# Argosy All-Story Weekly/Volume 202/Number 3/The Saga of Silver Bend

from [Argosy All-Story Weekly 23 March 1929], pp. 362–382
Without a word Randy turned and led the way to their horses
War on the range! And Randy Ross rides forth to battle for the Railroad—and revenge
LEADING UP TO THIS INSTALLMENT
DEATH strikes at the Railroad Ranch, located in the bottle-shaped loop the river makes at Silver Bend, when Asa Ross, son of old Railroad Ross, is shot down at a round-up. It is the outbreak of a long-dormant feud. He was killed by Bell Holderness's gang, who were looking on from a distance; and the Railroad men chase them, six-guns roaring. Just before the Holderness outfit get into the timber, one man falls dead; it was Ben Tarleton, scapegrace son of the fiery Southern planter, old Judge Tarleton; and he was shot in the back.
Randy Ross, Railroad's youngest and wildest son, had ducked out after the shooting, afraid to face the sight of death. Two punchers, Old Sankey, and Dolly—a round-faced, fearless little coboy—set out for the town of Willow Mills, and get Randy out of the saloon. On their way back to the ranch, at the neck of the “bottle,” they hear two shots—and find the bodies of Peyton Ross, the other brother, and a Railroad cowpoke named Leck.
Randy, unable to dodge the situation, faces his fear of death and conquers it. They take the bodies to the ranch.
All the funerals are held at Willow Mills the next day. The Tarletons—including Zella, whom Randy loves—do not speak to the Rosses. Later Judge Tarleton sternly approaches Railroad Ranch, and demands that Railroad Ross tell him who assassinated his son Ben—for no Tarleton ever ran from an enemy! Railroad told the story of the attack on Asa, and their pursuit of the Holderness gang; but Tarleton angrily denounces Ben's killing as a treacherous murder and rides away.
Randy and Dolly are riding some distance behind Judge Tarleton, on their way to the round-up grounds, when a bushwhacker from across the river shoots the judge, then takes a shot at them. Dolly shoots, and thinks he hit the ambusher.
The judge managed to ride away; but obviously he thought he had been ambushed by the Railroad men, for when four Railroad punchers ride into Willow Mills for the mail, two of them are shot down by men of Holderness's gang, aided by Lav Tarleton—one of the judge's sons—while the other two were sent back with orders either to surrender Randy Ross and the murderer of Ben Tarleton, or to prepare for war. And to add to Randy's troubles, Bell Holderness is now welcomed at the Tarletons' home!

### CHAPTER V.
#### Ambush.

SOMEBODY had been watching Randy and Dolly from a safe place, as they rode across the prairie, but he hadn't watched long enough. The spy didn't see Cub and Shorty, and he didn't see Sank and Con, who were riding down another draw, and coming into Silver Bend a quarter of a mile east of where the trail went down the hill.
Randy led down the trail. His mind was in turmoil. The Railroad and its troubles were of course, the main problem; but what was making those troubles? Was it possible that Bell Holderness had started all this death and destruction in order to get him out of the way? Not likely. If Bell wanted him killed, it would be easy enough to have had some of the Holderness gang pot him from the brush long ago. Zella might be one of the pawns in the game, but certainly not the only one, perhaps not the main one. What was it all about? The only answer he got was the crack of a gun and a whistling bullet that narrowly missed him.
They were well down into the open timber of the bend by this time. The shot had come from his left. Randy didn't look to see where the others of his party were, though he knew that Dolly was a little way behind him.
He whirled his horse into the woods as he drew his gun. He had gone berserk. The blood of a hundred pioneer ancestors was burning in his veins, and all thought of fear or caution was forgotten. His only thought was to mix smoke with the man who had shot at him.
He glimpsed two riders in the woods and opened on them. They returned his fire for a moment. Bullets whistled and leaves and twigs fell around Randy, but he pushed on. Into the mêlée came Dolly, and close behind him Cub and Shorty. Still the attackers stood their ground. There must be quite a party of them. It was growing dusky in the woods. Apparently, no hits were scored on either side. Con and Sank heard the shots and came hurrying on. It sounded like a major battle going on as they came up.
“Come on, fellers!” called Randy. “Let's take 'em,” and he spurred straight for the group of trees behind which the enemy had taken shelter. Dolly went with him. Con and Sank sought the flank on one side, while Cub and Shorty took the other.
This was something more than members of the Holderness gang cared to face. They had thought they were going to surprise Randy and the little puncher. Instead, they had jumped six men, none of whom was frightened about being surprised.
The Holderness outfit still had an even break, for there were six of them, but they were not seeking an even break. They gave back for a better position, and made a mistake. Bullets flew among them in spite of the gathering dusk, as they crossed an open glade, going toward the river on the west side of the bend. One pitched from his horse. Panic-stricken, the others fled.
“Crowd 'em, fellers!” yelled Randy. “Get 'em as they cross the river at the old ford.”
On through the timber they tore, running into thickets of mustang grape and bamboo, halting to get the sound of hoofs, then on again. Finally, they came out on the river bank, just as five horsemen rode out on the bar on the other side.
Two carbines cracked. One was Dolly's and the other was in the hands of Shorty, whose big mouth spread in a wide grin. He had jerked the gun from Sank's saddle. They saw one man fall, and another grip his saddle horn and lean over, as he plunged into the brush on the other side. Dolly had got a man, so that made three down and one crippled, out of six—and not one of the Railroad men had a scratch, except from briers.
“What the hell did you grab my carbine for?” growled Sank, as silence followed the fusillade of shots.
“Why, Cub and me didn't have any guns.”
“No guns! What did you come along for?”
“Just company, I reckon,” grinned Shorty. “Anyway, I got one and crippled another so the dogs can ketch him.”
SHORTY was the most uncompromising fighter in the Railroad outfit. He always grinned, whichever way the fight was going. He had grinned when Bell Holderness and Lav Tarleton took his gun—grinned because he knew they were making a mistake by not killing him. He meant to kill Bell Holderness and grin at him as he died.
“Well, we'd better stay on this side,” said Randy. “The woods are likely to be full of 'em on the other side of the river.”
“Apt to be plenty more on this side,” said Sankey. “We better—”
“There goes one! Gimme back that gun!” yelled Shorty, as a horseman sprang out of a thicket and headed back up the river trail toward the narrows.
“Don't shoot!” called Randy. “Let's take him alive and make him talk. Come on, Dolly.”
Up the trail they thundered in pursuit. It was half a mile to the spot where Randy's horse had been shot from under him earlier in the day. It was a dangerous spot, but they paid no attention to that.
The fleeing horseman didn't have a chance. He was poorly mounted and a poor rider. He didn't try to shoot, but seemed to have his whole soul centered on going away from where he was to somewhere else. As they caught up to him, Randy went on one side and Dolly on the other. Randy reached out, caught the back of his collar, and fairly lifted him from his saddle.
“Oh, Lawd, he done got me now!” moaned the prisoner, as Randy dropped him on the ground and dismounted.
“Pompey, what the devil are you doing in here, this time of day?” demanded Randy. “Don't you know this bend is full of killers?”
