THE MESS IN THE BOTTLE.
Two riders were hazing a little band of cattle northward on a prairie
trail. Half a mile ahead of them the trail dropped over the rimrock
into a broad, hazy valley. That valley was known as Silver Bend.
One of the riders was a round-faced little chap, whose high heels
helped him to be five feet four. His eyes were the wide, innocent
blue eyes of a baby. He might have been twenty or he might have been
thirty; his age didn't show. His auburn hair was inclined to curl, and
therefore he was called Dolly. He had another name, but nobody in the
cow country knew or cared what it was.
The other man was long and lank, flat of cheek, with a pair of cold,
keen gray eyes that peered from under bony brows. Eyes that saw things
and were thoughtful.
Never were two men less alike, physically and characteristically,
than these two. Yet, gaunt, saturnine, thoughtful Old Sankey and the
capricious Dolly were side-partners. As he circled a yearling, and
drifted back to the side of Sank, Dolly broke into the song of Railroad
Ranch:
"Hobble the left foot, turn loose the right,
That's about as long as we ever stop at night.
Workin' on the Railroad,
Mighty little pay,
Workin' on the Railroad,
Eatin' prairie hay.
"Unroll your blankets and spread 'em on the ground,
Can't get asleep before the boss comes round,
Workin' on the Railroad, up at break of day,
Workin' on the Railroad for mighty little pay."
"Shut up, Dolly," growled Old Sank. "You make my head ache, and,
besides that, this ain't no time for singing fool songs."
"How come it ain't?"
"You ask how come? Don't you know we're riding right into the roughest
mess since the soap boiled over?"
"What mess?"
"Why, a lot of them killers acrost the river sent word they'd be over
to cut the herd, when the Railroad held its home round-up. They ain't
huntin' cattle, they're hunting trouble, and they're goin' to find
some."
"Uh-huh! Yes, sir, boss! If they jump Old Railroad Ross, they'll be
smoke."
The partners drew rein just where the high point of prairie broke over
the rimrock into the valley. To right and left they could see the
river, almost beneath them, where only a narrow ridge kept the stream
from cutting across.
Silver Bend, so called from the silvery cottonwoods that marked the
course of the river, lay before them like a map. A great loop, six
miles deep and four miles wide at the widest point, with its neck less
than a mile across. In the middle distance lay the Railroad Ranch house
and pens.
* * * * *
"Looks like a dang bottle, don't it, Sank?" said Dolly, musingly.
"It is a bottle, son, and it's got a mess in it that ain't fitten for
humans. It's goin' to get shook, and some of the mess is goin' to be
took, to-day. Any minute."
"Huh! It ain't happened yet," and Dolly pointed to a cloud of dust
that rose, half a mile west of the ranch, in an open prairie valley.
"They're still cuttin' 'em."
"It'll happen, all right."
"Then come on. We don't want to miss the party, if there's goin' to be
one."
"No, I reckon not, but if you had been to as many parties like that as
I have, you wouldn't be in such a rush."
"I been to some. What makes you figure on a mess in Silver Bend,
anyway?"
"Seen it coming. Recollect I been workin' on the Railroad ten year. You
ain't been here but a year, and they's plenty you don't know. Mostly,
you've 'hobbled the left foot and turned loose the right.' Not sleeping
at night, you been asleep in the daytime. This mess has been brewing
for a long time, and now it's about ripe to boil over."
"Well, let her boil. What of it?"
"Plenty. If it was just a ruckus between the Railroad and that
Holderness gang across the river it wouldn't be so bad, but if it
starts it drags in the Bend and the whole country adjacent. Old
Railroad Ross and his three boys are apt to be the center of it, but
it'll spread. Railroad will spread it, if it starts."
"I see. Them's the kind of happy settlement I've busted into. I been
here a year and ain't heard a gun, except some fellow shootin' at a
hawk or a coyote, and now--"
"And now you're apt to hear two guns--or more. But come on. Let's drift
'em on down there."
Down the steep hill and into the timber, they followed the band of
cattle. Asa Ross, the eldest of the three Ross boys, and acting
foreman, had sent Sank and Dolly out onto the big prairie early that
morning to get this bunch off the head of Elm Branch. Old Sankey didn't
mention it, but he and Asa Ross had been pretty close, and he suspected
Asa had sent him away to keep him out of trouble. They had found the
cattle without difficulty and were bringing them in at mid afternoon,
instead of at nightfall, as Asa probably expected them to do.
At the edge of the prairie valley the cattle they were driving scented
the big round-up herd and scampered on toward it. The partners drew
rein at the edge of the prairie. A familiar scene lay before them. The
"cutting" was in progress. No rodeo stuff. Just hard-working, skillful
riders, on highly trained horses, cutting cattle from an immense herd,
while other riders held the herd in place. Everybody who was ever in
the cow country has seen a round-up, but this one in Silver Bend was
loaded.
