and the stakes high. The door opened. Here's young Rose. He'll tell us the truth of the matter. Has she come back, Rose? The young fellow kept far back in the shadow, and when he spoke, his voice was uncertain, almost to the point of trembling. No, he managed to say. She ain't come back, chief. Mark stared at him for a moment, and then slowly opened a cigarette case and lighted a smoke. Well, he said, and his words were far more violent than the smooth voice. Well, idiot, what did she do? She'd done a fade-away, chief, in the house across the street, went in with that other gent. He took her by force, asked John Mark. Nope, she slipped in quick enough all by herself. He went in last. Damnation, murmured Mark. That's all, Rose. His follower vanished through the doorway, and closed the door softly after him. John Mark stood up and paced quietly up and down the room. At length he turned abruptly on the girl. Good night, I have business that takes me out. What is it, she asked eagerly. He paused, as if in doubt as to how he should answer her, if he answered at all. In the old days, he said at last, when a man caught a poacher on his grounds, do you know what he did? No. Shot him, my dear, without a thought, and through his body to the wolves. John Mark, do you mean? Your friend, Ronicky, of course. Only because Carolyn was foolish are you going to— Carolyn? Tut, tut, Carolyn is only a small part of it. He has done more than that. Far more, this poacher out of the west. He turned, and went swiftly through the door. The moment it was closed, the girl buried her face in her hands. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of Ronicky Dune This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney Idaho, USA Ronicky Dune By Max Brand Chapter 15 The Girl Thief Before the death sentence had been passed on him, Ronicky Dune stood before the door of his room, with a trembling girl beside him. Wait here, he whispered to her. Wait here while I go in and wake him up. It's going to be the greatest moment in his life. Bill Gregg is going to turn into the richest man in New York, all in one moment. But I don't dare go in. It will mean—it will mean everything. But it's too late to turn back now. Besides, in your heart of hearts, you don't want to turn back, you know? Quickly he passed into the room and hurried to the bed of Bill Gregg. Under the biting grip of Dune's hand, Bill Gregg writhed to a sitting posture, with a groan. Still he was in the throes of his dream, and only half awake. I've lost her, he whispered. You're wrong, idiot, said Ronicky, softly. You're wrong. You've won her. She's at the door now, waiting to come in. Ronicky, said Bill Gregg, suddenly awake. You've been the finest friend a man ever had. But if you make a joke out of her, I'll wring your neck. Sure you would, but before you do that, jump into your clothes and open the door. Sleep was still thick enough in the brain of Bill Gregg to make him obey automatically. He stumbled into his clothes and then shambled dizzily to the door and opened it. As the light from the room struck down the hall, Ronicky saw his friends stiffen to his full height and strike a hand across his face. Stars and stripes, exclaimed Bill Gregg, the days of miracles ain't over. Ronicky Dune turned his back and went to the window. Across the street rose the forbidden face of the house of John Mark, and it threatened Ronicky Dune like a clenched hand, brandished against him. The shadow under the upper gable was like the shadow under a frowning brow. In that house worked the mind of John Mark. Certainly Ronicky Dune had won the first stage of the battle between them, but there was more to come. Much more of that battle, and who would win in the end, was an open question. He made up his mind grimly that whatever happened, he would first ship Bill Gregg and the girl out of town, then act as the rear guard to cover their retreat. When he returned, they had closed the door and were standing back from one another, with such shining eyes that the heart of Ronicky Dune leaped. If, for a moment, doubt of his work came to him, it was banished as they glanced toward him. I don't know how he did it, Bill Gregg was stammering, but here it is, done, bless you, Ronicky. A minute ago, Ronicky said, it looked to me like the lady didn't know her own mind, but that seems to be over. I found my mind in the moment I saw him, said the girl. Ronicky studied her in wonder. There was no embarrassment, no shame to have confessed herself. She had the clear brow of a child. Suddenly it seemed to Ronicky that he had become an old man, and these were two children under his protection. He struck into the heart of the problem at once. The main point, he said, is to get the two of you out of town as quick as we can. Not west in Bill's country he can take care of you, but back here this John Mark is a devil, and has the strength to stop us. How quick can you go, Carolyn? I can never go, she said, as long as John Mark is alive. Then he's as good as dead, said Bill Gregg. We both have guns, and no matter how husky John Mark may be, we'll get him. The girl shook her head. All the joy had gone out of her face, and left her wistful and misty-eyed. You don't understand, and I can't tell you. You can never harm John Mark. Why not, asked Bill Gregg, has he got a thousand men around him all the time? Even if he has, there's ways of getting at him. Not a thousand men, said the girl, but, you see, he doesn't need help. He's never failed. That's what they say of him. John Mark, the man who has never lost. Listen to me, said Ronike angrily. Seems to me that everyone stands around, and gapes at this man with the sneer a terrible lot, without a pile of good reason behind him. Never failed? Why, lady, here's one night when he's failed, and failed bad. He's lost you. No, said Carolyn. Not lost you, asked Bill Gregg? Say, you ain't figuring on going back to him. I have to go back. Why, demanded Gregg? It's because of you, interrupted Ronike Dune. She knows that if she leaves you, Mark will start on your trail. Mark is the name of the gent with the sneer, Bill. He's got to die, then, Ronike. I've been figuring on the same thing for a long time, but he'll die hard, Bill. Don't you see, asked the girl, both of you are strong men and brave, but against John Mark I know that you're helpless. It isn't the first time people have hated him. Hated? Who does anything but hate him? But that doesn't make any difference. He wins. He always wins, and that's why I've come to