Two minutes later Al Jenkins, whose word ruled Twin Springs, and whose nod shook it as truly as the nod of Homer's Zeus ever shook Olympus, was busied in the hotel, telling the boys about the agreement which had been made. Ronicky Doone was to stay there quietly at the hotel, while word was sent to Blondy Loring that his enemy awaited him here. It was to be, in a way, a repetition of the incursion of the day before. Then Charlie Loring had cantered into town for the first time, an unknown quantity. He had taken the townsmen by surprise and swept them off their feet. If he came to-morrow he would not have that advantage.
On the other hand, if he came in to-morrow, their hands would be tied. He would be coming for the express purpose of disposing definitely of a man whom he had twice before beaten. And if he did that he could go away, and they were in honor bound not to hamper his going.
So the matter of which Al Jenkins spoke was reviewed from two angles by the crowd, and while there were many favorable voices for it, there were many against it who declared that the town, in effect, ought to wash its own dirty linen. They should kick the pseudo Ronicky Doone out of their precincts and let him do as he would on the outside.
To this Al Jenkins returned the rather pointed observation that if any single man cared to do the kicking, he was welcome to the task, but that he, Al Jenkins, was not at all eager for the task because he had a lingering suspicion that this stranger might be the real and actual Ronicky Doone in person, in which case the kicking was apt to be accompanied with difficulties in the shape of large slugs of lead driven as hard as powder could drive.
The remarks of Jenkins were at least so taken to heart that, though several young men who hankered for a reputation loitered near Ronicky's post that afternoon, none of them ventured to actually disturb the dreamer. And that evening he went into supper, the center of attention once more, even though that attention were hardly as favorable to him as it had been twenty-four hours previous. At least Twin Springs had decided to keep its utter condemnation in abeyance until Ronicky had been given another chance to redeem himself.
In the meantime Al Jenkins had selected from the ranks of his retainers a hardy and devoted servant. This was no other than "Curly." He derived his name from the quantity of hair which was twisted tight around his head in dense, glistening masses of blue-black. Curly had no other name than the one drawn from his hair. He came out of nowhere. He had no past; he answered no questions with the truth. In short he was a big, powerful, round-cheeked, swarthy-skinned, merry-eyed individual who parried all inquiries about his past with lies, the first that came to his mind.
It was impossible to extract the truth out of Curly. Also it was impossible to corner him with a quantity of his own lies and embarrass him. He simply refused to worry. If an old woman asked him about his childhood, he was apt to tell a particularly pathetic tale of a fond mother who died young, of the cruel stepmother who came into the house; of cruel and insidious persecution which finally drove him out of the house to find his own fortune where he might.
If a young woman asked him the same question. Curly answered according to her complexion. If she were dark, he told her of the plantation in the sunny South which he called home, and to which he would some day return to claim his own. If she were a blonde, he related a pretty fable of meadow lands and rich orchards and mighty barns, well stocked; this was the paternal estate which must on a day become his. And to it he would assuredly go, but only when his taste for freedom was dulled. In the meantime he preferred to wander.
These wild yarns of Curly had opened the door to many a lady's heart, but of late years they had accomplished little for him. And when he began to talk men relaxed their minds and their attentions and allowed themselves to revel in the fancies and the cunning inventions of the story-teller. This was the man who started for the Bennett place. Such an errand was not one which Al Jenkins would have easily intrusted to another of his men. For when a Jenkins adherent and a Bennett met on soil which was not neutral, there was generally a crash which started echoes flying through the hills. But Curly was such a good-natured soul that Jenkins felt he could safely be trusted to get to the Bennett Ranch and off again with his message. So he waved him down the road and then sat down to chuckle and wonder how Curly would deliver the message. Certainly that fertile brain would not pass the challenge through his hands without embroidering some new designs unheard of by the creators. But no matter what he said, or how strong he made it, the purpose would be answered by bringing Charlie Loring back into town either to expose the cheat, or to battle with the stranger.
It was a blithe day for Curly. Rocking down the road on his cow pony, he sent his whistle thrilling before him until he came in view of the house of Bennett. Then he hastened his gait and rode on headlong, arriving with his horse in a lather. He flung himself down to the ground, rushed to the door, and beat on it with the butt of his quirt. Two pairs of footsteps came hurrying to answer him. He was confronted when the door was jerked open, by both Charlie Loring and Steve Bennett. And in the distance his quick eyes took in the form of beautiful Elsie Bennett, with a lapful of sewing.