“Y-y-y-yassir, yassir, I know it now, Mistuh Randy, but—oh, Lawd, help me! Please, Mistuh Randy, don't you 'member that night I help you on yo' horse out at the mouth of the avenoo, when you—when yo' horse wouldn't stand still? Oh, Lawdy, save me now!”
“Shut up, fool!” snapped Randy, shaking the frightened negro boy as if he were a bundle of rags, which in fact he was. “Catch his pony, Dolly, and let's get away from this place.”
They put Pompey on his pony, and all rode back into the bend. Out in the round-up prairie, where no one could slip up on them, they stopped. It was growing dark, but Pompey's eyes and teeth showed white in his shiny black face. That face was mostly eyes and teeth anyway.
He was a skinny little fellow, and perhaps the most skillful and adroit liar on the Tarleton plantation, but he never lied when he was scared, and he was frightened within one inch of his life now. He had been caught fairly in the middle of the battle, as it swept on toward the river, and had run into a thicket like a rabbit. Then, as things quieted down, he had tried to run out of trouble, and here he was.
“Which way did you come in here?” asked Randy.
“I—I come down the river trail, Mistuh Randy.”
“Didn't you know it was dangerous on that trail?”
“Nossir, I didn't, but I does now. Oh, Lawdy! Miss Zella, she didn't say nothin' about dat to me. O-o-o, Lawd, save a poor nigger—”
“Shut up! What did Miss Zella have to do with it?”
“Why—she have everything they is to do with it,” returned Pompey, quieting down a bit, but still shaking with fright. “She sont me—sont me—to—to bring this here to you,” and suddenly remembering his errand, he pulled a note from somewhere among his rags and handed it to Randy.
“Hum! It's too dark to see to read it, and we can't make a light here. Too good a target. Keep him here until I get back, boys. If he tries to get away, shoot his liver out,” and smiling at Pompey's fright, Randy mounted, and rode on toward the ranch house alone.
AS he galloped that half mile, with the note in his hand, Randy thought of many things. Life seemed dark and forbidding before him, but one ray of light shone out of the darkness. Zella was still true to him. She still cared enough for him to send him a note, dangerous as it was to send it, and despite the trouble it might make for her if her father and brothers learned by any chance that she was communicating with him.
He wondered now why he hadn't been man enough to cut out his wild behavior and claim Zella as his own, long ago. That couldn't be helped now, but she should never have cause to think he was wild and irresponsible again. When this mess was over—
He dismounted and hurried to his room, the big room that had been occupied together by the three brothers, from their childhood. The grim, silent, thoughtful Asa, of whom he had always been a little afraid, was not in his familiar seat in the chimney corner. The gentle, kindly Peyton was not by the table with his book.
There was no light in the room. Randy struck a match and lit the lamp on the table. Pate's book still lay there. He glanced at the mantel and saw Asa's pipe and tobacco box. Loneliness gripped him like an icy hand. He tore open the note, and with changing countenance, read:
   Dear Randy:
   I call you that from long habit. I can't remember when I didn't call you that, but now, all is done. I am writing this saddest note of my life, for the sake of that past. I tried hard to believe you were not guilty of the thing my brothers charged you with. There was doubt about you having anything to do with Ben's death, and I clung to that doubt, oh, how I clung to it!
   But when my father came home, shot in the back and dangerously hurt, from ambush; when he told me he saw you and knew that you and some of your men followed him and shot him, there could be no longer any doubt. My love for you has caused me much sorrow. I have often told you that some day you would commit a crime in one of your wild escapades, but I never thought it would be such a direct stab at my heart as this has been.
   I'm writing this because I feel that your death and the death of your father could not bring back my dead brother and heal the wound of my father. My brothers and the Holderness brothers have sworn to kill you and your father,
   I don't want to see you killed. There are many other places in the world where you could live out your life. Go while you can and hide yourself from the certain death that awaits you here. There have been many sad moments in the years that I have loved you, but the saddest is now, when I say—good-by. {{float rightZella.|2em}}
Randy sprang to his feet, and crushed the note in his hand. That ray of light that he thought he saw was further gloom. He paced the old oak floor in rage.
“The death of me and my father won't bring back her brother, and heal her father's wound,” he grated. “No, and what about my two brothers and three loyal, trusted men who were willing to fight my battles? What will bring them back? Go while the going is good, will I? If she thinks I could shoot an innocent man in the back, she never knew me. If she thinks I'm yellow enough to run away from this fight, she knows me still less!”
He sat down to the table and wrote:
   Miss Tarleton:
   I have your note, and thank you for any good intentions it may have contained, but they are wasted. I have never shot a man in the back, and never shall, unless he commits an assault on me, and then runs, as has happened more than once since this trouble. I can't understand the purpose of your note. If it was to get information as to my purpose, you shall have it. Silver Bend and the Railroad Ranch is my home, and I mean to stay here.
   Until now, I have shrunk from the thought of a clash with your brothers. Now, since you tell me that they have allied themselves with my enemies, I shall welcome the day when we meet. You say my death will not bring back your brother. You didn't mention anything that would bring back my two brothers. They were both murdered, if not by your brothers, at least by their allies, and, I take it, with their sanction. I mean that some one shall atone for the death of my brothers. If anything in this note will bring comfort to my enemies, they are welcome so to construe it. Randolph Ross.
Randy folded the note, put it in an envelope, and placed it in his pocket. He struck a match, set fire to Zella's note, and dropped it in the back of the old fireplace. He watched it burn. Thus ended his hope of happiness with the only woman he'd ever love.
HE stole out, mounted his horse, and rode back to where he had left his men with Pompey. He didn't want his father to know about these notes; this was his personal affair. When he got back to the men, he said:
“Boys, I don't want it known that I got that note. Go on to the house and eat. Take the mail in, Shorty, but don't say anything about what happened up at town to-day, unless dad questions you. There may be a lot more to tell when I get back, and—”
“When you get back! Where are you going?” asked Dolly.
“Just now, I'm going to take Pompey up to the top of the hill and send him home by the prairie road. He'd get killed before he got halfway through the narrows. You boys go on and eat. Anything I'd eat would poison me the way I feel now.”
“I'm not hungry, either,” declared Dolly. “I'll go with you. One lone man ain't got much business prowling the bend right now.”
Randy said nothing, but he felt much. This little blue-eyed puncher was beginning to mean a great deal to him. Pompey got on his pony and was given the note. Escorted by Randy and Dolly, he took the trail that led out to the prairie. Out on the prairie they stopped.
“Here, Pompey,” said Randy, and gave the boy a silver dollar.
“Thanky, suh, Mist' Randy. You're the onliest one that ever did give me a whole, borned dollar at one time, 'ceptin' Mist' Ben, and he won't never give me no more.”
“No, and that's likely to be the last one I'll ever give you. Now, listen to me. Keep your eyes open. If you see anybody on the prairie, don't let 'em come to you. When you hit the bottom, ride that pony.”
“Yas, suh, boss! When I hits dat dark ole bottom, I'm gwine make this old pestletail bronc think the ha'nts is ridin' him!”
“Well, go on.”
“But, er, Mist' Randy—”
“What is it?”
“If you ever needs me, you knows whar I is. You 'bout the onliest white man I got left since Mist' Ben is gone.”
“All right. If I ever need you I'll call for you. If you deliver that note to anybody but Miss Zella, I'm likely to call for you pretty soon and bring a rope.”