you. She turned to Bill Gregg, but such a sad resignation held her eyes that Ronike Dune bowed his head. I've come to tell you that I love you, that I have always loved you, since I first began writing to you. All of yourself showed through your letters, plain and strong and simple and true. I've come tonight to tell you that I love you, but that we can never marry. Not that I fear him for myself, but for you. Listen here, said Bill Gregg. Ain't there police in this town? What could they do? In all of the things which he has done no one has been able to accuse him of a single illegal act. At least no one has ever been able to prove a thing. And yet he lives by crime. Does that give you any idea of the sort of man he is? A low hound, said Bill Gregg bitterly. That's what he shows to be. Tell me straight, said Ronike. What sort of hold has he got over you? Can you tell us? I have to tell you, said the girl gravely, if you insist. But won't you take my word for it and ask no more? We have a right to know, said Ronike. Bill has a right, and me being Bill's friend I have a right, too. She nodded. First off, what's the way John Mark uses you? She clenched her hands. If I tell you, you will both despise me. Try us, said Ronike. And you can lay to this, lady, that when a gent out of the West says partner to a girl or a man, he means it. What you do may be bad. What you are is all right. We both know it. The inside of you is right, lady, no matter what John Mark makes you do. But tell us straight, what is it? He has made me, said the girl, her head falling, a thief. Ronike saw Bill Gregg wince, as if someone had struck him in the face. And he himself waited, curious to see what the big fellow would do. He had not long to wait. Gregg went straight to the girl and took her hands. Do you think that makes any difference, he asked? Not to me, and not to my friend Ronike. There's nothing behind it. Tell us that. There is something behind it, said the girl, and I can't say how grateful I am to both of you for trusting me. I have a brother. He came to New York to work, found it easy to spend money, and spent it. Finally, he began sending home for money. We are not rich, but we gave him what we could. It went on like that for some time. Then one day, a stranger called at our house, and it was John Mark. He wanted to see me, and when we talked together, he told me that my brother had done a terrible thing, what it was I can't even tell you. I wouldn't believe at first, though he showed me what looked like proofs. At last I believed enough to agree to go to New York and see for myself. I came here, and saw my brother, and made him confess. What it was I can't tell you. I can only say that his life is in the hand of John Mark. John Mark has only to say ten words, and my brother is dead. He told me that. He showed me the hold that Mark had over him, and begged me to do what I could for him. I didn't see how I could be of use to him, but John Mark showed me. He taught me to steal, and I have stolen. He taught me to lie, and I have lied. And he has me still in the hollow of his hand. Do you see? And that's why I say it's hopeless. Even if I could fight against John Mark, which no one can, you couldn't help me. The moment you strike him, he strikes my brother. Curse him, exclaimed Ronikey. Curse the hound. Then he added, there's just one thing to do, first of all. You got to go back to John Mark. Tell him that you came over here. Tell him that you seen Bill Gregg, but you only came to say good-bye to him, and ask him to leave town and go west. Then, tomorrow, we'll move out, and he may think that we've gone. Meantime, the thing you do is give me the name of your brother, and tell me where I can find him. I'll hunt him up. Maybe something can be done for him. I don't know, but that's where we've got to try. But, she began, do what he says, whispered Bill Gregg. I've doubted Ronikey before, but look at all he's done. Do what he says, Carolyn. It means putting him in your power, she said at last, just as he was put in the power of John Mark. But I trust you. Give me a slip of paper, and I'll write on it what you want. CHAPTER XVI of Ronikey Dune This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Roddy Delaney Idaho, U.S.A. Ronikey Dune By Max Brand CHAPTER XVI Disarming Suspicion From the house across the street, Carolyn Smith slipped out upon the pavement and glanced wearily about her. The street was empty, quieter, and more village-like than ever, yet she knew perfectly well that John Mark had not allowed her to be gone so long without keeping watch over her. Somewhere from those blank faces of the houses across the street his spies kept guard over her movements. Here she glanced sharply over her shoulder, and it seemed to her that a shadow flitted into the door of the basement, further up the street. At that she fled and did not stop running until she was at the door of the house of Mark. Since all was quiet, up and down the street, she paused again, her hand upon the knob. To enter meant to step back into the life which she hated. There had been a time when she had almost loved the life to which John Marks had introduced her. There had been a time when she rejoiced in the nimbleness of her fingers which had enabled her to become an adept thief. And by doing so she had kept the life of her brother from danger, she verily believed. She was still saving him, and so long as she worked for John Mark, she knew that her brother was safe, yet she hesitated long at the door. It would be only the work of a moment to flee back to the man she loved, tell him that she could not, and dared not stay longer with the master criminal, and beg him to take her to the west to a clean life. Her hand fell from the knob, but she raised it again immediately. It would not do to flee, so long as John Mark had power of life and death over her brother. If Ronyki Dune, as he promised, was able to inspire her brother with the courage to flee from New York, give up his sporting life and seek refuge in some far-off place, then indeed she would go with Bill Gregg to the ends of the earth and mock the cunning fiend who had controlled her life so long. The important thing now was to disarm him of all suspicion, make him feel that she had only visited Bill Gregg in order to say farewell to him. With this in her mind she opened the front door and stepped into the hall, always lighted with ominous dimness. The gloom fell about her like the visible presence of John Mark. A squat, powerful figure glided out