Max Brand

Ronicky Doone Max Brand

Again and again Gregg spurred the bay cruelly. She winced from the pain and snorted, but, apparently having not the slightest knowledge ofbucking, she could only shake her head and send a ringing whinny of appeal up the slope of themountain, toward the approaching rider. In spite of the approaching danger, in spite of this delay which was ruining his chances of getting toStillwater before the train, Bill Gregg watched in marvel and delight the horsemanship of thestranger. Ronicky Doone, if this were he, was certainly the prince of all wild riders. Even as the mare stopped in answer to the signal of her owner, Ronicky Doone sent his mount overthe edge of a veritable cliff, flung him back on his haunches and slid down the gravelly slope, careening from side to side. With a rush of pebbles about him and a dust cloud whirling after, Ronicky Doone broke out into the road ahead of the mare, and she whinnied softly again to greethim. Bill Gregg found himself looking not into the savage face of such a gunfighter as he had been led toexpect, but a handsome fellow, several years younger than he, a high-headed, straight-eyed, buoyanttype. In his seat in the saddle, in the poise of his head and the play of his hand on the reins BillGregg recognized a boundless nervous force. There was nothing ponderous about Ronicky Doone. Indeed he was not more than middle size, but, as he reined his horse in the middle of the road andlooked with flashing eyes at Bill Gregg, he appeared very large indeed. Gregg was used to fighting or paying his way, or doing both at the same time, as occasion offered. He decided that this was certainly an occasion for much money and few word