“Oh, Lawdy, Mist' Randy! Don't talk that way, and me got to go thoo that ole dark bottom. I ain't heavy enough to break my own neck, if you did hang me. Come on here, pony, we's got to travel.”
Pompey rode away into the night. Randy and the little puncher sat silently listening until the hoof beats died out.
Randy made no move to turn back toward the ranch. Dolly sat his horse in silence. Great stories are told of ancient knights and their loyal squires. Never was there a greater knight than Randy Ross was at that moment, nor was there ever a more loyal squire than Dolly.
He had been watching Randy all the year he had been at the Railroad. He had envied that stalwart height, the broad shoulders, and perfect form. He had envied Randy's education. Perhaps he had envied most of all the ease with which Randy could jerk his gun on a running horse and kill a leaping jack rabbit.
He had envied him all this, watching the devil-may-care Randy in the days before he got “busted,” as Dolly called it. Since that night, when Randy had reacted so wonderfully to the acid test, and had come out of it so much a man, Dolly's envy had turned to a sort of worship. He was ready to follow Randy anywhere, no matter how wild the adventure, or how slim the chances of coming out of it alive.
“DOLLY,” said Randy at last, “I don't suppose my private affairs would interest you. Maybe you didn't even know that I had expected to marry Zella Tarleton.”
“Sankey told me something about it that evening we found you at the Cottonwood saloon. We saw her, and— It was sorty for her that I talked to you like I did.”
“Then I have to thank her for a service, if she caused you to make a man of the sorry thing I was then.”
“I didn't make a man of you,” disclaimed Dolly. “I knew you was a thoroughbred all the time. I—I just sorty rode you and quieted you some, and then you done the rest yourself.”
“All right, I'll thank you for the riding, but let that all go. I won't forget it. What I'm going to tell you is that everything between Zella and me is over. She told me in that note that she believed I shot her father in the back. When a woman can believe a thing like that of a man, it's time for things to be over. I'm just telling you that, so you'll understand something else I'm going to tell you.”
“But maybe she ain't had a square deal, Randy. Maybe somebody has stacked the deck on her. She don't look to me like a girl that would deal from the bottom of the deck on a fellow.”
“Oh, yes, she does understand. She advised me to run. To get out of this mess while the going was good. To play the part of the yellow pup that I used to be.”
“No!”
“Yes. But, Dolly, I won't do it. If she had thrown me cold a week ago I might have gone to the devil. I may go anyhow, but not the way I would have gone then. She was all there was in the world to keep me half straight then. There's something else to keep me straight now.”
Randy stopped, raised a gauntleted hand to the starry heaven, and went on: “If God lets me live, I'll avenge my two brothers and the loyal men who fell fighting for the Railroad, regardless of whom it may hurt. I held back from tangling with the Tarleton boys. I kept my temper when the old judge talked to dad like he was a dog; all on account of Zella. She has freed me from any obligations. From here on the Tarletons and Holdernesses look alike to me. Let's go.”
They turned back down the steep trail that led into Silver Bend and the Railroad ranch. Dolly said nothing, but he was puzzled. Well, he knew Randy hadn't shot the old judge, and was pretty sure he didn't kill Ben. Randy was getting a dirty deal, and he was for him, no matter what he might do from here on.

### CHAPTER VI.
#### Randy Seeks Information.

THEY had reached the bottom before either of them spoke again. Randy stopped and Dolly came up to him.
“Dolly, I've got to find out something. I don't know anything about the H Bar ranch. Never was there in my life. Dad has peculiar ideas. He never would let his cattle drift across onto the Indian lands, even when grass was short on this side and going to waste over there. He always said he never had taken anything that didn't belong to him, and that grass didn't belong to him.”
“Well, I reckon he was right about it.”
“Yes, I'm sure he was. He said it would keep him out of trouble with fellows on that side, but it hasn't done it. I don't want any of their grass, but I do want to know something about what I'm fighting. I've got to have some information.”
“Huh! How are you goin' to get it?”
“Go after it.”
“Go to the H Bar, you mean?”
“Yes, if necessary.”
“Why, Randy, that Holderness gang would shoot us so full of holes we'd make a picket fence look like a solid wall.”
“Maybe not. We've got to get our hands on one of that gang and make him talk.”
“Oh, thataway. Sure, come on; let's go.”
“Wait a minute. We might find one of them in the cottonwoods, across the river, watching the narrows.”
“I think you will find one there,” said Dolly grimly, “if somebody ain't packed him off, and you'll find two more layin' on the sandbar on the other side of the river, but you won't get much information from them.”
“No, I suppose not. You know that boat the boys built last summer. Know where it is?”
“Yes. It's at the upper end of the slough, but we can't go to the H Bar in a boat. It's four or five mile from the river, up at the edge of the prairie,” Dolly pointed out.
“I know, but maybe we won't have to go to the H Bar. We may find what we want closer than that,” Randy said with cold menace.
“Meaning what?”
“That somebody stays in that thicket of cottonwoods all the time. They shoot at everybody that goes from the Bend toward Willow Mills, and at nobody that comes this way. We can row up the river on this side, close in to the bank, and they'll never see us. Just above the thicket, we can drift across, tie up our boat, and take a look. I've got to investigate that thicket, and they've shown us that we can't do it in the daytime.”
“They shore have. That sounds all right. Let's go,” said Dolly.
“Easy, then. They're likely to be anywhere. We'll leave our horses in the big grape thicket this side of the slough.”
Their horses hidden, they pushed the boat through the upper end of the slough into the river. Dolly was no seaman.
“All I can do is sit still and look scared,” he said in a low tone.
“Just keep quiet and keep your eyes open. I'll work the boat.” With noiseless strokes of the short oar, Randy sent the boat upstream.
In the marshes, around that thicket of cottonwoods, frogs were keeping up an incessant din that would cover any noise the boat might make. Well above the thicket they crossed to the other side, got out and tied the boat to a sapling and went ashore.
“We've got to be careful now,” whispered Randy. “It's two or three hundred yards down this little point to where their sharpshooters take their stand.”
They stole softly on through the dense thicket and had gone a hundred yards when Randy put his hand behind him and touched Dolly.
“Listen!” he whispered.
THERE was the sound of two men walking. They were coming along a trail from opposite directions, and, crouching in the thicket close to the ground, Randy and his little puncher heard them meet.
“Hello, Steve! That you?”
“Yes,” replied a growling voice.
“Well, sit down here on this log. I got a mouthful to tell you.”
“Go ahead and tell it.”
“Well, I come in here awhile ago to relieve Red. I went down to the stand, and Red was layin' there dead.”
“Hell he was!”
“Yes. Some of that Railroad outfit potted him. Are you and Bell sure you can handle this mess the way you set out to do? Because, if you ain't, I aim to slide out while the sliding is good.”
“Of course we're sure,” Steve said angrily. “We've already got Asa and Pate. That just leaves Old Rail1oad to lead the fight, and he won't last long.”
“What about Randy?”
“Nothing. He don't amount to anything if he's alive, and I don't reckon he is. The Tarleton boys are rearin' to get him, and Bell aimed to run 'em together to-day.”
“Huh! Bell is a pretty smooth schemer, but I don't understand him starting this mess the way he did.”