of the doorway to the right. It was Harry Morgan, and the side of his face was swathed in bandages, so that he had to twist his mouth violently in order to speak. The chief, he said abruptly, beat it quick to his room, he wants you. Why? asked Caroline, hoping to extract some grain or two of information from the henchmen. Listen, kid, said the sullen criminal, do you think I'm a nut to blow what I know? You beat it, and he'll tell you what he wants. The violence of his voice, however, had given her clues enough to the workings of the chief's mind. She had always been a favoured member of the gang, and the men had whistled attendance on her hardly less than upon Ruth Tolliver herself. This sudden harshness in the language of Harry Morgan told her that too much was known, or guessed. A sudden weakness came over her. I'm going out, she said, turning to Harry Morgan, who had sauntered over to the front door. Are you, he asked? I'm going to take one turn up the block. I'm not sleepy yet. She repeated, and put her hand on the knob of the door. Not so you could notice it, you ain't, retorted Morgan. We've taken lip enough from you, kid. Your day's over. Go up and see what the chief has to say, but you ain't going through this door unless you walk over me. Those are orders, she asked, stepping back, with her heart turning cold. Think I'm doing this on my own hook? She turned slowly to the stairs. With her hand on the baluster she decided to try the effect of one personal appeal. Nerving herself, she whirled and ran to Harry Morgan. Harry, she whispered, let me go out until I've worked up the courage. You know he's terrible to face when he's angry, and I'm afraid, Harry. I'm terribly afraid. Are you, asked Morgan? Well, you ain't the first, so go and take your medicine like the rest of us have been doing time and time running. There was no help for it. She went wearily up the stairs to the room of the master thief. There she gave the accustomed wrap with the proper intervals. Instantly the cold, soft voice, which she knew and hated so, called her to enter. She found him in the act of putting aside his book. He was seated in a deep, easy chair, a dressing gown of silk, and a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles gave him the look of allish wisdom, with a touch of the owl's futility of expression likewise. He rose as usual, with all his courtesy. She thought at first, as he showed her to a chair, that he was going to take as usual, damnable tack of pretending ignorance in order to see how much she would confess. However, to-night this was not his plan of battle. The moment she was seated, he removed his spectacles, drew a chair close to hers, and sat down, leaning far forward. Now, my dear foolish girl, said the master thief, smiling benevolently upon her, what have you been doing to-night to make us all miserable? She knew at once that he was aware of every move she had made, from the first to the last. It gave her firmness to tell the lie with suavity. It's a queer yarn, John, she said. I'm used to queer yarns, he answered. But where have you been all this time? It was only to take five minutes, I thought. She made herself smile. That's because you don't know Ronnicky Dune, John. I'm getting to know him, however, said the master, and before I'm done I hope to know him very well indeed. Well, he has a persuasive tongue. I think I noticed that for myself. And when he told me how poor Bill Gregg had come clear across the continent— No wonder you were touched, my dear. New Yorkers won't travel so far, will they? Not for a girl, I mean. Hardly, but Ronnicky Dune made it such a sad affair that I promised I'd go across and see Bill Gregg. Not in his room. I knew you wouldn't let him come to see me here. Never presuppose what I'll do. But go on. I'm interested. Very. Just as much as if Ronnicky Dune himself were telling me. She eyed him shrewdly. But if there were any deception in him, he hid it well. She could not find the double meaning that must have been behind his words. I went there, however, she said, because I was sorry for him, John. If you had seen, you'd have been sorry, too, or else you would have laughed, I could hardly keep from it at first. I suppose he took you in his arms at once. I think he wanted to. Then, of course, I told him at once why I had come. Which was simply that it was absurd for him to stay about and persecute me, that the letters I wrote to him were simply written for fun when I was doing some of my cousin's work at the correspondent's schools, that the best thing he could do would be to take my regrets and go back to the West. Did you tell him all that, asked John Mark, in a rather changed voice? Yes, but not quite so bluntly. Naturally not. You're a gentle girl, Carolyn. I suppose he took it very hard. Very, but in a silly way. He's full of pride, you see. He drew himself up and gave me a lecture about deceiving men. Well, since you have lost interest in him, it makes no difference. But in a way, she said faintly, rising slowly from her chair, I can't help feeling some interest. Naturally not. But you see, I was worried so much about you and this fellow that I gave orders for him to be put out of the way as soon as you left him. Carolyn Smith stood for a moment stunned and then ran to him. No, no, she declared. In the name of the dear mercy of heaven, John, you haven't done that. I'm sorry. Then call him back, the one you sent. Call him back, John, and I'll serve you for the rest of my life without question. I'll never fail you, John, but for your own sake and mine, for the sake of everything fair in the world. Call him back. He pushed away her hands, but without violence. I thought it would be this way, he said coldly. You told a very good lie, Carolyn. I suppose Clever Ronnicky Doon rehearsed you in it, but it needed only the oldest trick in the world to expose you. She recoiled from him. It was only a joke, then? You didn't mean it, John? Thank heaven for that. A savagery, which, though generally concealed, was never far from the surface, now broke out in him, making the muscles of his face, tense, and his voice metallic. Get to your room, he said fiercely. Get to your room. I've wasted time enough on you and on your brat of a brother. And now a Western lout is to spoil what I've done. I've a mind to wash my hands of all of you and sink you. Get to your room and stay there while I make up my mind which of the two I shall do. She went, cringing like one beaten to the door, and he followed her, trembling with rage. Or, have you a choice, he asked, brother or lover, which shall it be? She turned and stretched out her hands to him, unable to speak, but the man of the sneer struck down her arms and laughed in her face. In mute terror she fled to her room. CHAPTER XVI. CHAPTER XVII. OF RONNIKI DUNE. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. RONNIKI DUNE. By Max Brand. CHAPTER XVII. OLD SCARS. In his room Bill Gregg was striding up and down, throwing his hands toward the ceiling. Now and then he paused to slap RONNIKI DUNE on the back. It's fate, RONNIKI, he said, over and over again. Thinking of waking up and finding the girl you loved and lost waiting for you? It's the dead come to life. I'm the happiest man in the world. RONNIKI, old boy, one of these days I'll be able— he paused, stopped by the solemnity of DUNE's face. What's wrong, RONNIKI? I don't know, said the other gloomily. He rubbed his hands slowly, as if to bring back the circulation to numb the limbs. You act like you're sick, RONNIKI. I'm getting bad luck signs, Bill. That's the short of it. How come? The old scars are prickling. Scars? What scars? Ain't you noticed them? It was bedtime, so RONNIKI DUNE took off his coat and shirt. The rounded body, alive with playing muscles, was striped here and there with white streaks. Scars left by healed wounds. At your age, a kid like you with scars, Bill Gregg had been asking, and then he saw the exposed scars and gasp. How come, RONNIKI, he asked, huskily in his astonishment, that you got all those and you ain't dead yet? I don't know, said the other. I wonder a pile about that myself. Fact is, I'm a lucky gent, Bill Gregg. They say back yonder in your country that you ain't never been beaten, RONNIKI. They sure say a lot of foolish things, just to hear themselves talk, partner. Gent gets pretty good with a gun, then they say he's the best that ever breathed, that he's never been beat. But they forget things that happened just a year back. No, sir, I sure took my lickens when I started. But dawg on it, RONNIKI, you ain't yet twenty-four now. Between sixteen and twenty-two I spent a pile of time in bed, Bill, and you can lay to that. And you kept practicing? Sure, when I found out that I had to. I never liked shooting much. Hated to think of having a gent's life right inside the crook of my trigger-finger. But when I seen that I had to get good, why I just let go all holds and practice day and night. And I still got to practice. I seen that, said Bill Gregg, every day for an hour or two you work out with your guns. It's like being a musician, said RONNIKI without enthusiasm. I heard about it once. Suppose a gent works up to be a fine musician, maybe at the piano. You'd think when he got to the top and knew everything he could lay off and take things easy the rest of his life. But not him. No, he's got to work like a slave every day. But how come you felt them scars pricking you as a bad luck sign, RONNIKI, he asked after a time? Is there anything that's gone wrong, far as you can see? I don't know, said RONNIKI gravely. Maybe not. And maybe so. I ain't a prophet. But I don't like having everything so smooth, not when there's a gent like the man with the sneer on the other end of the wire. It means he's holding back some cards on us, and I'd sure like to see the color of what he's got. All I'm going to work for is this, Bill, to get Carolyn's brother, Jerry Smith, and wrestle him out of town. But how can you do that when John Mark has a hold on him? That's a pile of bunk, Bill. I figure Mark is just bluffing. He ain't going to turn anybody over to the police, lest he has to do with the police the happier he'll be. You can lay to that. Matter of fact, he's been loaned money to Carolyn's brother. You heard her say that. Also, he thinks that Mark is the finest and most generous gent that ever stepped. Probably a selfish skunk of a spoiled kid, this brother of hers. Most like he puts Mark up as some sort of an ideal. Well, the thing to do is get hold of him, and wake him up and pay off his debts to Mark, which most like run to several thousand. Several thousand, Ronike? But where'll we get the money? You forget that I can always get money. It grows on bushes for me, he grinned at Bill Gregg. Once we get Jerry Smith, then the whole gang of us will head straight west, as fast as we can step. Now let's hit the hay. Never had the mind of Ronike Dune worked more quickly and surely to the point. The case of Jerry Smith was exactly as he had surmised. As for the crime of which John Mark knew, and which he held like a club over Jerry Smith, it had been purely and simply an act of self-defense. That to Carolyn and her brother, Mark had made it seem clear that the shadow of the electric chair was before the young fellow. Mark had worked seriously to win Carolyn. She was remarkably dexterous. She was the soul of courage. And if he could once make her love her work, she would make him rich. In the meantime she did very well indeed, and he strengthened his hold on her through her brother. It was not hard to do. If Jerry Smith was the soul of recklessness, he was the soul of honour, also, in many ways. John Mark had only to lead the boy toward a life of heavy expenditures and gaming, lending him from time to time the wherewithal to keep it up. In this way he anchored Jerry as a safeguard to Windward in case of trouble. But now that Ronike Dune had entered the tangle, everything was changed. That clear-eyed fellow might see through the very bottom of Mark's tide-water plans. He might step in and cut the Gordian knot simply paying off Jerry's debts. Telling the boy to laugh at the danger of exposure, Dune could snatch him away to the west. So Mark came to forestall Ronike by sending Jerry out of town, and out of reach, for the time being. He would not risk the effect of Ronike's tongue. Had not Carolyn been persuaded under the very eyes of this strange westerner? The very next morning John Mark went straight to the apartment of his protégé. It was his own man, Northrop, who answered the bell and opened the door to him. He had supplied Northrop to Jerry Smith immediately after Carolyn accomplished the lifting of the Larrigan emeralds. That clever piece of work proved the worth of the girl and made it necessary to spare no expense on Jerry. So he had given him the tired and proven Northrop. The moment he looked into the grinning face of Northrop he knew that the master was not at home and both the chief and the servant relaxed. They were friends of too long a