On the side of the herd toward them, Sank and Dolly could see a knot of
men sitting quietly on their horses, watching the work. They could make
out Old Railroad Ross, sitting his horse straight as an Indian, despite
his three-score-and-odd years. Suddenly, above the din of bawling
cattle, they heard the flat, echoless report of a gun. They saw Old
Railroad's gun flash in the sun, as he jerked it from the holster. They
saw his horse lunge as the spurs went in, and then they heard a medley
of shots, yells, and tramping hoofs.
[Illustration: _Old Railroad's gun flashed in the sun as he jerked it
from the holster._]
"Come on!" snapped Sankey, fairly lifting his mouth with his spurs, and
darted toward the battle, with Dolly crowding him for the lead.
* * * * *
They were too late to see the fight. Such battles are not of long
duration. They were not too late to see some of the results of this
one, but it would be a long time before all the results were seen.
A few neutrals were trying to hold the big herd and keep it from
breaking into a stampede. A small party of men were riding hard for the
timber at the north side of the prairie, firing backward as they rode.
A dozen riders were in pursuit, pouring volley after volley at the
fugitives. Just at the edge of the timber, one of the fugitives threw
up his hands and pitched from the saddle.
The pursuers stopped. They were fighters, but canny fighters. They
were not going to crowd that gang, when the others were behind trees.
They turned back toward the round-up ground and reached it just as
Sankey and Dolly did. They were led by Old Railroad Ross himself. He
dismounted and stooped over the man who lay on the ground near the
herd. It was Asa Ross.
The other men stood back in silence, as the old ranchman's jaws set and
quivered with emotion. Asa was dead. A fair-haired, pleasant-faced man
of around thirty stepped out of the group and went to Old Railroad's
side. This was Peyton Ross, next younger than Asa. There were tears on
his cheeks, and he couldn't speak for sobs. The iron had never entered
Pate Ross's soul. He couldn't stand rough stuff. Railroad looked at him
with a glance of almost contempt, then, ignoring this living son, he
turned to the other men and said:
"Get a wagon around here, fellows. Load Asa in and take him to the
house. I'll ride on and tell mother."
Ross caught his horse and mounted, then stopped and looked over the
men, as if he were counting them.
"Where's Randy, Leck?" he inquired of the leathery old puncher, who
stood near.
"I don't know, sir," replied Leck. "He was with the bunch that went
after them fellows, and he ain't come back."
"Sank, you and Dolly go find Randy, and bring him home," and Railroad
Ross rode grimly away toward his house. He was bereaved of the son
upon whom he meant to shift the load in his declining years. Now he
was framing what he would say to his good wife, when he reached that
rambling old house in the edge of the timber.
Sankey called Old Leck aside and said:
"Leck, you heard what the old man told me to do. The fight was over
when we got here. Tell me how it happened, and where I'm apt to find
Randy."
"Ain't much to tell about the fight. It come up like most of 'em do,
only this one was planned to make it cold murder. Early this morning
Bell Holderness and his two brothers, Sam and Steve, comes across to
the round-up. With 'em is two fellows I don't know. Some of the gang
that hangs out at the Holderness ranch, I reckon. The other man with
'em was Ben Tarleton, and--"
"Ben Tarleton! Are you sure of that?"
"'Course I'm sure. Knowed him all his life. You knew Ben had sorty gone
to the wild bunch, didn't you?"
"I knew the grand jury was after him for some of his devilment, but
nothin' serious."
"Huh! That's the way they all start. Anyway, six of 'em had been here
all day. At noon they et at the chuck wagon, and Old Railroad treated
'em just like he did the rest. A little while ago the six of 'em got
together and rode around to the north side of the herd. I thought they
was fixing to leave, and was glad of it. But they stopped in a bunch
and sat watching Charlie Stone cut, on that little brown bronc of hisn.
I reckon everybody was watchin' Charlie except me. I saw Asa Ross go
round a steer and turn it back to the herd. As Asa trotted back toward
the herd he passed close to the Holderness outfit. I was so far away
that I couldn't hear anything that was said, but Asa stopped and the
next second there was a shot. Asa never did draw."
* * * * *
"Huh! Cold killin's always start hell in the cow country," commented
Sankey. "But what about Randy Ross? Where am I apt to find him?"
"You know where he is as well as I do. Where does he always go when
trouble comes up, that he ain't got the nerve to face?"
"You mean--Why, Leck, he couldn't do that, at a time like this! The
yellow, unprincipled whelp. Old Man Railroad just had one boy. The
other two is women with britches on. Damn Randy's sorry soul, he--"
"Hush! Don't talk so loud. It won't do no good. Old Railroad lies to
himself about Randy, and you got to lie to him, no matter what you
find, nor where you find it. Better ride now. Better go north until you
get out of sight in the woods."
