While he was not at all sure, Ronicky took the chance and faced it out with the most perfect assurance. The wink which he gave the stranger was a marvel of confidence exchanged. It invited a confession better than spoken words. But the man of the long mustaches regarded him with a dull and wondering eye.
"I dunno what you're talking about," he said.
"All right," answered Ronicky. "If you feel that way about it, of course I ain't the man to bother you none. Let's talk about something else— Denver, say."
The other said nothing, but he continued to regard Ronicky with eyes which were so steady that they would have been impertinent had they not been so misted over with unconcern.
"Denver?" he asked. "Why, sure. I'm always glad to talk about Denver. Know any other folks from Denver?"
"Let's hear. Maybe we got some mutual friends."
"Maybe we have. There was 'Pete the Blacksmith.' Did you know him?"
"Didn't hang out with the blacksmiths much."
"He got his name from the way he could handle a drill," said Ronicky, staring closely at the other.
"I ain't a miner either," said he of the mustaches. "There was 'Lefty Joe', too," said Ronicky. "I think you must have heard of him."
He was inventing names as well as he could, such names as yeggs might have, the one with the other. But still the man of the mustaches shook his head.
"Never knowed a Lefty Joe in Denver," he said.
"Well," said Ronicky, determined to make one desperate rally and beat down the reserve of the other, "you ought to have knowed him. He's a first-class inside man. I've seen him do everything from the making of soup to the making of the mold and the running of the soup in it."
He of the mustaches stopped combing them for a moment.
"Look here," said Ronicky, "I ain't a fool. Loosen up and talk. What's your monica?"
And like light from a great distance, a smile began to spread over the hardy features of the other. It increased finally to a rather sad-faced grin which was apparently the nearest approach to mirth of which the man was capable. A pressure of his knees brought his cow pony close to Lou. He stretched out his hand.
"Put it there," he said. "I thought at first you were four-flushing. But I see you ain't. I'm 'Montana Charlie.' Maybe we've met up before some place I disremember, or was I so bad that you just read right through me?"
"Bad actor?" asked Ronicky, eager to make sure that the pride of his new companion should not be injured. "I should say not. Matter of fact you were so smooth, Charlie, that I began to think that I was all wrong about you. But I have seen you somewhere. I disremember where. Were you working with 'Mississippi Fatty' three years back?"
"Nope, because three years back I was playing a lone hand and doing pretty well with it, at that. This here is the first time that I've ever throwed in with a gang. But I got sort of lonesome and decided that I needed a change. So that's why I'm down here with the boys on Solomon Mountain. What do you think of it?"
"Slick as grass," said Ronicky. "Of course I've heard about it a pile. But this is my first trip up, and it sure looks better than anything that they've said about it, and that means a lot. Eh?"
"Yep, that means a lot. We been breaking the heart of one sheriff a month, on the average, ever since we got together here. But what's your name, partner?"
Ronicky Doone reflected swiftly. Should he give them his true name? That name was too clearly known by this time as that of a cow-puncher. Ronicky Doone was no name by which a lawbreaker would travel. On the other hand it was possible that some one might have seen him in Twin Springs. In that case he would be known. He summed up the chances. It was very possible that to assume a new name would be fatal. If they had seen him and known him in Twin Springs, then the fact that he had changed his name would be heavy evidence against him. But if he did not assume a name the chances were great that he would never see the interior dens of Mount Solomon. And that was the purpose for which he had taken this ride. Moreover it might very well be that no one from the mountain had been in Twin Springs while he was there. While they, no doubt, got daily news of everything that happened in the town, there was also no doubt that this news must be relayed to them. He determined then to run the risk and give a false name.
"I'm 'Texas Slim,'" he said. "Maybe where you and me bumped into each other away back was out in that direction."
"Maybe it was," agreed Montana Charlie. "I've sure hunted the old Lone Star from one end to the other and got some fat pickings."
"Sure," replied Ronicky, nodding.
"Well," went on Montana, "let's get down below. And what did you think of my make-up— tell me straight!"