“Bell didn't start it. I started it, and he gave me hell for it. Bell's too cautious. We been ready to clean up on the Railroad outfit for a month, and Bell kept putting me off. We could 'a' got 'em one at a time, and nobody known it. Bell's idea was to go over there to the round-up and look things over. Then the next day we'd begin to work on 'em.”
“Well, why didn't you work it that way?”
“We would, but trouble is, Bell was after one thing and I was after something else. All I wanted was to clean up the whole Ross outfit, because old Railroad killed my daddy. Began to look to me like Bell never would do anything, so when I got a good chance I let Asa have it. He was the only one I was afraid of.”
“Why didn't you get all of 'em?”
“Get, nothing! The whole outfit come foggin' after us like a bat out of hell, and we run! Then as we went into the timber, Bell shot Ben Tarleton.”
“What for?”
“I asked Bell that. He said it had to be done. Said in a pinch we could say Ben shot Asa. Besides that, Ben being shot that way, old Judge Tarleton and the other two boys would think the Railroad outfit done it.”
“Bell's smooth, ain't he?”
“Yes, he's smooth, but he's too slow. We'd orto cleared up on Railroad and his boys, and gone on back home. Everybody knows Railroad killed pap, and nobody would blame us, but Bell wants too much.”
“What is it he wants?”
“He wants Silver Bend. Says it's the best tract of land on either side of the river from head to mouth. Thinks when they ain't nobody left but the old woman he can get it at his own price, and he can. Another thing he wants is Zella Tarleton, and when Randy Ross is out of the way he'll get her. Oh, he'll get what he wants. He always does.” Steve's tone showed his confidence in his brother's shrewdness.
“Why don't a gang just ride over to the Railroad, call Railroad and Randy out, and—”
“Two good reasons. One is, these messes have got to look like gun fights, in case there should be any hereafter about it. The other is that Bell and me wants to stay here awhile yet. Calling Railroad and Randy out and shooting them up wouldn't be no healthy job.”
“I thought you said Randy don't amount to anything.”
“He don't, Bill. He's yellow all the way through. But still and all, if he was cornered thataway—he's the fastest and best shot in this country.”
“Well, what's the program?” asked the other. The listeners had identified him by now as Bill Hayden of the Holderness gang.
“Just to watch for Railroad and Randy and get 'em. Your job is to watch that trail, and you better get on it. Old Railroad ain't afraid of the devil. He'll be riding up to Willow Mills, and give you a chance. Bell will make the Tarleton boys get Randy, and then we'll be in the clear of everything.”
“Maybe so. I don't like the idea of goin' down there and keepin' watch on that trail, with Red layin' there dead,” Bill admitted.
“He can't hurt you. I'll send some of the boys to get him as soon as I get back to the ranch. Keep your eyes open. Remember that every Railroad puncher you get will make the rest quit that much quicker when Railroad's gone, and—
“What's that!”
IN his pent-up rage, Randy had moved and broken a twig beneath him. Steve Holderness and his hired killer sprang up from the log and stood for a moment listening. There was no chance to take the two killers in the darkness, so Randy had to lie still.
“Varmint in the bushes,” said Hayden at last.
“Reckon so,” replied Steve. “Get on the job, and if anybody comes along do as good shooting as you did when you got Pate Ross and that old puncher.”
They parted, and their steps died away in the distance. Presently, Randy heard the thudding of a horse's hoofs, as Steve mounted and rode for the H Bar.
“What are we going to do now?” whispered Dolly.
“We're going to get Hayden,” replied Randy, in a tense whisper. “He killed Pate, and I'm not going to wait for any law. We'll give 'em some of their own medicine. From here on, I fight the devil with fire.”
Silently they waited for half an hour, then found the trail and walked on down toward the river, letting their footsteps be plainly heard. As they approached the river, a low voice said:
“You boys come for Red? Got here mighty quick.”
“Met Steve on the trail, and he sent us on,” replied Randy in a low tone.
“Well, come and get him. I'll be glad when he's gone,” and Hayden turned his back to lead the way to where the body lay.
The next moment Hayden lay on the ground, knocked out by a blow on the head from Randy's gun.
“We've got to get away from here!” said Randy. “Come on, those fellows may get here any time,” and, picking up the unconscious Hayden, he led the way to the boat.
When Hayden came hack to the world, he was lying on the ground under a big tree that overhung the river at the narrows, and near the spot where Pate and old Leck had fallen. His hands and feet were tied, and he felt something at his neck.
“Whu—what are you fellows doing?” asked Hayden, groggily.
“Just waiting for you to wake up,” said Dolly. “We're in a sorty hurry. Got anything to say before you go?”
“Go where?”
“I'd hate to say,” and Dolly pulled the rope slightly.
“You fellows ain't going to hang me!”
He would have ended in a yell, but the rope jerked taut, and he rose endwise from the ground, kicked a few times, and was still. They made the rope fast and left him there. Without a word, Randy turned and led the way to their horses. Just before they mounted he said:
“Dolly, I know all I want to know now. We've got the man that killed Pate. I mean to hang Steve Holderness for killing Asa. The Tarletons can settle their own scores for the killing of Ben. I don't know any better punishment for them than for Zella to marry Bell Holderness and then find out about that.”
“You're too hard, Randy,” said Dolly. “She don't know all that. The Tarletons believe you killed Ben, and the old judge told her you shot him.”
“Yes, I'm hard. Hard as hell itself. I've had plenty to make me hard. I'll make Silver Bend safe before I'm through, if you'll stay with me. Even if I have to hang a man to every tree in it.”
“I'll stay with you, when it comes to cleaning up the Holderness gang, but I wish you wouldn't be so hard on Miss Zella. She—”
“Never mind. Don't mention her name to me again, and you and I will get along finely,” and, mounting his horse, Randy led the way on to the ranch.
In a little more than forty-eight hours Randolph Ross had changed from a wild, irresponsible boy to a strong, purposeful man. And in the last few hours, since reading Zella's note and hearing Steve and Hayden talk, he had turned to a hard man, with but one purpose in life—bitter, bitter vengeance.
He wanted to kill the men who had robbed him of his brothers. He wanted to humble the woman whom he had loved with all his soul because she had doubted him when he was in trouble. He was far on the road to becoming a very bad and dangerous man, and, as the canker ate farther into his heart, he would become worse.
WISE little Dolly knew this. He could see that what he thought he had made into a wonderful man was likely to become a hideous monster.
Randy Ross was desperate now. He would go to any length to put a rope on Steve's neck. Dolly was willing to follow him in that enterprise, but when that was done he wanted to see Randy and Zella happy. As he rode silently along with Randy, he made a resolution to save this naturally fine young man from himself,
When they reached the ranch, Dolly went on to the bunk shack. Randy would have asked him to share that big, lonesome room, for company, but there was such a storm in his soul that Ross wanted solitude, and a chance to think things out. He slipped into the house, but didn't escape the ears of old Railroad. His father was in bed, but hadn't been asleep, though it was some time after midnight. Randy made a light. He had eaten nothing since noon, but he wasn't hungry and felt that he could never sleep again.
Barely had he sat down to his task of thinking when the door opened and old Railroad entered. His hair was tousled, and he was in nightshirt and trousers, with one suspender down.