term to stand on ceremony. There was no one here? Ask Mark, as a matter of form. Not a soul. The kid skipped. Not a soul in the house. Suppose he were to come up behind the door and hear you talk about him like this, Northrop. He'd trim you down nicely, eh? Him? Asked Northrop, with an eloquent jerk of his hand. He's a husky young brute, but it ain't brute force that I work with. He smiled significantly into the face of the other. And John Mark smiled in return. They understood one another perfectly. When is he coming back? Didn't leave any word, chief? Isn't this earlier than his usual time for starting the day? It is, by five hours. The lazy pup usually don't crack an eye till one in the afternoon. What happened this morning? Something rare, something it would have done your heart good to see. Not with it, Northrop? I was routed out of bed at eight o'clock by a jangling of the telephone. The operator downstairs said a gentleman was calling on Mr. Smith. I said, of course, Mr. Smith couldn't be called upon at that hour. Then the operator said the gentleman would come up to the door and explain. I told him to come ahead. At the door of the apartment I met as fine a youngster as I ever laid eyes on, brown as a berry, with a quick, straight look about the eyes that would have done you good to see. No booze or dope in that face, chief. He said, how tall was he, asked the chief? About my height. Know him? Maybe. What name did he give? Didn't give a name. I've come to surprise Jerry, he says to me. Anybody would surprise Jerry at this hour of the morning, says I? It's too early, I take it, says he. About five hours, says I. Then this is going to be one of the exceptions, says he. If you knew Jerry better, you wouldn't force yourself on him, says I. Son, says the fresh kid. Is this the way you talked to Smith, broke-in Mark? No. I can polish up my lingo with the best of them. But this brown-faced youngster was a card. Son, he says to me, I'll do my own explaining. Just lead me to his dugout. I couldn't help laughing. You'll get a hot reception, says I. I come from a hot country, says he, and I got no doubt that Jerry will try to make me at home, and he grinned with a devil in each eye. Come in, then, says I, and any steps. And mind your fists, says I, if you wake him up sudden. He fights sometimes because he has to, but mostly because it's a pleasure to him. Sure, says he, that's the way I like to have him come. And he went in, demanded John Mark. What's wrong with that? Asked Northrop anxiously. Nothing. Go ahead. Well, in he went to Jerry's room. I listened at the door. I heard him call Jerry, and then Jerry groaned like he was half-dead. I don't know you, says Jerry. You will before I'm through with you, says the other. Who the devil are you, asks Jerry. Dune is my name, says he. Then go to the devil till one o'clock, says Jerry. Then come back, then, if you want to. Here's my time for a beauty-sleep. If it's that time, says Dune, you'll have to go ugly today. I'm here to talk. I heard Jerry sit up in bed. Now, what the devil's the meaning of this, he asks. Are you awake, says Dune? Yes, but be hung to you, says Jerry. Don't be hanging me, says Dune. You just marked this day down in red. It's a lucky one for you, son. Then how do you mean that, says Jerry, and I could hear by his voice he was choking. He was that crazy mad. Because it's the day you met me, says Dune, that's why it's a lucky one for you. Listen to me, says Jerry, of all the nervy, cold-blooded fakers that ever stepped. You're the nerviest. Thanks, says Dune. I think I am doing pretty well. If I wanted to waste time, says Jerry, I'd get up and throw you out. It's a wise man, says Dune, that does his talking from the other side of a rock. Well, says Jerry, do you think I can't throw you out? Anyway, says Dune, I'm still here. I heard the spring squeal as Jerry went bouncing out of bed. For a minute they wrestled, and I opened the door. What I see was Jerry lying flat, and Dune sitting on his chest, as calm and smiling as you please. I closed the door quick. He's too game a boy to mind being licked fair and square. But, of course, he'd rather fight till he died than have me, or anybody else see him give up. I don't know how you got there, says Jerry, but if I don't kill you for it later on, I'd like to shake hands with you. It was a good trick. The gent that taught me near busted me in two with the trick of it, said Dune. Suppose I let you up. Is there to be handshaking or fighting? My wind is gone for half an hour, says Jerry, and my head is pretty near jarred loose from my spinal column. I guess it'll have to be handshaking today. But I warn you, Dune, he says, some day I'll have it all out with you over again. Any time you mention, says Dune, but if you landed that left when you rushed in, I would have been on the carpet instead of you. And Jerry chuckles, feeling a pile better to think how near he had come to winning the fight. Wait till I jump under the shower, says Jerry, and I'll be with you again. Have you had breakfast? And what has brought you to me? And who the devil are you, Dune? Are you out of the west? He piles all the questions pretty thick and fast at Dune, and then I seen right off that him and Dune had made up to be pretty thick with each other. So I went away from the door and didn't listen any more. In about a half an hour out they walk, arm in arm, like old pals. It was perfectly clear to John Mark that Ronicky had come there purposely to break the link between him and young Jerry Smith. It was perfectly plain why he wanted to do it. How much does Jerry owe me, he asks suddenly. The other drew out a pad and calculated for a moment. 