He fumbled at his face. The long mustaches disappeared. And at the same time it even seemed to Ronicky that some of the wrinkles of age, which doubtless only his imagination had furnished, had disappeared at the same moment. He found himself staring at the face of a man not more than thirty years old. His eyes were keen, and, as he straightened out of his lazy slouch on the horse, never had Ronicky seen the very heart of a man changed so quickly. Montana Charlie had become in a second or two a young man fairly alive with energy, and he sat in his saddle, laughing at Ronicky's bewilderment.
"You ought to be on the stage," Ronicky assured him. "You sure know how to make up!"
Montana Charlie was as happy as a child over the effect which he had produced.
"I pretty near come to laughing," he said, "when you said that you'd met me in some place before."
"Maybe I have, though," said Ronicky. "And maybe it was just the sound of your voice or something like that that made me recognize you."
In the meantime Montana Charlie was leading the way to the side and through a narrow passage. Ronicky turned to listen to the echoes which went chiming high above them, and when he faced the front again, the other had disappeared. He stared around him bewildered, until there was a burst of laughter immediately before him, and presently Montana Charlie appeared again from around the corner of an immense boulder.
"You see what sort of a place we got up here," he said. "We could make a posse so sick and dizzy that it'd never find itself again after it chased us for ten full minutes. Look here!"
He beckoned Ronicky to him and showed behind the rock the opening of a high and narrow passage. It was hardly noticeable from either end of the boulder, but it was of sufficient size for horse and man to disappear into it. Montana led through the opening and checked his horse again just inside the entrance.
"If you got any doubts about belonging up here," he said gravely, "you better come no farther, Texas. Because them that get inside of here on a bluff, sure are made sorry for it before they get out again!"
But Ronicky, having committed himself to the adventure, would not draw back again. He waved Montana on with a laugh, and the two presently rode out of the narrow passage, turned to the right into a spacious hall formed by a great cleft in the rock, with air and light filtering through in plenty from fissures above, and followed this hall until it widened suddenly into a large chamber, where Ronicky found himself in the presence of half a dozen lolling figures.
They showed their self-assurance by regarding him with more or less indifference.
"Here he is," exclaimed Montana Charlie. "Here's the man, boys, that 'Whitey' reported down to us. And he's one of the right kind— one of our kind. He's Texas Slim. Anybody here know him?"
The six men represented six silences. They sat up now, however, abandoning their occupations of the moment, whether this were tinkering with guns, or the repair of worn clothes, or the mending of bridles and saddle straps. They regarded Ronicky with the most solemn attention. And he in turn looked back to them with an eager regard.
He had traveled far and wide, but never had he seen such an assemblage. Tall and short and thick and lean, there were men of every complexion and size, so it seemed, in that meager half dozen. And each man by himself was a separate and interesting study. Weather-beaten, sharp of eyes, hard of jaw, each was formidable in his own way. There could be no mistaking them. These were either soldiers for the law or soldiers against it. A child could have guessed as much at the first glance.
Nobody, it seemed, knew Texas Slim. So there was a little pause which took Ronicky's breath, though he managed to maintain a smile of indifference and meet their questioning glances, one by one.
"I was down Texas way last year," said a beetle-browed individual at the farther end of the rock cavern, "and I've been down there off and on for the last seven years. I never heard tell of no Texas Slim."
"Sure you didn't," said Montana Charlie. "In Texas they don't call each other 'Tex.'"
And this appropriate remark drew a hearty burst of laughter from the crowd.
Laughter after all is our best introduction. In a trice all was good humor among them. Furthermore they liked Ronicky Doone for the manner in which he bore himself.
"All man and a yard wide," they decided that he was. And they came up and shook hands with him, one by one, giving their names a little solemnly. For an introduction among their kind was a solemn matter. It meant to a certain extent the acceptance of the other as a companion, and by that acceptance it meant that they were intrusting their safety in his hands.
Ronicky Doone was equally grave. And he knew that now a single false step would ruin him. He could only pray that his time on Solomon Mountain need not be long.
