# Argosy All-Story Weekly/Volume 202/Number 2/The Saga of Silver Bend

from [Argosy All-Story Weekly 16 March 1929], pp. 152–171
Old Railroad's gun flashed in the sun as he jerked it from the holster
Randy Ross didn't dare face the sight of death—but when war broke loose upon the Railroad Ranch, death was too frequent to dodge

### CHAPTER I.
#### 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.
“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 cowpuncher 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.

### CHAPTER II.
#### Randy Takes the Acid Test.

A MILE farther on the partners came to where the high point of prairie pushed in to form the stopper to the Silver Bend bottle. Here the river crowded close to the bluff, and the trail ran along the foot of the bluff and close to the high, red banks of the river for a quarter of a mile, with the valley on the other side. Beyond that narrow pass, the bottom broadened again on their side, and formed the considerable community of plantations that supported the better business of the town of Willow Mills. Just before entering this narrow defile, Sankey stopped and said:
“There's two things I want to mention. One is that some time, when the river is high, two sticks of dynamite, one mule, and one bull-tongue plow is all it would take to turn the water across here, cut a new channel, and leave Silver Bend on the other side.”
“All of which ain't got nothing to do with finding Randy and getting him back home as quick as possible.”
“Maybe not, but here's something that has. A man in them seedling cottonwoods, just across the river, could pick us off easy as we go through that narrow place, and I ain't quite ready to be picked.”
“They ain't had time to get up here and get set, but that 'll be a good thing to remember. Go ahead.”
They rode on through the pass, watching the thicket of young cottonwoods on the other side of the stream. Sankey breathed a sigh of relief as they entered the big bottom above the bend. The river turned back west, and slightly north, here. The trail entered a wide lane that ran due west, two miles, to Willow Mills.
To the south of the lane, left of the riders, a number of farmhouses and broad fields could be seen. On their right, north of the lane, and about a mile from the town, stood a big, two-story white house, with green blinds and trimmings. There was no house near it. A few tenant houses stood well back along the river.
“I been seeing that house ever since I've been in this country,” said Dolly, pointing ahead. “Who lives there?”
“Everything to the right of the lane, in this bottom, is the Tarleton plantation. The Tarletons have been here ever since Texas has been Texas. Old Judge Tarleton's grandfather settled the place.”
“Judge Tarleton? Anything to that young chap we saw layin' dead in the bushes back a ways?”
“Yes, right smart. Ben Tarleton was the youngest son of Judge Tarleton. That makes this big white house one of the corner posts of the three-cornered mess that starts in Silver Bend to-day, and won't stop until God knows when.”
“Just farmers, ain't they?”
“No. They're planters, There's a difference. The people who live in the shacks and work the land are farmers. The old judge is a real, by gad, sir, Southern planter. The kind that reaches for his gun when he's insulted. He's apt as not to take the killin' of Ben as an insult. The judge is pretty old, but he's got two more boys, and ary one of 'em would think it a disgrace to run from the devil if he had a red-hot pitchfork in his hand.”
“Nice folks. You said this is a three-cornered mess, Where's the other corner? I might want to run the lines some time—or maybe dodge 'em.”
“The other corner is one of the outposts of hell. It's the Holderness ranch, owned by Bell Holderness and his brothers. Steve Holderness married an Indian woman. That gives him a right to hold land in the Indian country. Bell Holderness, the oldest brother and a bachelor, furnishes the brains for the outfit, and everybody knows he owns the ranch in Steve's name. The reason they ain't pirates is because they ain't got a ship.”
“Some more nice people. But look! Ain't that Randy Ross?”
THE sun was just setting behind the distant Forest. At the mouth of a broad lane that ran back through an avenue of tall poplars to where the Tarleton home stood in its grove of locust trees, a man and a woman sat their horses, as if they had merely met at that spot and stopped to pass the time of day.
That is exactly what had happened. Neither of them noticed the approach of the two riders. Suddenly, the man whirled his horse in the road and went thundering on toward Willow Mills. The woman put her hand to her brow, to shade her eyes against the glare of the setting sun, and stared after him.
Not until the two punchers were fairly abreast of her did she notice them. With a quick glance at her, as she turned her head, Dolly saw the same patrician feature that had marked the dead face of Ben Tarleton.
“Good evening, Miss Zella,” said Sankey, sweeping his hat from his head.
“Oh, Mr. Sankey, I'm so glad it is you,” returned Zella Tarleton. “Maybe you can do something with Randy. I—I don't know this gentleman with you, but—”
“You can say anything you like in his presence, ma'am. He'd forget to eat if a lady asked him to forget.”
“I'm sure of that, or he wouldn't be with you. I know you haven't any patience with Randy, but he's good. He's just—he's just spoiled and irresponsible, generally, but now he seems to be demented.”
“What seems to be the matter with him now?”
“I don't know. I met him here, and he didn't want to stop and talk to me. Something terrible has happened. He said he was going to kill Bell Holderness, and after that, he didn't care what happened. He said that half a dozen times. I begged him to go to the house, and tell me what was wrong, but he was almost insulting, and broke away while I was talking to him.”
“That does sound like he was crazy,” drawled Sank. “If he wouldn't listen to you he ain't apt to listen to me.”
“I know, Mr. Sankey, but you must do something! Get to him before he— You know how he gets when he's in trouble. Get him to go home. Make him go home. He wouldn't have a chance with Bell Holderness.”
“Then I reckon we better ride,” said Sank, shaking his bridle reins. “I'll do my best, Miss Zella.”
“Now who dealt that lady a hand in the game?” asked Dolly when they were out of earshot.