“Randy, I'm mighty glad you come in. I couldn't go to sleep. I went out and asked the boys about you. They said you and Dolly went off somewheres, but they didn't know where.”
“Some of 'em knew. They were lying to you for me, like always. That's got to be stopped. I'm not going to do anything more that I'm ashamed for you to know, or that you'll be ashamed to know. I'll tell you where I went. You ought to know it.”
Randy recapitulated the day's events. He told of the killing of Brazos and Keech by Bell Holderness and Lav Tarleton. He told of the running fight in the woods and of capturing Pompey. Railroad's lips twisted in a wintry smile at thought of Pompey's fright. Then Randy told of the note from Zella and what he had written to her.
“I'm mighty sorry about that, Randy. Zella is as fine a young woman as there is in the world. She just don't understand.”
“Don't, dad! When you excuse her, I feel like you're accusing me. She didn't have any right to think that I'd do the things they accuse me of doing. She ought to know I couldn't do it. I hope she marries Bell, and then finds out that he shot Ben in the back.”
“Stop, Randy! Don't be so bitter!”
“Why shouldn't I be bitter?”
“But you don't know that Bell shot Ben. That was just a guess of ours.”
“Oh, yes, I do know it,” and Randy went on to tell of the trip to the thicket and the hanging of Hayden.
“Thank God that it wasn't my bullet that killed Ben,” said Railroad, fervently. “Judge Tarleton and I have been friends and neighbors always. He's hot-headed and jumps to conclusions, but he's a good man.”
“Good man or not, the Tarletons have tied in with the Holdernesses, and they all look alike to me. I'm not going to hunt the Tarleton boys, but they're hunting me and they can find me.”
“Randy, I'd hate—”
“Let's don't talk about that, dad. If we meet, we meet, and that's all there is to it. We found out that Hayden killed Pate, and we hanged him. We heard Steve say he shot Asa, and I'll hang him if I live.”
“THAT'S all right for them, Randy, but it ought to stop there.”
“What about Bell? He's the prime mover in the whole mess,” and Randy went over the two reasons Steve had given for Bell's part in the mess.
“Bell ought to hang, too, then. He'll never get Silver Bend.”
“Not while I live,” Randy vowed.
“Not while anybody lives. Mother and I will make a will that, in the event of your death, we'll leave it to your uncle for his lifetime, and then to his heirs. He won't want it, but he can't sell it.”
“That's going a long way around. I know a better way than that to keep Bell from getting it. I don't want to kill him now. I want him to marry Zella.
“Then, after they are married, I want to show her proof that he shot Ben in the back and had her father shot. After that, I'm ready to shoot Bell, or hang him, whichever comes handiest.”
Railroad was appalled at his son's bitterness. Deep in his heart, he wanted Randy to marry Zella, had always wanted it. That very day he had thought of it much. The farmer and his plow were encroaching on the cow country. A few more years and that would be a farming country.
A little work—and Railroad had plenty of money to have it done—and Silver Bend would be a great plantation, five or six times larger than the Tarleton plantation, and better, because the alluvial soil was new and fresh. Randy was the only heir now. It would all be his. With a wife like Zella, a woman of fine breeding and culture, and plenty of money, Randy could go a long way in life. But Randy had dashed all those hopes. Railroad sat with bowed head as Randy went on:
“We can't take the men and go into this fight, as you did in old times, and shoot it out in the open. They won't come out in the open. If we went to the H Bar we might find half a dozen men, and maybe none. They're going to bushwhack and get Railroad riders when and where they can. More than two men together will simply make a better target for them. I'm going to take Dolly in the morning, and hunt where I think the hunting is good. The other men had better work the cattle out onto the prairie and keep them there until this is over, one way or another.”
“Maybe you're right,” said Railroad, wearily, “but don't take too many chances, son. You're all I got left now. I wish I could ride with you, but I can't. I'm still good for a minute, but I don't last out. My heart beats too fast. I reckon I driv it too much when I was younger. Go to bed and get some sleep. When we get up in the morning, things never look to us like they did the day before,” and Railroad tottered off to bed, his mind also full of plans for saving this last son from a life of misery and bitterness.

### CHAPTER VII.
#### Who Killed Asa Ross?

LIGHTS burned late in two rooms of the Tarleton house that night. One of these was the great bedroom on the ground floor, where the judge lay, painfully, but not seriously wounded. The bullet had passed through the top of the left hip, grazing it, but not breaking it. The doctor had said it would get well, with proper care, and the patient was now sleeping under the influence of an opiate.
The other light was in Zella's room. A little while after nightfall she had slipped out to the cabin back of the house, where the family servants lived. She asked for Pompey, and was told that he had not come in. On her way to the house she was upbraiding herself for having sent the faithful negro into trouble, when a low voice called her:
“Miss Zella! Miss Zella, here I is,” and Pompey stole toward her in the darkness.
“What kept you so long?” she asked.
“Miss Zella, I been skeered outen my nacherl bawn witses,” and Pompey proceeded to tell a highly colored story of his adventures in a hurried whisper.
“Did you give Mr. Randy the note?”
“Yes'm, I sholy did, and he gimme a note for you, an'—now where at is that old note,” and Pompey fumbled among his rags. “Here she is, an' I's glad to get rid of her. Mist' Randy, say if I give it to anybody else he gwine hang me good.”
“All right, Pompey. Run along now. I'll give you something in the morning.”
Zella put the note in the front of her dress and went back into the house.
“Huh! Look lak I gwine to come out of this alive yit. Gwine gimme something in the mawnin'. Hope it ain't no more job that'n. That ol' dark bottom, hoo-oo!” and he went on to the cabin where supper and an expert job of lying about where he had been, were in prospect.
Zella stole up the stair to her room, entered, and locked the door. No one in that house, except herself and the faithful Pompey, would ever know of this note. A hundred times she had received notes in the same manner from Randy, when he had been on one of his escapades. They had always been so penitent and so full of love that she could but yield and give him a chance to make amends.
But this time she couldn't yield. Almost by rote she knew what was in that note, she thought. In spite of her protestations to herself and her written message to Randy, that her love for him was a thing of the dead past, she knew in her heart, as she pressed the note to her bosom, that it was not and never could be.
She opened the note, and, with staring eyes, read the salutation, “Miss Tarleton.” Tears sprang to her eyes. She brushed them away and read on to the end, then read it again. She looked about the room, as if for some one to question, then fell across the bed and wept bitterly.
After all her effort, Randy would not save himself. Never had he failed to do anything she asked him to do, when he was in a penitent mood. But he was not even penitent now. What was wrong? Randy, guilty, never would have written that. It was not the old Randy. Had he been falsely accused? At that thought, she sobbed afresh.
For an hour that day, just after noon, she had listened to Bell Holderness and her brothers discuss the killing of Ben and the shooting of her father, as they sat in the room with the judge. She had gone from that room and had written and dispatched her note to Randy, convinced, she thought, of his guilt.
Now she ceased her sobbing, and lay staring at the ceiling, trying to reason the thing out, not knowing that it is impossible to reason with love; that love is a finished, selfish quality that bears on all things, but suffers none to interfere with it. Strangest of all, delicate plant though it may be, it thrives on adversity.