7,842 he announced with a grin as he put back the pad. That's what he sold himself for up to this time. Too much in a way, and not enough in another way, replied John Mark. Listen, if he comes back, which I doubt, keep him here. Get him away from Ronicky. Dope him? Dope them both. In any case, if he comes back here, don't let him get away. You understand? Nope. But I don't need to understand. I'll do it." John Mark nodded and turned toward the door. CHAPTER XVIII. The Spider's Web. Only the Select attended the meetings at Fernand's. It was doubly hard to choose them. They had to have enough money to afford high play, and they also had to lose without a murmur. It made it extremely difficult to build up a clientele, but Fernand was equal to the task. He seemed to smell out the character of a man, or woman, to know at once how much iron was in their souls. And following the course of an evening's play, Fernand knew the exact moment at which a man had had enough. It was never twice the same for the same man. A rich fellow who lost twenty thousand one day, and laughed at it, might groan and curse if he lost twenty hundred a week later. It was Fernand's desire to keep the groans and curses from being heard in his gaming-house. He extracted wallets painlessly, so to speak. He was never crooked, and yet he would not have a dealer in his employ unless the fellow knew every good trick of running up a deck. The reason was that while Fernand never cheated in order to take money away from his customers, he very, very frequently had his men cheat in order to give money away. This sounds like a mad procedure for the proprietor of a gambling-house, but there were profound reasons beneath it. For one of the maxims of Fernand, and like every gambler he had many of them, was that the best way to make a man lose money is, first of all, to make him win it. Such was M. Frederick Fernand. And if many compared him to false taff, and many pitied the merry fat old man for having fallen into so hard a profession, yet there were a few who called him a bloated spider holding his victims with invisible cords, and bleeding them slowly to death. To help him he had selected two men, both young, both shrewd, both iron in will, and nerve, and courage, both apparently equally expert with the cards, and both as equally capable of pleasing his clients. One was a Scotchman, McKeever, the other was a Jew, Simons. But in looks they were as much alike as two peas out of one pod. They hated each other with silent, smiling hatred, because they knew that they were on trial for their fortunes. Tonight the Jew, Simons, was dealing at one of the tables. And the Scotchman, McKeever, stood at the side of the master of the house, ready to execute his commissions. Now and again his dark eyes wandered toward the table where the Jew sat, with the cards flashing through his fingers. McKeever hungered to be there on the firing line. Now he wished he could feel the sifting of the polished cardboard under his fingertips. They were playing blackjack. He noted the smooth skill with which Simons buried a card. And yet the trick was not perfectly done. Had he, McKeever, been there, at this point he was interrupted by the easy, oily voice of Monsieur Fernand. This is an infernal nuisance. McKeever raised his eyebrows and waited for an explanation. Two young men, very young, very straight, had just come into the rooms. One he knew was Jerry Smith. Another table and dealer wasted, declared Monsieur Fernand. Smith, and by heavens, he's brought some friend with him. Shall I see if I can turn them away without playing, asked McKeever? No, not yet. Smith is a friend of John Mark. Don't forget that. Never forget, McKeever, that the friends of John Mark must be treated with gloves, always. Very good, replied McKeever, like a pupil memorizing in class. I'll see how far I can go with them, went on Monsieur Fernand. He went straight to the telephone and rang John Mark. How far should I go with them, he asked, after he explained that Smith had just come in? Is there someone with him, asked John Mark eagerly? A young chap about the same age, very brown. That's the man I want. The man you want? Fernand, said Mark without explaining, those youngsters have gone out there to make some money, at your expense. Monsieur Fernand growled. I wish you'd stop using me as a bank, Mark, he complained. Besides, it costs a good deal. I pay you a tolerable interest, I believe, said John Mark coldly. Of course, of course. Well, this in the manner of great resignation, how much shall I let them take away? Bleed them both to death if you want, let them play on credit, go as far as you like. Very well, said Fernand, but I may be out there later, myself, good-bye. The face of Frederick Fernand was dark when he went back to McKeever. What do you think of the fellow with Jerry Smith, he asked? Of him? Asked McKeever, fencing desperately for another moment, as he stared at Ronicky Dune? The latter was idling at a table close to the wall, running his hands through a litter of magazines. After a moment he raised his head suddenly, and glanced across the room at McKeever. The shock of meeting glances is almost a physical thing. And the bold, calm eyes of Ronicky Dune lingered on McKeever, and seemed to judge him and file that judgment away. McKeever threw himself upon the wings of his imagination. There was something about this fellow, or his opinion would not have been asked. What was it? Well, ask Frederick Fernand, peevishly, what do you think of him? I think, said the other casually, that he's probably a Western gunman, with a record as long as my arm. You think that? Ask the fat man? Well I have an idea that you think right. There's something about him that suggests action. The way he looks about so slowly, that is the way a fearless man is apt to look, you know. Do you think you can sit at a table with Ronicky Dune, as they call him, and Jerry Smith, and win from them this evening? With any sort of luck, leave luck out of it. John Mark has made a special request. Tonight, McKeever, it's going to be your work to make luck come to you. Do you think you can? A faint smile began to dawn on the face of McKeever. Never in his life had he heard news so sweet to his ear. It meant, in brief, that he was to be trusted for the first time at real manipulation of the cards. His trust in himself was complete. This would be a crushing blow for Simons. Mind you, the master of the house went on, if you're caught at working, nonsense said McKeever happily, they can't follow my hands. This fellow Dune, I don't know. I'll take the chance. If you're caught, I turn you out. You hear? Are you willing to take the risk? Yes, said McKeever, very pale but determined. At the right moment McKeever approached Jerry and Ronicky, dark, handsome, smoothly amiable. He was clever enough to make no indirect effort to introduce the topic. I see that you gentlemen are looking about, he said. Yonder is a clear table for us. Do you agree, Mr. Smith? Jerry Smith nodded, and having introduced Ronicky Dune, the three started for the table which had been indicated. It was in an alcove, apart from the sweep of big rooms which were given over to the players. It lay, too, conveniently in range of the beat of Frederick Fernand, as he moved slowly back and forth over a limited territory and stopped here and there for a word, here