“She deals 'em herself and deals 'em square,” snapped Sank. “It's a damn shame for a woman like that to be crazy over a sorry cub like Randy Ross.”
“Oh, I see. That brings on more talk. Why don't she marry him and reform him?”
“She's got too much sense to try a fool stunt like that. She's told him plenty of times that she'd marry him whenever he showed her that he could keep straight, and be a man, Every time she tells him that he goes and gets drunk to drown his sorrow.”
“I see. Let's go to Willow Mills,” and Dolly shot down the road like a flash, with Sank spurring hard to keep up with him.
Willow Mills was but a border village, with half a dozen stores, blacksmith shop, hotel, two saloons, and a dance hall. It was a combination farm center and cow-town, and like, all border towns, especially those on the line between Texas and Indian Territory, it was rough. As the partners rode into town they saw Randy dismount in front of the Cottonwood Saloon, and drop his bridle on the ground. They saw him pull his gun from the holster, spin the cylinder, put it back, and then disappear into the saloon.
“If he meets Bell Holderness in that shape, old Railroad Ross loses another boy,” snapped Sank. “Come on, let's get him before he gets to drinking.”
THEY stepped to the door and looked in. There was no one in the place but Randy and the bartender. Randy Ross was standing in the full light of the big hanging lamp. He was a picture of physical beauty for a man. Full six feet, broad of shoulder, and tapering to the waist. His head was finely modeled, and his features good. He was as well clad as Ben Tarleton had been, and after much the same fashion. His physical strength was such that he showed no more than his twenty-five years, in spite of his dissipation.
“Ain't it a damn shame for a man like that to be yellow?” muttered Sanky.
“He ain't yellow, or he wouldn't be here,” replied Dolly. “Come on. Let's get him out of there.”
“You get him out. He's taken one drink, and the devil couldn't stop him.”
Randy had taken one drink, set his glass on the bar, and was reaching for the bottle, when Dolly said, at his elbow:
“Wait a minute, Randy. I want to see you outside.”
“Why, hello, Dolly! What are you doing here? Just in time to help me take a drink. Give us another glass, and—”
“No. Sometimes I drink and sometimes I don't.”
“This is when I do,” returned Randy, and filled his glass to the brim.
Dolly caught his arm, and he looked into those blue eyes, which had gone cold and dark.
“Set that glass down, Randy. If you take another drink right now, you'll curse yourself for it as long as you live. People are saying you are yellow. Let that alone. Come with me, and show 'em you ain't yellow.”
Randy set the glass down and turned slowly away from the bar. His face had gone hard and set.
“Show me somebody that says I'm yel—” he began, and then stopped. “Dolly, I am yellow. Yellow as paint. I wish to God I wasn't!”
“No, you're not yellow. Come on outside. I want to talk to you.”
For half an hour the two of them squatted in the deep shadow by the blacksmith shop. Old Sankey kept them located by the red glow of their cigarettes, while he watched for the possible coming of Bell Holderness. Dolly talked as he had never talked in his life. At last he said:
“You can't whip anything by running from it. I know; I've tried it. Come on. Let's go back to the ranch. I'll stay with you and help you face it.”
The three of them mounted and rode out of town. Preposterous as it might seem, Randy had never touched or looked upon a dead person. For several years there had been no occasion to see such things. Prior to that time he had simply run away from them, and to-day he had done the same thing.
Probably no other man in the Railroad outfit understood Randy's feeling in the matter, except little Dolly. Up to the time he saw Zella Tarleton, Dolly hadn't cared much what happened, but something in the girl's pleading tone had determined him to save Randy from himself. There was going to be trouble, and plenty of it, in Silver Bend, but Randy Ross had to face it like a man, for that girl. At the lane leading to the Tarleton place, Randy stopped.
“Let me go in here a minute, fellows,” said Randy. “I'll come on and catch up with you.”
He wasn't fooling Dolly. The little puncher knew what would happen. Randy would go back to town and try to drown his troubles. He cudgeled his brain, and finally:
“They might not want you in there, Randy. They might heard about Ben by this time, and—”
“BEN! What about Ben?”
“Didn't you know he was killed in that mess at the Railroad to-day?”
“Killed! My God, no!”
“Yes, he was killed. I saw him.”
“Then I don't want to go in there. Let me go back to town.”
“No,” said Dolly, firmly. “We're going back to the Railroad. That's the best place for all of us right now.”
They rode on through the lane and struck the trail that ran through the narrows. Sank led the way, then came Randy, and Dolly brought up the rear. He was back there because he didn't mean to let Randy Ross turn and get away from him.
He knew that terrible thing that was gripping Randy's heart with icy fingers. It wasn't fear. It was a tangible thing, worse than fear. He himself had lain awake at night, gripped by it. It couldn't be tamed. It had to be killed, and only one thing could kill it. That was contact with the dead.
Just as they reached the narrows, two shots rang on the night, and a minute later two riderless horses came bounding along the trail toward them. They stopped the horses, and old Sank felt over the saddles in the darkness.
“One of 'em's Leck's and the other Pate's,” he said.
“Well, let's get down the trail,” said Dolly. “Whoever done it has run away, and maybe the boys are just shot up a little.”
He knew better, but they pushed on, the two riderless horses trotting ahead of them, with bridles over the saddle horns. At the narrowest place, the lead horse snorted, shied, and the two of them whirled and came back to the riders.
“I'll—I'll hold the horses while you look,” said Randy.
“No, come on,” insisted Dolly. “The horses will stand.”