As she lay puzzling over her problem, she recalled the story Bell had told of the trouble at the Railroad round-up. It had sounded all right then, but going over it now, in her mind, it didn't ring true. Bell never had said definitely who killed Asa Ross. That tormenting question sprang into her mind, “Who killed Asa Ross?” It would not down. Far toward morning, she fell asleep, with that question still revolving in her thoughts.
HER first thought on waking was that she wanted to see Randy, had to see him. This, she knew was impossible. There was danger everywhere in Silver Bend. Then her mind veered to Bell Holderness. She wanted to see him and talk to him. She knew he had spent the night in the house. In Ben's room, in fact. She dressed hurriedly and went down to the yard.
It was a fine, balmy spring morning, and a few roses were in bloom. Zella knew a good many things. Bell Holderness was a handsome fellow, blond, with deep blue eyes, and a pleasing appearance. Bell had said nice things to her many a time. In view of the grief in the home, he had said nothing of that sort to her the day before, but his eyes had been sufficiently eloquent. She knew her attraction for him, and purposely lingered among the roses.
“Wonderful morning, Miss Zella,” he said as he came up.
“Yes. It is such a pity one can't be happy on a morning like this. I've been wishing you'd come out here.”
“I'd be a strange man if that didn't make me happy.”
“I want to ask you something.”
“I've wanted to ask you something a long, long time, but never had the courage. Ask your question first, and I'll answer it if I can.”
“Who killed Asa Ross?” she shot the question like a bolt, and Bell fairly staggered.
“Why, I—I can't tell you.”
“You can't tell me! You saw it, did you not?”
“Yes, but— Sometimes it is best not to know too much about such things.”
Zella stood looking at him in silence. He averted his eyes and tried to talk of something else, but failed. The breakfast bell rang, and they went in. Not another word passed between them.
Soon after breakfast, Bell saddled his horse and rode to town. He was thinking of Zella more intently than he had in some time, but the thoughts were not pleasant ones. He knew she had trapped him, caught him off his guard with her question, and that he had come out of it badly. But Bell was the kind of man who can plan and wait.
Another day ought to see Randy Ross and old Railroad disposed of. Randy couldn't stay away from drink much longer. Bell didn't mean to kill Randy—nothing so coarse as that. Either of the Tarleton boys would kill Randy on sight; they had promised to follow him on to town in a little while and lay in wait for Randy. Lav and Cliff had only one purpose in mind now, and that was to meet Randy Ross and shoot it out with him.
Bell was barely out of sight when Zella sought her father. The judge was awake and feeling fairly well. Lav and Cliff were in the room when she entered.
“Do it fair and open like men,” Judge Tarleton was saying. “I meant to do it myself the first time I caught either of them away from home. I don't want a boy of mine ever to turn his back to an enemy, and I'd be disgraced if I knew one of you took an unfair advantage.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Zella.
“Talking about shooting Randy Ross,” said Judge Tarleton calmly. “Of course, he's got to be shot after what has happened. I might let him go for shooting me from the brush, since I guess it won't kill me, but we can't overlook the killing of Ben.”
“Let me ask you all a question. I asked Bell Holderness, but he wouldn't answer it.”
“What is the question?” said Lav, impatiently.
“Who killed Asa Ross?”
“Why, I hadn't thought of that. He was killed in a gun fight at the Railroad round-up.”
“Yes, I know, but who killed him?”
“What do you mean? Trying to leave the impression that Ben killed him?”
“NO,” said Zella, slowly, “but I'm pretty sure that if anybody ever presses Bell Holderness for an answer to that question, he'll leave that impression.”
“Now, Zella, you stay out of this,” Lav insisted. “It's a man's job, and we'll attend to it. We are not interested in who killed Asa Ross. We know who killed Ben and we know who shot father, and that's all that concerns us.”
“Yes, but are you sure you know who killed Ben, and are you sure it makes no difference who killed Asa?” persisted Zella.
“Now, Zella,” ordered Lav, “I've told you to keep out of this. We'll attend to it.”
But Zella had done the thing she meant to do, namely, to plant a doubt in the minds of her father and brothers. When she was gone, they sat in silence for moments.
“Now what do you suppose Zella knows?” asked the old judge at last.
“Nothing!” snapped Lav, who started when his father spoke, because he had unpleasant thoughts. He had fired one shot in the mess the day before when two Railroad punchers had been killed. He was sure he had not hit either of them, but in a way he had been a party to the killing, and it wasn't a pleasant thought.
“She's just like any other woman that goes crazy over a worthless man. She's got the habit of making excuses for Randy Ross, and she can't break herself of it.”
“Why, she didn't mention Randy,” said Cliff.
“I wish I knew who did kill Asa Ross,” the old judge interrupted. “It might make considerable difference. Maybe you boys better stay out of this until we know more. I don't mean hide, but not hunt for him. He won't run away. He's too much like old Railroad. As Zella says, we don't know these things. We been pretty hot in the collar about Ben being killed, and about me being shot up. I didn't see who shot me. All I know is that Randy and some more fellows were behind me when I entered the timber. I never did see anybody when the shot was fired.”
“Well, I'm going on to town,” declared Lav. “I don't mean to hole up. I can't promise what 'll happen if I meet Randy.”
“I'll stay here with father,” said Cliff. “I think he's right. We've always found the Ross outfit on the square. If I'd met Randy yesterday I'd have opened on him, but now I don't know. Since Zella asked those questions, things look different.”
But Zella had asked her questions too late, as far as Randy was concerned. The Tarleton boys had sent him word by Cub and Shorty, or at least Lav had, that they meant to kill him on sight, and Zella had written him to leave the country while he could.
He had said the Tarletons and Holdernesses all looked alike to him, and he meant it. He knew a square deal when he saw it, and he hadn't been given one.
Bell Holderness had ridden on to Willow Mills. The place was quiet as a churchyard. The men who had been killed the day before had been buried at nightfall. Willow Mills was but a mile from Red River. Such fights were common, and the town had its Boot Hill, where men who died in their boots were buried and forgotten.
BELL went to the Cottonwood Saloon. It was not generally known, but he owned the place, and the men who worked there were his spies.
“Seen anything of Randy Ross, or any of the rest of the Railroad outfit since I was here?” he asked the bartender.
“No, sir. Had less business last night than we had for a long time. When nobody comes in from the Railroad or the H Bar, business is always dull.”
“Hang business,” snapped Bell. “I'm interested in locating Randy Ross just now. Where do you suppose he's getting his whisky if he don't come to town or send a hand?”
“Search me.”
“I don't want to search you, but I want you fellows to get your grapevine telegraph to work and locate Randy Ross.”
“That's it tickin' now, I reckon,” drawled the bartender as a lone horseman came storming in from the north, and skidded to a stop in front of the Cottonwood.
It was Steve Holderness. He nodded to the barkeep, poured a drink, and gulped it. Then he nodded toward the door and went out, with Bell following him.
“What the hell are vou doing on this side?” snapped Bell, when they were out in the open. “Didn't I tell you to stay on the other side and ramrod things over there? I'll handle this side.”