and there for a smile. He was smoothing the way for dollars to slide out of wallets. Now he deliberately stopped the party in their progress to the alcove. I have to meet you, he said to Ronicky. You remind me of a friend of my father, a young Westerner, those many years ago. Same brown skin, same clear eye. He was a card expert, the man I'm thinking about. I hope you're not in the same class, my friend. Then he went on, laughing thunderously at his own poor jest. Slowly from the back as he retreated he seemed a harmless fat man, very simple, very naive. But Ronicky Dune regarded him with an interest both cold and keen. And with much the same regard, after Fernand had passed out of view, the Westerner regarded the table at which they were to sit. In the alcove there were three wall lights, giving an ample illumination, too ample to suit Ronicky Dune, for McKeever had taken the chair with the back to the light. He made no comment, but taking the chair which was facing the lights, the chair which had been pointed out to him by McKeever, he drew it around on the far side, and sat down next to the professional gambler. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19 of Ronicky Dune Ronicky Dune by Max Brand Chapter 19 Stacked Cards The game opened slowly. The first, second, and third hands were won by Jerry Smith. He tucked away his chips with a smile of satisfaction, as if the three hands were significant of the whole progress of the game. But Ronicky Dune pocketed his losses without either smile or sneer. He had played too often in games in the West which ran to high prices. Miners had come in with their belts loaded with dust, eager to bet the entire sum of their winnings at once. Ranchers, fat with the profits of a good sale of cattle, had wagered the whole amount in a single evening. As far as large losses and large gains were concerned, Ronicky Dune was ready to handle the bets of any one, other than millionaires, without a smile or a wince. The trouble with McKeever was that he was playing the game too closely. Long before it had been a maxim of the chief that a good gambler should only lose by a small margin. That maxim, McKeever, playing for the first time for what he felt were important stakes in the eyes of Fernand, followed too closely. Playing the cards with the adeptness which years of practice had given him, he never raised the amount of his opponent's hand beyond his own order. A pair was beaten by a pair. Three of a kind was simply beaten by three of a kind of a higher order. And when a full house was permitted by his expert dealing to appear to excite the other gamblers, he himself indulged in no more than a superior grade of three of a kind. Of a dozen times these coincidences happened without calling for any distrust on the part of Ronicky Dune, but eventually he began to think. Steady training enabled his eyes to do what the eyes of an ordinary man could not achieve, and while to Jerry Smith all that happened in the deals of McKeever was the height of correctness, Ronicky Dune, at the seventh deal awakened to the fact that something was wrong. He hardly dared to allow himself to think of anything for a time, but waited and watched, hoping against hope that Jerry Smith himself would discover the fraud which was being perpetrated on them. But Jerry Smith maintained a bland interest in the game. He had won between two and three hundred, and these winnings had been allowed by McKeever to accumulate in little runs, here and there. For nothing encourages a gambler towards reckless betting, so much as a few series of high hands. He then begins to believe that he can tell, by some mysterious feeling inside, that one good hand presages another. Jerry Smith had not been brought to the point where he was willing to plunge, but he was very close to it. McKeever was gathering the youngster in the hollow of his hand, and Ronicky Dune, fully aware and aware of all that was happening, felt a gathering rage accumulate in him. There was something doubly horrible in this cheating in this place. Ronicky set his teeth and watched. Plainly he was the chosen victim. The winnings of Jerry Smith were carefully balanced against the losses of Ronicky Dune. Hatred for this smooth-faced McKeever was waxing in him, and hatred in Ronicky Dune meant battle. An interruption came to him from the side. It came in the form of a brief wrestling of silk, like the stir of wind, and then Ruth Tolliver's coppery hair and green eyes were before him, Ruth Tolliver in an evening gown and wonderful to look at. Ronicky Dune indulged himself with staring eyes as he rose to greet her. This then was her chosen work under the regime of John Mark. It was as a gambler that she was great. The uneasy fire in her eyes, the same fire that he had seen in western gold camps, in western gaming-houses, and the delicate nervous fingers took on a new meaning to him, that she had won heavily this evening he saw at once. The dangerous and impalpable flush of the game-ster was on her face, and behind it burned a glow and radiance. She looked as if, having defeated men by the coolness of her wits and the favor of luck, she had begun to think that she could now out-guess the world. Two men trailed behind her, stirring uneasily about when she paused at Ronicky's alcove-table. "'You've found the place so soon,' she asked. "'How's your luck?' "'Not nearly as good to-night as yours.' "'Oh, I can't help winning. Every card I touch turns to gold this evening. I think I have the formula for it.' "'Tell me, then,' said Ronicky quickly enough, for there was just a shadow of a backward knot of her head. "'Just step aside. I'll spoil Mr. McKeever's game for him, I'm afraid.' Ronicky excused himself with a nod to the other two and followed the girl into the next room. "'I have bad news,' she whispered instantly, but keep smiling. Laugh if you can. The two men with me I don't know. They may be his spies, for all I can tell. Ronicky Dune, John Mark, is out for you. Why in heaven's name are you interfering with Carolyn Smith and her affairs? It will be your death, I promise you.' John Mark has arrived and has placed men around the house. Ronicky Dune, he means business. Help yourself if you can. I'm unable to lift a hand for you. If I were you I should leave, and I should leave at once. Laugh, Ronicky Dune.' He obeyed, laughing until tears were glittering in his eyes, until the girl laughed with him. Good! she whispered. Good-bye, Ronicky, and good luck. He watched her going, saw the smiles of the