Randy dismounted and staggered along the trail. Fifty yards farther on, they found Leck, stone dead. Twenty feet beyond him lay Peyton Ross.
“I'll—I'll get the horses,” faltered Randy.
“No. Let Sank bring them.”
They stood together, within a few feet of Leck's body, until the horses came. Dolly knew, only too well, what Randy was suffering. He recalled that night in a line-rider's with his dead partner. This was the baptism of death for Randy. He'd either come out of it a brave man or a hopeless coward, according to the stuff that was in him.
“Hold the horse, Sank,” commanded the little puncher. “You take his shoulders, Randy. You're stronger than me.”
How Randolph Ross went through that ordeal he never knew. When Leck was lashed to his horse, they went on to Peyton Ross. As they lifted the body to its saddle, sobs were shaking Randy, but they were no longer sobs of fear and dread. He loved this gentle, kindly brother, as if he were a sister. He had always stood in awe of Asa, who was ten years his senior, and paid little attention to him.
Suddenly Randy laid his hand on his brother as he lay bound to the saddle, and in a husky tone that seemed the very tearing of his heartstrings, he said:
“Good-by, Pate. You'll go to God, if ever man did. I won't forget you, and I won't forget the men that done this.” He was cold now, and when he spoke a moment later, his voice was hard and even. “Each one of you boys lead one of the horses. You won't have to watch me now, Dolly. I'll lead the way, so if those fellows are still in the brush, you'll get a warning.”
“God! What a dose for a man to take,” whispered Dolly to the silent old Sankey, as Randy mounted, and rode on down the trail. “He took it like a man, too, Don't tell me he's yellow!”
A LIGHT was burning in the house at the Railroad Ranch, while some of the men sat up with the dead, as was the custom of the country. A light also showed in the long bunk house.
There would be little sleeping that night. The men talked among themselves in low tones. Asa Ross, as foreman of the ranch, had been a hard driver, but fair, and the men liked him. They wondered who would handle the men now.
For all of old Railroad's dash that day in the gun fight, they knew he was too old for the job. Peyton couldn't do it. He was too tender-hearted. He'd either give the ranch away, or somebody would take it away from him. There was no use to consider Randy. He was too young, and besides that, he was yellow, and a drinker. All these things the men talked over among themselves.
The evening was chilly, and old Railroad Ross sat by a little fire in the open fireplace. Asa's body was in another room. Railroad was alone with his grief. The grief of such men is not normal. They feel as deeply, perhaps, as other people, but their grief seems to benumb and harden them. Often such men are charged with looking upon death as merely a physical loss.
Ross had been disappointed in the matter of sons. He wanted a houseful of them; ten had been born to him. As one man put it, owing to rattlesnakes, round-up fights, and rough stuff, only three reached full manhood. Asa was now gone. Peyton was also gone, but the old fellow didn't know it as he sat staring, hard-eyed, at the fire, and trying to get his bearings in this storm that had overtaken him as he neared the last port on the seas of life.
Silver Bend, all of it, twelve thousand acres in extent, had been acquired by Ross in his early manhood. His real name was Randolph Ross. His brand was plain RR. He said he knew the brand could be run, but that a thief would take your stuff anyway, if you didn't watch it.
Waggish cowboys dubbed the place Railroad Ranch. From that it was but a step to calling the ranchman Railroad Ross. As the years passed he became so known all over the far-flung ranges. Even the banks thought that the initial in his signature, “R. Ross,” stood for Railroad.
Railroad cattle and horses in thousands roamed the unfenced prairies to the southward, but Silver Bend was Railroad's home, and he loved it in the peculiar way that such men love their homes.
He was wondering now who would carry on, and keep it together, when he was gone. Of all his boys, Randy, the baby, named for his father and more like his sire in some ways than any of the others, had been the bitter disappointment. What would the spoiled, irresponsible Randy do with Silver Bend and the Railroad if it fell to him? The old man's musings were interrupted by low voices and shuffling steps at the side gate of the yard, heard through the open door.
He stepped out into the yard and called:
“What is it, boys?”
“Come out here, please, Mr. Ross,” replied Sank, and then when he reached them the old puncher went on in low tones:
“It's Pate and Leck. We found 'em up at the narrows.”
“Found 'em? What do you mean? Dead?”
“Yes, sir. I reckon somebody got the water light on 'em from across the river and just potted 'em.”
“Potted Pate. Murdered him. He never done a thing to anybody in his life. Him and Leck was goin' to town to get a coffin for Asa and have a grave dug. Pate didn't even have a gun on him. And they just bushed him, cold.”
The old man's voice was hard and hummed like a taut wire. He stopped and seemed to be trying to control himself before those strained wires broke. Presently he went on in a flat, lifeless tone:
“Take Pate in the room where Asa is and lay him out. Better take Leck to the bunk house, I reckon. He'd feel more at home there.”
He turned away and took a few steps, and then turned back. “I sent you after Randy, Sank. Did you find him?”
“Here I am, dad,” said Randy, stepping forward from the group by the gate.
“Come on in the house. The other boys can attend to things out here.”
He and his one remaining son went into the house together. What terrible thoughts of havoc and disaster were in the mind of old Railroad Ross at that moment none would ever know.

### CHAPTER III.
#### The Vigil at Railroad Ranch.

RAILROAD and Randy sat down by the fire. The old man threw on a fresh stick of wood, filled his pipe, lit it, and smoked in silence. The clock ticked mournfully on the mantel. There was no sound about the house except an occasional low-spoken word, or a light step on tiptoes. The whole place seemed to be in silent mourning. It was so still in that room that a bit of falling ember in the fire could be heard.