“Yes, you did, but you didn't tie me over there. You're so strong for schemes and plans, I come over here to tell you that yore damn plans have busted, and if you don't get from under they'll fall on you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean for one thing that Railroad Ross ain't as near dead old as you think he is. You can recollect, as well as I can, when old Railroad Ross used to be head of the Vigilantes. He hung everybody he caught with an unidentified horse, and a few more on suspicion, just for associating with horse rustlers.”
“Yes, I recollect it. What of it?”
“Plenty. He ain't forgot how to handle a rope, and my neck hurts.”
“Damn it, quit beating about the bush, and tell what's on your mind.”
“Well, last night Hayden went down to the thicket to relieve Red and found him dead. Somebody had shot him. I went there awhile after dark, and Hayden told me about it, so I sent a couple of men to get Red. They got him all right, but Hayden was gone. Meantime Sam come in to the ranch with one leg shot half off. Him and five more of our fellows flushed a covey of Railroad punchers over in Silver Bend just at sunset, and they wouldn't fly. They got one of Sam's men on that side and two more as they crossed the river just below the thicket. Sam's shot right smart, and the doc's gone out there.”
“Well, what's that got to do with old Railroad and his tight-rope performance?”
“Nothing, maybe. This morning I taken some of the boys and went down to get the two dead ones and look for Hayden.”
“Did you find Hayden? Tell it!”
“Yes, we found him,” and Steve looked over his shoulder as if he feared the devil were behind him.
“Where?”
“Hanging in that big oak tree at the narrows, swinging round and round, round and round, in the wind, as the rope turned and twisted. Gosh, it was awful!”
“Did you go over and get him?”
“I did not, and I ain't goin' to. I taken a chance coming over here to tell you about it. That's all the business I got on this side. I'm goin' back, and stay back. If you want Hayden, you can have him.”
“Yeah!” sneered Bell. “You was in such a hell of a hurry to start this mess before I was ready. Now it's beginning to pinch, your nerve is slipping, and you want to leave me the bag to hold. Go on back and hide if you want to. Randy and old Railroad won't bother anybody much longer. Some real men are going after them.”
STEVE, mounted his horse and rode out of town. Bell stood rolling a cigar in his mouth, and watching his brother. Bell Holderness was as cool-headed a villain as that border ever knew. He made his plans and worked to them. If something went awry, he never lost his head.
He had sat in on this game to win Silver Bend and Zella Tarleton; the stakes were high. Steve had gummed the game when he killed Asa Ross ahead of schedule, and Bell had saved the day by killing Ben Tarleton, who was supposed to belong to his gang. Now it appeared that Sam had gummed it again by going into Silver Bend against orders.
Bell had told them to stay out after Asa and Pate were killed, and he'd get Railroad and Randy. He meant to make the Tarleton boys do that job and leave him with clean hands; he still meant to do that. He turned and looked up the long lane. A lone horseman was-coming toward him. The morning sun was in Bell's eves, and he couldn't see who it was. He slipped into the saloon, spoke a few words to the bartender, and went on into a back room.
Waiting there in that little room, Bell Holderness looked like an arch fiend. His handsome face, which was a cold mask in the company of other men, gave way to a snarling distortion of rage. Another of his plans had gone wrong. The Tarleton brothers said they would follow him on to town. They hadn't done it. Now, he felt sure, Randy Ross was riding into town. He had to be killed. The Tarleton boys ought to kill him, would kill him if they met, but Randy had to be disposed of, and that quickly. He heard a step in the saloon, and a few low-spoken words at the bar. Drawing his gun, he turned the cylinder lightly, raised and lowered the hammer, and pushed the gun back loosely in the holster for a quick draw. It had come to a showdown. If the Tarleton boys didn't come pretty soon he'd go out there and have it over. He knew how Randy drank. He would pour it down greedily until he was drunk, and then—
Bell stood in the little room listening. Only a few low words were spoken, and he could catch none of them. At last he pulled himself together and pushed the door open softly. Not Randy, but Lav Tarleton, sat smoking.
“I've been waiting for you,” said Lav.
“I didn't know you had come. Where's Cliff?”
“He decided not to come.”
“Do you mean to take Randy Ross on by yourself?” Bell inquired.
“Yes, if I meet him, but—”
“But what?”
“Who killed Asa Ross?”
Again that question smote Bell in the face. This time it turned his face to flaming rage, but before Lav could read it, it changed to the cold, smooth, lying mask.
“Why, I—I don't know who killed him, He was killed in a gun fight.”
“Were Pate Ross and old Leck killed in a gun fight, too?”
“Certainly. What difference does it make to you how those fellows were killed? They're dead and it's luck for us that they are. You know who killed your brother Ben. It was the Ross outfit. Two of them are still living, and you and Cliff would be strange brothers if you didn't get them as quick as you can, before they bushwhack you, like they did your father.”
“We thought that yesterday. We've changed our minds. We're not going to hunt them. If we meet Randy or his father, we'll let things take their course.”
Bell went white with the stress of his situation, Nothing but quick action could save Silver Bend and Zella for him. True to his nature, he became cooler than ever in the face of disaster. All was not lost yet. He had other tricks in his bag. Lighting a cigar, he invited Lav to take a drink.

### CHAPTER VIII.
#### Dangling Scarecrows.

THE Railroad ranch stirred early that morning, despite the fact that neither Randy nor his father had slept much. Things may or may not have looked different to Railroad. To Randy there had been no change, for he had not slept enough to make a curtain between the two days.
He had some plans himself and he was going to work on them. Bell Holderness and Lav Tarleton had got two of his men the day before. On the other hand, he and his men with him had scored a few times themselves. Dolly had got the man Red, in the thicket. Then they had got three more and crippled one in the running fight at sunset. Then crowning the day's work, he and Dolly had hanged Bill Hayden. Five in all.
Decidedly, they had won a trick in the game of war. The chief winning had been gaining positive knowledge of what the mess was all about. He was going to hang Steve Holderness if he could lay hands on him, for the murder of Asa, but he was bitterer against Bell than Steve. It might be that Steve had thought he was avenging his father, but with Bell, who was engineering the war, it was just a matter of greed, avarice and lust.
Randy quivered at the thought. Like all jealous people, he wanted to hurt both the persons who caused his jealousy. He wanted to kill Bell Holderness, meant to kill him. He also wanted to humiliate Zella. Not that she could ever be anything to him again, he thought, but he wanted her to suffer for her lack of faith in him.
At that moment he thought he no longer loved Zella, and wondered that he had ever loved her. It was in this bitter frame of mind that he gave the other men orders to work the cattle on the prairie, riding in pairs, and keeping a close watch. Then turning to Dolly, he said:
“Better get plenty of bread and meat in our saddle pockets. I don't know when we'll be back.”
Dolly had obeyed, thoughtfully. No song had passed the lips of the usually happy little puncher since Sankey had stopped him that first day. He, too, had slept little. Randy's bitterness against Zella had set him thinking. He felt sure that if Zella knew Randy was innocent, she would fly to his arms. She might easily be convinced of Randy's innocence, but Randy had gone wild. Would he ever forgive the girl? With such thoughts in his mind, Dolly mounted and rode away with Randy.
Railroad Ross was old, but he was far from dead. He had one boy left. He felt that there might be one more little burst of speed in him. Since burying his two sons, he had sat around the house, unwilling to leave his good wife alone with her grief. His old heart had been driven too hard and was in bad shape, but his head was still all right and he had spent the night in thought. It was not enough to save Randy's life, if he could not save the boy from the bitterness that gripped his soul.