Mounting his horse, Sankey rode north, with Dolly by his side. Neither
of them spoke until they reached the edge of the timber, and then they
stopped. On the ground lay a handsome, dark young man, dead. He was
well clad in garments that had known the hand of an expert tailor. A
handsome gold watch chain lay across his vest. His boots were of the
finest make. The face was of patrician mold and told of good lineage.
"There's some more hell!" growled Sankey.
"I don't see anything but a dead man," returned Dolly. "I just seen
another one back yonder. Looks like a hoss trade to me."
"Hoss trade, hell. Asa Ross was the best cowman, or any other sort of
man that ever stretched a stirrup strap. Call it a trade to swap Asa
for that carrion?"
"Well," drawled Dolly, "the Railroad might have give some boot. Maybe
they throwed Randy Ross in for good measure. Looks like it."
"Damn Randy Ross! He ain't worth thinkin' about. Don't you know who
this fellow is?"
"I shore don't. All I know about him is that he's ter'ble dead."
"No, I reckon you don't. He's been away from here the last year. Over
in the Indian country, sorty on the dodge."
"I see. He didn't know much about dodgin' or else he didn't know much
about Old Railroad Ross. Who is he? Tells me--he won't mind being
introduced to a cow-puncher now, even if he has got a pearl-handled
gun."
"That's Ben Tarleton."
"Huh! Sounds like something to make a summer dress out of, to me."
"Oh, you dang fool, you don't know anything about Silver Bend and the
folks adjacent. Come on and let's find Randy and take him home, like
the old man said."
A little way into the timber, Sank turned sharp to his left. They
circled the west side of the open prairie, keeping in the timber until
they were headed south, following a trail that led up the river.
"Wait a minute, Sank," called Dolly, and when Sankey stopped, "Where
are you heading, anyway? If Randy chased them fellows and they got him,
he'd be somewhere back toward the ford, on the west side of the Bend."
"Yes, he would, but he didn't. Randy's gone up the river to Willow
Mills to drown his troubles. Every time he stubs a toe or a dance gets
called off on account of the weather, he's got to get drunk, so's he
can stand it."
"Don't be too hard on Randy. He's just--"
"Too hard, nothing. How could I be too hard on a chap that would run
away at a time like this? Poor Old Railroad didn't have but one boy.
Pate's a good fellow, but he orto been a woman. Randy's just too
hell-fired, awful dam' sorry to live. That's what he is. He ain't got
as much nerve as--"
"Don't choke yo'self, Sank," drawled Dolly, while a hard, glinting
light came into his baby-blue eyes. "Let yo' tongue rest a minute.
Yo're talking about me some, and it sorty scratches."
"About you! Why, dang yo' red-haired, fightin' fool soul, you'd rather
eat smoke than flapjacks and honey. That's why I tied up with you."
* * * * *
"I know, but--you're talkin' about me just the same. A fellow don't
learn to face rough stuff until he has it pushed on him. When I was
a kid I used to run off and hide when the family got ready to go to
a funeral. I was afraid of dead people. I never got over it until my
partner, out at a line-rider's cabin, got busted by a bad bronc. I had
to pack him to the shack. I had to wait on him until he bled to death
inside. I had to watch him die, and then I had to pack him on a bronc
and take him to headquarters. It took that to cure me, and I'd have
dodged it if I could. When I was Randy's age, I was just as bad as he
is."
"Randy's age? How old are you?"
"Thirty-five, and I been through hell backward, forward, and sidewise.
Randy Ross is a thoroughbred. He's got a heart in him as big as a
house, and he's got plenty nerve, too. Old Railroad knows it. Charlie
Stone forked a bad bronc the other day and rode it ragged. I was
standing close to Railroad and I heard him mutter: 'Just like Randy. A
thoroughbred ain't worth a damn until it's busted.'"
"Yeah! That goes when they ain't been spoilt, but Randy's spoilt. Plumb
ruined. He'll never get busted. Railroad has give him money, got him
out'n his scrapes, and laughed at his devilment until nothing can't be
did, now."
"Maybe not, but the best bronc I ever rode in my life was a busted
outlaw. Men's like horses, they have to be busted. I reckon if you'd
look back aways, you'd see where they was some dust and the ground tore
up when you got rode."
Old Sankey looked at Dolly with a puzzled expression in his gray eyes.
This mess had shown him a new side of his little partner. He had known
all along that Dolly had courage, but he had never suspected any depth
to him. Dolly had touched a spot in the old puncher that nobody knew
about. He, too, had "been rode." It had been a long time ago, but he
could remember it.
"All right, Dolly, I'll let my tongue rest; but we got to get on after
Randy. He's gone to Willow Mills. Leck seen him when he started. We'll
find him drunk. We got to take him home, and we got to lie about where
we found him, when we get there. Let's ride."
They rode on up the river trail through the big cottonwoods. As he led
the way, Sankey was doing some real thinking and wondering if Dolly
could be right. He didn't believe it.