At last Railroad spoke:
“Randy, it looks like the old Railroad is square up ag'in' its last fight, and mighty shorthanded for such a bad mess. Asa's gone, and I'm too old to carry on. I been wondering about you. I ain't never pulled the hackamore on you like I ought to, I reckon. I didn't have much fun when I was a boy. By the time you grew up I had right smart money, and I just turned you loose. You ain't never been rode none, Randy, and you've sorty gone bronc on me, but, Randy— Boy, I—I need a man right now.”
Old Railroad choked and stopped. For the first time since he had stood over Asa as he lay on the ground, the old fellow broke and a tear glistened on his flat, hard cheek.
Followed minutes of silence. The clock ticked on. The two men, startlingly alike except in age, sat staring into the fire, the red light on their bronze faces.
Finally Randy stirred in his chair, cleared his throat, and said:
“Dad, I'm—I'm going to try to be a man.”
Railroad turned his head and stared at Randy, as if one of his dead sons had spoken to him, but said no word, and Randy went on:
“I've been a worthless, drunken pup, dad, and, worst of all, I've been yellow as paint.”
“No! Not yellow!”
“Yes, dad, yellow. I'm coming clean. Sank and Dolly would lie to you about me, just as everybody else has done, but I'm going to tell you the truth. When I saw Asa dead I didn't have the nerve to face it. I ran away. I went to Willow Mills to get drunk and forget it, like the yellow pup I was. That's where they found me. Don't let them tell you anything else.”
“Go on,” commanded Railroad. “It's hard as hell to take, but give me the whole dose.”
“The rest won't be so hard to take, dad. Little Dolly got me out of the Cottonwood some way. I think he must have done it with his eyes. Then he talked to me. He made me come home. He watched me, and when I tried to turn back and run away from it he wouldn't let me.”
“God made a man when he made Dolly. If He'd made him any bigger, he'd be the biggest man in the world. It's bitter, but I can take it. Go on.”
“When we found Leck and Pate I tried to run away again. Dolly made me help him put them on the horses. Dad, it wasn't live men I was afraid of. It was dead men and death itself. I never told you before, because I was ashamed of it. I'm telling you now because I'm cured of it.”
“What!”
“Yes, cured. When I put my hand on Pate all the yellow went out of me. He never was afraid; he just didn't want to hurt anybody. From that moment on I wasn't afraid of anything, and I never will be again. All I want now is a chance to prove it, and square things for the cold killing of Asa and Pate.”
“Thank God!” said Railroad in a husky voice as he gripped the hand of his one remaining son. “You're giving me help when I need it. I didn't see how I was going to get by this, but I can now.”
Randy rose and left the room. Railroad didn't know where he was going. Perhaps out to the bucket that hung on a hook on the long black gallery, to get a drink.
Randy went into the room where his two murdered brothers lay. He turned back the sheets and looked at them. No one in the room spoke a word. They stared at Randy and wondered. They noticed something that Randy himself had not noticed. His long Colt .45 was still in the holster at his belt.
Some of the grim old punchers took it as an omen, others looked upon it as they would have looked upon wearing a hat in the presence of the dead.
RANDY replaced the sheets gently, turned, and left the room. He had faced the dead without a quiver. He could face anything now. Returning, he sat down in the chair by his father.
“Dad, I don't know where nor how to begin, but I'm ready to try to be a man. Tell me what to do, and I'll do my best. I don't understand why we are in this trouble. I don't understand why the Holderness boys—”
“Just a minute, Randy. You would not understand it. It's old, old trouble that began when you was a baby. Twenty-four year ago this round-up time. Sam Holderness, the daddy of these Holderness boys, ranched in above Willow Mills. Sam was a blustering sort of fellow and didn't amount to much, but right self-important. At the round-up that spring Sam and me had an argument over some brands.
“I don't know what anybody else said to Sam, or whether they egged him on. All I know is that along late in the afternoon Sam came at me, makin' smoke. I was right handy with a gun in them days; had to be. I shot Sam.
“The bullet went through his right lung and stopped him, but didn't kill him. He got up all right, but come winter he took pneumonia and died. I don't know whether that bullet hole in his lung had anything to do with it or not. Some of the doctors said it did, and others said it didn't; but no matter. There was plenty of busybodies to say that I killed Sam Holderness.
“I felt bad about it, of course. Sam didn't have anything much, and he had left a widow and three little boys. Bell was about ten year old then. A quiet, say-nothing boy. The youngest one wasn't more than a baby. I went to the administrator of Sam's estate and put ten thousand dollars where he could draw on it for the widow and children, without anybody knowing where it come from.”
“They made out all right. The boys grew up. Sam's widow married and went away from this country; but the boys stayed. They worked with cattle. I knew 'em all, and they seemed to treat me same as anybody else.
“Then two, three year ago Steve Holderness married into the Chickasaw tribe, across the river. Bell had got some money together, trading here and yonder, and they started the Holderness ranch. I thought the old trouble was all forgot, but one day Steve got drunk at Willow Mills and give it out that I was goin' to pay for killin' his daddy.
“There was right smart talk about it here and yonder, but it died down. Then this thing broke to-day, right out of a clear sky. Ain't no doubt but what Bell Holderness has kept this in his gizzard all these years. If they'd killed me, it wouldn't look so bad, but seems like they aim to get my boys one at a time and leave me to suffer out my old age. I thought the country had got civilized some, and we had got away from them old wars, but I was wrong.”
“I never heard of that before, dad. I could understand the Holderness boys wanting to meet you and shoot it out, if they thought you killed their father. But this cold killing and bushwhacking of innocent men don't go.”