The two men started a little at the sight of an emissary from the hostile camp, but they stepped back to allow Curly to enter. He availed himself of the offer only by stepping into the doorway, so that he could look about the room at leisure, and also appear to the eyes of the girl, framed in the most impressive manner to bring out his size.
"Al Jenkins," began Curly, in the manner of one in great haste, "told me to rush out here as fast as I could and tell you that you was needed in Twin Springs tomorrow at noon." He turned to Charlie Loring directly. "And he says for you to bring your favorite shooting irons with you because—"
There was a shrill cry from the girl. She sprang up and came running toward them.
"You fool!" snarled Charlie Loring at Curly.
The rancher turned to his daughter.
"Keep back," he said. "Don't be bothering us now. It's kind of late for you to be pretending a pile of interest in what happens to Charlie, after you turned loose the rat that Charlie trapped out here. You go on out of the room and don't be troubling us."
She backed toward the door to which he had pointed.
"Oh, Charlie," she pleaded, "promise me that—"
"Later," said Charlie Loring. "I'll promise you later. Just now I've got to talk to this man. Don't worry, Elsie. Don't keep bothering about what happens to me, because—"
Curley looked gloomily toward the girl and big Blondy, as the latter went to escort her from the room.
"She's out of her head about him," sighed Curly to himself. "Curse it, that's what comes of a gent being close around where there's some action in sight. He gets the action, and the rest of us that stays off in the background get nothing but the whiff of his dust, as he rides over the sky line."
These were the reflections which Curly interrupted, as big Blondy Loring and the rancher turned back toward their visitor. But now he was surprised to find that Blondy Loring was not exhibiting the anger which Curly had reckoned upon. Of course it had been a tactless thing to do— this announcement of the danger which impended over the head of Blondy, in the presence of the girl. And of course Curly had made that announcement with a full understanding of what he was doing, and with the purpose of beating the bird out of the bush, so to speak, and discovering what was the real attitude of beautiful Elsie Bennett to the big cow-puncher.
He had now found out and greatly to his own dissatisfaction. And he glowered at Bennett and Loring, as they came hastily toward him, having shut Elsie away.
"What's up?" asked Stephen Bennett.
"Well, I'll tell you," said Curly. "Last night Ronicky Doone comes riding into town with a yarn about how he came out here and licked you, Loring, and made you take water. And when—"
"What!" shouted Bennett and his new foreman in loud unison. "Why, the truth is that—"
"I ain't out here arguing, gents," he declared. "I'm just, out here spreading the news around. I'm telling you what's been told to us in the town. If you want to talk, go into Twin Springs and do your talking in there. What Doone told us was that he came out here and tried to get Loring to fight, and that Charlie wouldn't fight, and that he stepped up and punched Charlie Loring in the Jaw and dropped him flat on his back, and that when Charlie waked up, he didn't reach for his gun but just crawled over to Ronicky, begging him not to shoot. And—"
There was a hoarse cry from Charlie Loring.
"I'll kill him for this!" he shouted. "The dog."
"The yaller hound," cried the rancher. "Why, son, right here in this room I—"
"Oh, I know," said Curly, "you and Charlie know all the facts of the case, and you're agreed on 'em fine and slick. But I ain't out here arguing, as I said before. I'm just circulating with the news of what they're talking about in Twin Springs. Now I've told you, and I'm about through. The next thing that comes, though, is something that you might sort of want to hear. When we up and asked Doone how he'd prove what he said to be true, he said: 'Just go out and ask Charlie Loring if he wants to come in and meet me to-morrow at noon in front of the hotel. I'll be here waiting."
"And that's why I'm out here, Loring. To-morrow at noon the boys will be waiting and watching for you. Just come in and let your gun talk for you. Good luck!"
He turned, but as he turned, he heard Bennett crying to his foreman: "It's a trap all laid for you, Charlie, but I ain't going to let you go. I ain't going to let you go!"
"Hell." answered Charlie Loring. "I got to go!"
"Sure," chuckled Curly, as he swung into the saddle, "he's got to go."
And he rode away with the happy smile of one who is conscious of having performed a good deed.
