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:

"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.

"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.