“No, it oughtn't to go; but it looks like they're makin' it go. I understand the Holderness boys are rough. I've never been to their ranch, but I understand it's a sort of hangout for a hard gang of fellows that's dodging the law. That reminds me of Ben Tarleton. What in the kingdom ever made a boy, raised like Ben was, take up with fellows like them?”
“That's the bitterest part of it all, Ben getting killed at our round-up the way he did.”
“Well, he was with them fellows. They killed Asa, and one of them got killed. It just happened to be Ben.”
“I know, dad, but—you know about Zella and me. She's the only thing that has kept me from going plumb to the devil and being as bad as Ben was.”
“Huh! Maybe so, but I got an idea it's partly what's inside of you. I knew you and Zella were sweethearts, and I supposed you'd marry as soon as you got yo' crop of wild oats harvested, but now—”
“Now!” Randy almost gasped. “You wouldn't object to me marrying Zella, because of this?”
“Oh, no. I ain't got a thing ag'in' Zella. She's one of the finest young women in Texas. Trouble is, old Judge Tarleton and them other two boys of hisn, Lav and Cliff, are pretty apt to object some. You look at it from yo' relation to Zella, and it looks bad enough. Look at it from the viewpoint of having the Tarletons join the Holderness gang ag'in' us, and it looks a lot worse.”
“I hadn't thought of that.”
“YOU better think of it if you're goin' to try to work out of this mess alive. It'll be plain enough that Ben was shot in the back. You couldn't convince the old judge and his boys that ary Tarleton that ever lived would turn his back to an enemy. That leaves it just plain assassination in their minds. Besides that, Ben had not fired a shot. Every chamber of that pearl-handled gun was full.”
“Do they know all that?”
“I reckon they do, by this time. Dave Simms was here with the D Bar outfit. They put Ben in their chuck wagon and took him over the prairie road and around that way. Judge Tarleton and the boys may see sense, knowing as they do how Ben's run wild lately. The chances are, though, that they'll go clean crazy. They're good folks, but they can't believe a Tarleton is ever wrong.”
“They're the kind that can be awful hard, when they are hard,” said Randy, musingly.
“Yes, and they're apt to be hard now. They's one thing. Whatever they do will be done in the open. They won't pot nobody from the bushes. Old Judge Tarleton is likely to just straddle a horse and come storming right over here.”
“Dad, it's going to be hard for me,” sighed Randy. “If I'd been a man all along, I'd know how to act, but now—”
“Them's things a fellow has to learn by himself. 'Bout all I can tell you is to keep yo' head cool. It don't take a very brave man to kill somebody. It takes a lot braver one to not kill when he's crowded and has a chance to kill. We can handle the Holderness gang if the Tarletons stay out of it. If they don't? Well, let's not cross any bridges before they're built.” Lighting his pipe, old Railroad smoked in silence, while Randy pondered his situation.
The following day was a day of funerals at Willow Mills. Members of two of the most prominent families on that part of the border were buried in the same cemetery. The people of the community were in attendance, but the wise ones were tight-lipped. The trouble between Railroad Ross and Sam Holderness was recalled by old men, and they wagged their heads over it.
Few knew any of the facts about the killing of Asa Ross and Ben Tarleton at the Railroad round-up. Randy Ross, Dolly and Sank, and old Railroad knew of the bushwhacking of Pate and Leck, but they had told nothing.
The cortege that came in from the Railroad ranch.was ominous. A wagon brought three caskets. Ahead of the wagon rode ten armed men, with Randy Ross in the leading pair, and Dolly by his side. Behind the wagon came the family carriage and a few other vehicles, followed by ten more armed men.
There was pretty likely to be peace until the funeral was over, or a lot more graves would be needed. The procession filed through the wide gate and stopped. At the grave the armed punchers stood about in groups, bare-headed but vigilant.
The Tarleton funeral had entered the gate a few minutes ahead of them. The graves were less than a hundred feet apart. With bowed gray heads, Railroad Ross and the venerable Judge Tarleton stood with their backs to each other, listening to the last rites of their sons.
Randy, outwardly cold but inwardly torn with emotion, stood by his mother's chair. He quivered as his ear caught a few words of what the minister was saying at Ben Tarleton's grave. Among them were, “stricken down in the bloom of youth by an assassin's bullet.” That told him how the Tarletons had taken Ben's death, and what he might expect from them in his hour of trouble.
He glanced toward that other funeral, and saw Zella sobbing in the arms of a neighboring woman, and his heart almost broke, because he could not even offer a word of comfort to this woman, who he had loved from his boyhood and who needed him now as he needed her.
THERE was no disturbance at the cemetery. Randy had expected none; but on the return to the ranch every bend of the road, every thicket by the way, was a potential ambush.
He was head of the Railroad outfit now. Old Railroad Ross and his wife got into their carriage when the funeral was over, and waited deferentially for the Tarleton carriage to pass out ahead of them. In it were the judge and his wife, Zella and her two brothers.
There was little show of emotion. Railroad and his wife were silent because they had seen so much sorrow and knew the futility of violent grief. The Tarletons were silent, because violent emotion was unbecoming their patrician blood and lineage. No one in the Tarleton carriage looked toward the Ross equipage.
Passing out the gate, the Tarletons went on toward the white house in the locust grove, followed by no one. Outside the gate, the Railroad outfit formed again, as it had come, and followed at a respectful distance. Two old men stood at the cemetery gate talking, as the crowd broke up and left.
“I never noticed Randy Ross lookin' so much like his daddy before,” said one.
