try they know I'm straight; down here you ain't
heard of me. I ain't going to keep that hoss, and I'll pay a hundred
dollars for the use of her for one day. I'll bring or send her back
safe and sound, tomorrow. Here's the money. One of you gents, that's a
friend of Doone, take it for him."

Not a hand was stretched out; every head shook in negation.

"I'm too fond of the little life that's left to me," said the old
fellow. "I won't rent out that hoss for him. Why, he loves that mare
like she was his sister. He'd fight like a flash rather than see
another man ride her."

But Bill Gregg had his eyes on the bay, and the sight of her was
stealing his reason. He knew, as well as he knew that he was a man,
that, once in the saddle on her, he would be sure to win. Nothing
could stop him. And straight through the restraining circle he broke
with a groan of anxiety.

Only the old man who had been the spokesman called after him: "Gregg,
don't be a fool. Maybe you don't recognize the name of Doone, but the
whole name is Ronicky Doone. Does that mean anything to you?"

Into the back of Gregg's mind came several faint memories, but they
were obscure and uncertain. "Blast your Ronicky Doone!" he replied. "I
got to have that hoss, and, if none of you'll take money for her rent,
I'll take her free and pay her rent when I come through this way
tomorrow, maybe. S'long!"

While he spoke he had been undoing the cinches of his own horse. Now
he whipped the saddle and bridle off, shouted to the hotel keeper
brief instructions for the care of the weary animal and ran across the
road with the saddle on his arm.

In the corral he had no difficulty with the mare. She came straight to
him in spite of all the flopping trappings. With prickly ears and eyes
lighted with kindly curiosity she looked the dusty fellow over.

He slipped the bridle over her head. When he swung the saddle over her
back she merely turned her head and carelessly watched it fall. And
when he drew up the cinches hard, she only stamped in mock anger. The
moment he was in the saddle she tossed her head eagerly, ready to be
off.

He looked across the street to the veranda of the hotel, as he passed
through the gate of the corral. The men were standing in a long and
awe-stricken line, their eyes wide, their mouths agape. Whoever
Ronicky Doone might be, he was certainly a man who had won the respect
of this town. The men on the veranda looked at Bill Gregg as though
he