two men as they greeted her again and closed in beside her, and watched the light flash on her shoulders as she shrugged away some shadow from her mind, perhaps the small care she had given about him. But no matter how cold-hearted she might be, how thoroughly in tune with this hard, bright world of New York, she at least was generous and had courage. Who could tell how much she risked by giving him that warning? Ronicky went back to his place at the table, still laughing in a apparent enjoyment of the jest he had just heard. He saw McKeever's ferret-like glance of interrogation and distrust, a thief's distrust of an honest man. But Ronicky's good nature did not falter in outward seeming for an instant. He swept up his hand, bet a hundred, with apparently foolish recklessness, on three sevens, and then had to buy fresh chips from McKeever. The coming of the girls seemed to have completely upset his equilibrium as a gambler. Certainly it made him bet with the recklessness of a madman. And Frederick Fernand, glancing in from time to time, watched the demolition of Ronicky's pile of chips with growing complacence. Ronicky Dune had allowed himself to take heed of the room about him, and Frederick Fernand liked him for it. His beautiful rooms were pearls cast before swine, so far as most of his visitors were concerned. A moment later Ronicky had risen, went toward the wall, and drew a dagger from its sheath. It was a full twelve inches in length, that blade, and it came to a point drawn out thinner than the eye could follow. The end was merely a long glint of light. As for Ronicky Dune, he cried out in surprise, and then sat down, balancing the weapon in his hand, and looking down at it, with the silent happiness of a child with a satisfying toy. Frederick Fernand was observing him. There was something remarkably likable in young Dune, he decided. No matter what John Mark said, no matter if John Mark was a genius in reading the characters of men, every genius could make a mistake. This no doubt was one of John Mark's mistakes. There was the free and careless thoughtlessness of a boy about this young fellow. And though he glanced down the glimmering blade of the weapon, with a sort of sinister joy, Frederick Fernand did not greatly care. There was more to admire in the workmanship of the hilt than in a thousand such blades, but a Westerner would have his eye on the useful part of the thing. How much do you think that's worth, asked McEever? Don't know, said Ronicky, that's good steel. He tried the point, then snapped it under his thumbnail, and a little shiver of a ringing sound reached as far as Frederick Fernand. Then he saw Ronicky suddenly lean a little across the table, pointing toward the hand in which McEever held the pack, ready for the deal. McEever shook his head, and gripped the pack more closely. Do you suspect me of crooked work, asked McEever? He pushed back his chair. Fernand, studying his lieutenant in this crisis, approved of him thoroughly. He himself was in a quandary. Westerner's fight, in a fight, would be most embarrassing. Do you think, began McEever, I think you'll keep that hand and that same pack of cards on the table till I've looked it over, said Ronicky Doon. I've dropped a cold thousand to you, and you are winning it with stacked decks, McEever. There was a stifled oath from McEever as he jerked his hand back. Frederick Fernand was beginning to draw one breath of joy at the thought that McEever would escape without having that pack of all packs examined when the long dagger flashed in the hand of Ronicky Doon. It struck as a cat strikes when it hooks the fish out of the stream. He struck as the snapper on the end of a whip-flash doubles back. And well and truly did the steel uphold its fame. The dull, chopping sound of the blow stood by itself for an instant. Then McEever, looking down in horror at his hand, screamed and fell back in his chair. That was the instant when Frederick Fernand judged his lieutenant and found him wanting. A man who fainted in such a crisis as this was beyond the pale. Other people crowded past him. Frightened, desperate, he pushed on. At length his weight enabled him to squeeze through the rapidly gathering crowd of gamblers. The only nonchalant man of the lot was he who had actually used the weapon. For Ronicky Doon stood with his shoulders propped against the wall. His hands clasped lightly behind him. For all that it was plain that he was not unarmed. A certain calm insolence about his expression told Frederick Fernand that the teeth of the dragon were not drawn. Gents, he was saying in a mild voice, while his eyes ran restlessly from face to face, I sure do hate to bust up a nice little party like this one has been, but I figure them cards are stacked. I got a pile of reasons for no one, and I want somebody to look over them cards, somebody that knows stacked cards when he sees them. Mostly it ain't hard to get on to the order of them being run up. I'll leave it, Gents, to the man who runs the dump. And leaning across the table, he pushed the pack straight to Frederick Fernand. The latter said his teeth. It was very cunningly done to trap him. If he said the cards were straight, they might be examined afterward, and, if he were discovered in a lie, it would mean more than the loss of McKeever. It would mean the ruin of everything. Did he dare take the chance? Must he give up McKeever? The work of years of careful education had been squandered on McKeever. Fernand looked up, and his eyes rested on the calm face of Ronicky Doon. Why had he never met a man like that before? There was an assistant. There was a fellow with steel-cold nerve, worth a thousand trained McKeever's. Then he glanced at the wounded man, cowering and hunched in his chair. At that moment the gambler made up his mind to play the game in the big way, and pocket his losses. Ladies and gentlemen, he said sadly placing the cards back on the edge of the table. I'm sorry to say that Mr. Doon is right. The pack has been run up. There it is for any of you to examine it. I don't pretend to understand. Most of you know that McKeever has been with me for years. Needless to say, he will be with me no more. And turning on his heel, the old fellow walked slowly away, his hands clasped behind him, his head bowed. And the crowd poured after him to shake his hand, and tell him of their unshakable confidence in his honesty. Mr. Doon was ruined, but the house of Frederick Fernand was more firmly established than ever after the trial of the night.