“Looks just like Railroad did twenty or thirty year ago,” replied the other, “but he won't never be the man his daddy is, if he lives—and he won't.”
“Say he won't? Why?”
“I picked up a smatterin' of how this mess comes up. The real quarrel is with the Holderness boys, over the killin' of old Sam years ago. Worst thing Randy's up ag'in', though, is the Tarleton boys. They ain't afraid and they mean business.”
“Well, it ain't my quarrel. The less outsiders say about a mess like this, the less they're likely to have to swallow.”
“That's right. I wouldn't mention it, except to a fellow like you. It's their quarrel. Hands off and let 'em settle it, I say.”
In those few words the sentiment of the better element of the community was expressed, and they would studiously refrain from talking; but there were plenty of irresponsible people who would take sides and let their tongues wag.
Nothing befell the Railroad outfit on the return trip to the ranch. Things were set as nearly to rights as they could be after such a catastrophe. The men went about the late evening ranch work, getting ready for the next day's handling of stock, branding, and the like. Old Railroad and Randy kept to the house. Sank and Dolly went out to round up the remuda.
“DOLLY,” said Sankey, “I got an idea that you've elected yo'self to a right dangerous place.”
“Anybody that sticks to the old Railroad now is in a dangerous place, and anybody that quits it is a yeller-bellied hound.”
“That may be true, and I reckon it is; but I don't aim to quit, so you ain't hurt my feelings none. Point is, Randy Ross aims to ride, and ride hell-bent for trouble. The Railroad riders will have to go in pairs or better, and somebody's got to ride with Randy. After what happened last night, he's apt to take you.”
“Well, I'd hate to leave you, but if he calls me, I'll have to ante.”
“Yes, I know you will. Trouble is, whoever rides with Randy is due for about what Leck got for riding with Pate. That Holderness gang aims to clean up on the Railroad and do it quick.”
“Looks like it, but unless I miss my measure of Randy, he'll be at the cleaning.”
“With the Holderness gang, yes. With the Tarletons, he can't turn a hand.”
“Why cant he!”
“Account of Zella.”
“Huh! You may see it that way, but I don't. I can see how a man could love that girl to death, but I can't see why he should stand still and let her folks shoot him to shoestrings on account of it, and I don't believe Randy can. Anyway, I ain't in love with her, and if I happen to be between them and Randy, or can get between 'em—”
“Steady! Wait till it happens, to talk about it, and then don't talk. Whatever way things jump, you and me will work together, and we'll find plenty to do before this thing is over. I'm just a pore old puncher, and Randy Ross is the only heir to the Railroad and about a million bronchos and cattle, and has got a fighting chance for the finest girl in Texas, but I wouldn't trade places with him for a whole lot to boot.”
The Railroad was quiet enough that night. The men were catching up with their sleep. No one was likely to attack the place, when thirty hard riders and straight shooters were known to be there. But Randy's troubles were not far off.
Came morning, and true to Sankey's prediction, Randy called Dolly to ride with him, but he arranged for Sankey and another trusted old puncher, Con Bates, to be always on the same part of the range with them. They had just saddled up and were ready to ride.
Old Railroad Ross was giving Randy some instructions about the work, when they heard a lone horseman coming up the trail. They turned and saw that the gaunt, stiff man astride the powerful horse was Judge Tarleton!

### CHAPTER IV.
#### “Assassinated, Sir, Assassinated!”

A TABLEAU of stoicism was presented as Judge Tarleton rode up and stopped. The old planter had a gun on his hip. Railroad Ross stood like a block of granite, looking square at the visitor. Randy stood by his father's side. Both were armed, but no hostile gesture was made.
The young man's lips were drawn in a hard line. He knew that the Tarleton family had merely tolerated him as Zella's suitor, because she was the only daughter of the house, and usually had her way. His standing there, his hope of winning Zella had long hung by a slender thread.
What was Judge Tarleton's purpose? Would what the old planter had to say sever that thread? Worse still, would it sever the friendly relations between the two old families? He was not left long in doubt.
“Good morning, judge,” greeted Railroad. “Won't you get down and come in?”
“No, sir, I won't get down,” returned the judge, ignoring the greeting. “I won't go into your house now, and I don't know that I ever shall. I came over here to get some information about the murder of my son.”
As he sat there on his horse, Judge Tarleton was the personification of family pride and resentment against a world in which any untoward thing could happen to a Tarleton. Railroad stood calmly looking his neighbor over, from his gray head crowned by a broad black hat, to his fine morocco-topped boots.
Tarleton's cheeks glistened from a fresh shave. He shaved from his temples to a line running from the mustache back to the hinge of the jaw, and he shaved it every day. Below that line was a neatly trimmed beard that had once been black.
The high-bridged nose and other outstanding features that marked Zella and Ben were there. His very air and bearing bespoke the patrician. It said plainly that he didn't know and he didn't care a hang whether he was going to meet with hostility at the Railroad or not. When Ross didn't speak, he rapped out:
“Well, what have you got to say?” much as if the old ranchman had been a slave.
Railroad's face was as fixed as granite, and one expected it to break if he opened his mouth.
“I have to say that murder is a pretty hard word to use about that killing.”
“That's what it was. Assassinated, sir, assassinated! I know my people. No Tarleton ever turned his back in a fight. Ben was murdered. Shot in the back by a cowardly assassin.”
“That's pretty hard talk, judge. I don't think Ben was assassinated, because there ain't any assassins in my outfit. I wish you could see yo' way to change that word to something else.”
“I'll change nothing! The boy was shot in the back. He wasn't fighting. His gun was still in the holster and hadn't been fired. I don't charge you with murder. I've known you a long time. You're rough, but I've found you square. All I want is for you to tell me who killed Ben. My sons and I will attend to the rest.”
The tableau turned now. Railroad's lips were a grim line. Finally, he spoke:
“I'M sorry, judge, but I don't know. You haven't asked me how this mess came up, but I'm going to tell you. Bell Holderness and his gang comes here to make trouble and they made it. They killed one of my boys cold. Naturally, I and my men opened on 'em, and they run. I ain't charging nothing against Ben. He was with the Holderness boys and when they ran, he did, and he was killed. Who killed him, I can't say. Several of us were shooting. They were a good distance from us, their horses were running, and ours were running. Whoever killed him was shooting at the crowd and happened to hit Ben.”
“So, as near as you can come to it, your outfit murdered Ben?” and Tarleton's lips curled in a silent snarl.
“No, I don't put it that way. Ben was a wild boy. He got in bad company, and somebody in my outfit shot him. I'm sorry, for I don't think Ben had anything against me or the Railroad outfit.”
“You admit the killing then! To me and my boys it was murder, and we have our own way of settling with murderers, whether it is one or a hundred. Lav and Cliff wanted to come with me, but I told them no, If you was friendly, and could explain and help us get the murderer, I could do more alone. If you wasn't friendly, I was enough to be shot in the back.”
“That's more hard talk, judge,” pleaded Railroad. “I, nor ary man in my outfit, ain't got a thing ag'in' you and your boys. Not one of us had anything ag'in' Ben. I've got trouble enough with the Holderness boys 'thout quarrelling with a family that's been friendly and my neighbors for years.”
“Never mind that,” snapped Tarleton. “I don't feel any blame for being friendly to you. Sometimes it takes a good many years to find people out.” Then the judge shifted his glance to Randy's set face. “You have been treated as a friend and an equal at my house, young man. That's past. If you come there again, you come as one of the assassins of my son, and will be treated accordingly.”
Randy winced, but didn't speak. He couldn't trust himself. Anyway, Railroad didn't give him a chance.
“Judge Tarleton,” he said, as his brows knit, “you've made yourself pretty plain, and I don't know that talking more could do any good. If any trouble comes up between your family and my outfit, you'll have to start it.”
“It's already up, sir!” and Tarleton whirled his horse and rode away.
“Too bad!” said Railroad to his son.
“Yes, it is too bad,” admitted Randy, “but if nothing else will do them—”
“Wait a minute, Randy. I want to say a word to all of you. Judge Tarleton and his boys are good men—among the best in the country. I want every one of you to keep out of trouble with them if you possibly can without running from them. Mount and ride now, but keep your eyes open.”
Without a word, Randy mounted and rode away, with Dolly by his side, and Sank and Con following at a little distance. They were heading toward the round-up grounds. Randy wasn't going to wait for a further demonstration from the Holderness gang. He was going to see what he could find along the river, where Leck and Pate had been killed.
When they reached the round-up ground, they saw Judge Tarleton look back, as he entered the timber on the trail that led up the river. He wasn't a half mile ahead of them, and was riding slowly, apparently to show that he wasn't afraid.
They rode on, entered the timber, and followed on up the trail. When a quarter of a mile from the narrows, they heard a single shot.
“Good God! They've shot the judge!” gasped Randy, and galloped on up the trail, with Dolly at his heels.
COMING out on the river bank, where they could see far ahead, they saw a horseman, sagging in his saddle and clinging desperately to the saddle horn. They knew it was Judge Tarleton, but as Randy quickened his speed to go to the old planter's assistance, a gun cracked across the river. Randy's horse reared and crashed to the earth. He rolled free and came up behind a big cottonwood tree.
Dolly spurred his horse behind a thicket, dismounted and crept to the river bank. Something moved in the thicket on the other side of the stream, Dolly's carbine cracked, and a terrible yell came from the thicket. After that, silence.
“I don't know whether you ought to have done that or not, Dolly,” said Randy. “You didn't see the man that shot at me, and you might shoot the wrong man.”
Dolly looked at him with an odd glint in his blue eyes.
“See here now, Randy. Let's you and me get this straight before we go any further. Do we let that Holderness gang pot us, or don't we? If we're going to fight back, I'll stay with you. If we're going to be potted, why, I ain't ready to be potted, that's all.”
“Oh, I mean to fight back and fight hard. I just want it to be in the open.”
“Well, it won't be. That gang aims to bushwhack us. Do you know what that fellow's done for you?”
“Why, no, except that he missed me, hit my horse, and left me afoot.”
“He's done a heap more than that. He's shot old Judge Tarleton, and the Tarleton boys will lay it on the Railroad outfit. The judge saw us following him, and if he gets home alive, which he probably will, he'll tell 'em it was us.”
“Then let me have your horse, and I'll go on and catch up with the judge and tell him better.”
“Yes, and he'd believe you, just like you'd believe the biggest liar you ever saw in your life. Now you listen to me. You got to do something more than just not be afraid. You got to use your head in this mess. I been thinking. The Holderness gang ain't just trying to square a mess that happened a hundred years ago. I don't know what they're after, but it's something else. Had you thought of what a hell of a long shot for a six-shooter it was from the Railroad outfit to where that gang went into the woods and Ben Tarleton fell?”
“Why, no. What of it?”
“Well, when Sank and me was out after the remuda yesterday evening, we met Con. He showed us where Mr. Ross and the boys turned back and it's full two hundred yards from there to where Ben fell!”
“I don't see—”
“I don't either, but I'm guessing. I don't believe anybody hit Ben that far with a six-shooter. I believe Bell Holderness shot Ben in the back, as they ran away.”
“Bell did! Why would Bell kill one of his own gang?”
“Ben didn't exactly belong. He wasn't that sort. Couldn't be. He probably didn't know what the Holderness boys were up to when they went to the round-up. Maybe he said something about the killing of Asa. It might be, and likely was, that Bell simply figured that if Ben was killed at your round-up, it would put the Tarletons against you, instead of against them, as they would have been if Ben hadn't been killed.”
“Dolly, do you suppose—”
“Yes, I suppose a whole lot of things; and among 'em, I suppose we better get your saddle off'n that dead broncho and get away from here.”
SANK and Con had heard the shots, but misjudged the direction. They came up just as Randy was ready to mount behind Dolly for the return to the ranch. They all returned to the edge of the prairie. Dolly brought a fresh mount for Randy, and then they went into a general discussion of the situation.
Con Bates had been with the Railroad as far back as Randy could remember. He was a typical leather face, and talked so little that people often wondered if he was dumb. He sat on his heels, listening, as the others talked. He heard Dolly's suggestion as to Bell Holderness having shot Ben. He listened to everything and said nothing. Finally, Randy turned to him.
“Con, you've been in many a mess like this. What do you think is the best way to handle it?”
“I been in plenty of messes,” growled the wrinkled old puncher, “but none like this. They ain't no two alike. Besides that, I've never been in one when Bell Holderness was ramrodding the other side of the fight.”
“A fight's a fight, ain't it?”
“Yes. Sometimes it's a dozen. This. is apt to be that kind before it's over. I've known Bell Holderness all his life. He never made a horse trade in his life that he didn't plan every move in it before he said a word. When he brought his gang over here and killed Asa, he had all his plans made. He knows now that Asa and Pate are out of the way. He knows Railroad is too old to push the fight, and he thinks right now that he knows what you'll do.”
“I guess he's mistaken about that,” said Randy, with a wintry smile, “for I don't know myself.”
“Maybe not, but you ain't done what he thought you would, and I don't believe you will.”
“What was that?”
“He thought you'd go to Willow Mills and get drunk, and he'd pick a quarrel with you and kill you. Likely he still thinks so.”
Randy shot a glance at Dolly, and then:
“He'll miss his guess, if he does. I may go to Willow Mills, but if Bell, or anybody else kills me, he'll kill me sober, and I'll be at the killing.”
They rode south, up the hill, and out onto the prairie. The four of them were not together all the time. When noon came, Randy and Dolly stopped under a lone hackberry tree, where they could see a considerable distance in every direction. They took the lunch from their saddle pockets and ate it. Randy was silent and thoughtful. At last he spoke:
“DOLLY, you look like a boy, but I know you're a lot older than I am. Anyway, you've been a man longer, for I never was a man until you pulled me out of the Cottonwood and made a man of me. I need help badly. We can't just sit still until they push us over.”
“No, I reckon not,” grinned Dolly, “but I got a picture of the one that pushes you over while you're still alive. You're so damn fightin' mad right now, Randy, that yore boots are scorching, and you don't know what's the matter with you. Way I look at it is this. Holderness is ahead of the game. He's got three of the Railroad outfit. He's got Ben Tarleton dead and the old judge shot, and got it all laid on us.”
“I've proved to myself that I'm not afraid, Dolly, and now I'm ready for anything. If I could just see a place where we could strike, and strike hard, I'm rearing to break Bell's luck. You're right about me being mad.”
They rode on back toward the ranch late in the afternoon. They were within half a mile of where Sank and Dolly hazed the band of cattle over the rimrock the day of the round-up, when they saw two riders, each leading a horse, coming in from the west.
“Why, that's Cub and Shorty. I wonder—” and Randy stopped.
“Them two and Keech and Brazos Jim went to town after the mail. I heard Mr. Ross tell 'em to go and for four of 'em to go together.”
“Another mistake,” said Randy, musingly. “Looked like a dare.”
“Looks to me like somebody taken it up. Let's see what they got to say. What's happened, Shorty?”
“Nothing much,” drawled the tallest puncher in the outfit, who had been dubbed Shorty. “We rides into town a little after noon. Cub and me goes to the post office, and Keech and Brazos went over to the Cottonwood to wait for us. When we got to the Cottonwood, Keech was layin' on the floor dead, and Brazos, he was down and bleedin'.
“As we stepped in to the place two guns went into our faces, and we was kindly invited to reach for the sky. We reached. Behind one of them guns was Lav Tarleton, and behind the other was Bell Holderness.”
“No!”
“Yes, and a right smart of it. Then we got some news. We found out that the whole Railroad outfit confessed to murder. We found out just what we were. We found out that you, Randy, shot old Judge Tarleton in the back. Then we got turned loose, without our guns, to bring the glad tidings that unless Railroad—I mean Mr. Ross—would give up Randy and the man that kilt Ben, they was goin' to be war.”
“'Bout thirty days late with that news,” said Dolly. “Everybody that ain't blind or crazy, knew it all.”
“What did they kill Keech and Brazos for?” asked Randy.
“Not a thing in the world. Keech killed one of Bell's gang, and Brazos two. That was all. We heard the shooting, and thought it was just in fun—but it wasn't.”
“Where did Bell and Lav go?” asked Randy.
“They shooed us down the lane as far as the big house. Then they turned us loose to drift, and they went in the house.”
“In the house! Bell Holderness went in Tarleton's house?”
It was what Holderness had been trying to get the right to do, ever since Zella became grown. Randy's world was falling about his ears.
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.