He watched Randy and Dolly ride away toward where they had left Bill Hayden hanging in the tree. A man had to be pretty bitter to want to go back and look at a thing like that. The men were mounting, when Railroad called old Con Bates and Sankey aside, and let the others go on.
“Con,” he said, “you and Sankey have been with me a long time. The old Railroad is about on the rocks. You've been in messes with me before, but never one like this. The Holderness boys have picked up a new breed of killers that has drifted into that Indian country from the four corners of the earth. They don't fight like cow-people, but we got to fight 'em. I just got one boy left. If he comes out of this alive, he'll be ruined, unless—”
Railroad stopped. He never liked to tell his men too much. Presently, he went on.
“I've been in this bend more than thirty years. I've never trespassed on the other side of the river, but I may have to do it now. You saw the two fellows that were with the Holderness boys when they killed Asa, Con?”
“Yes, sir,” growled Con.
“One of 'em was a hatchet-faced, rat-mouthed, gimlet-eyed fellow they called Bud, and the other was a handsome, gray-eyed devil they called Turk. Would you know 'em if you saw 'em?”
Yes, sir.”
“Well, I want them two fellows and I want 'em alive and well. If they can be got, you two can get 'em. It may take an hour, or it may take a month. Get 'em and bring 'em here as quick as you can.”
THE two wrinkled old riders mounted and rode away, not saying what they meant to do. Railroad had not definitely ordered them to go into the Indian country; but they understood him.
Railroad watched them ride north, toward the bottom of the Silver Bend bottle. He knew they were going into danger, but danger meant little to such men. If it were not for leaving his wife alone, he'd mount and ride with them. His heart might play out on him, but it would be in a good cause.
Knowing Railroad's long-standing policy of keeping to his own side of Red River, Bell had felt that his gang were safe as long as they stayed on their own side. Some one had got Hayden and hanged him, but Hayden must have disobeyed orders and suffered for it the same as Sam had.
Bell sat in the cottonwood, gnawing at his mustache, and trying to evolve a new plan, concoct a new lie, that would drive the Tarleton boys on to hunt Randy and kill him. If he had guessed just how much Randy Ross knew, and just how different he was from the old Randy, Bell would not have been so cool. Unmindful of everything, he went on, planning his next move in this perilous game.
Randy and Dolly rode west from the Railroad and entered the timber. They had seen no one, when they reached the river at the ford where the battle had taken place the evening before. This ford was just below the cottonwood thicket where so much mischief had been done. Directly across from the lower end of the thicket, Bill Hayden still swung in the wind, in plain view from the other side of the river. As they sat their horses behind a screen of brush, Dolly said:
“Shore quiet in the Bend this morning. Ain't heard a sound. Seems like hangin' that gent up has worked like it does on crows. My daddy used to kill crows and hang 'em up around his melon patch. A crow wouldn't come in a mile of it, as long as they hung there.”
“Easy on the talking!” warned Randy. “Yonder they come.”
Three men rode down to the ford on the opposite side of the river. Two of them were leading pack horses. The other rider was Steve Holderness. Steve sat on his horse, while the other two men picked the bodies up from the ground and lashed them to the pack saddles. They had finished the job and were ready to go, when one of them glanced up and across the river.
“Good God! Look yonder!” he cried. “It's Bill Hayden, hanging by the neck!”
On the Railroad side of the river, Dolly fingered his gun. “I can get Steve now,” he said.
“No!” Randy growled. “Let him alone. I don't want him shot. I'm going to hang him.”
Steve Holderness caught an eyeful of the tight rope performance, and hastily wheeled his horse into the brush, calling to the others to come on. Randy, and Dolly sat watching until they all disappeared into the dense bottom.
“They won't be so thick around this neighborhood now,” said Rand, grimly. “Come on. Let's go across and see what we can find.”
Crossing the river, they followed the trail of the five horses over the soft, bottom soil. Twice they glimpsed the Holderness men through the trees, and stopped behind convenient trunks until the others went on. Climbing out of the bottom onto a stretch of open woods they came to the road that led from Willow Mills to the H Bar. Here the two H Bar men turned north with their gruesome pack-horses, and Steve galloped south toward town. It was then that Steve carried the news to Bell.
“We've let 'em get plumb away!” said Dolly, in a tone of disappointment.
“No, we haven't. It's Steve that we are after. He's gone somewhere to tell the news. He'll be back.”
THEY turned across to where the road dipped into the bottom again, rode into a dense thicket and stopped.
“Here's where we do some bushwhacking on our own account,” muttered Randy. “Damn that Holderness and Tarleton gang. I'll teach them some tricks at their own game.”
Dolly shuddered at the venom in Randy's tone. It had reached the point that the little cowboy shuddered every time Randy mentioned the name of Tarleton.
An hour passed in silent listening, after that. Then they heard the thud of galloping hoofs, coming along the road from the Willow Mills crossing on the river.
“Get set! ordered Randy.
The horseman came storming on. He was fairly abreast of the thicket when Randy's gun crashed. The horse faltered, stopped and fell. Steve Holderness rolled clear and sprang to his feet, but he was looking into two guns.
“Get your hands up!” snapped Randy. “Take his gun, Dolly. Get a horn-string and tie his hands behind him.”
“What's the idea, Randy?” whimpered Steve, as he stood bound.
For reply, Randy threw a rope over a big limb that projected across the road.
“You—you ain't goin' to hang me, Randy?”
“Why not?”
“I—I got a family, and—”
“Asa had some brothers and a father and a mother,” said Randy.
“I—I didn't kill Asa. It was Bell. Let me go, and I'll tell you all about it. Bell is back of this mess. I'll tell you what he wants, and tell you what he aims to do—before he does it!”
“I know what he aims to do. Let him do it, if he can. Rope him, Dolly.”
There was one wild, gurgling scream, and Steve Holderness swung above the road, in his death struggle.
“That 'll do for to-day,” Randy said, thoughtfully, as they crossed the river into Silver Bend. “I haven't slept much the last few nights, and I'm about all in. That 'll give the Holderness and Tarleton gang something to think about, as soon as they find it out. They'll find it out, too, for somebody will be going from the H Bar to keep Bell advised about what is going on over here.”
There were but two safe places that they could rest. One of these was the ranch house. Randy didn't want to go there. He wanted to be alone with his bitterness and his hate.
To be with Dolly was as near being alone as it was possible to be in human company, for he rarely spoke now unless he was spoken to.
The only other safe place was out on the prairie, where no one could ride up on them unseen. Already, Randy was becoming a wild man in some ways. He had been advised that Bell Holderness and the Tarleton boys were hunting him, and he had become watchful.
It was well after noon when they stopped at a clump of trees on a high point, far out on the prairie. They ate a little lunch, then rolled smokes. Suddenly, Dolly stretched out on the ground, and in an instant, fell asleep.
Randy looked at the little puncher in surprise. He himself was not in the least sleepy, though he had slept very little for three nights. He had heard that insane people didn't sleep, and wondered if his own mind was unbalanced. No, he told himself, he was not crazy—yet.
Randy supposed that Dolly had simply been overcome by need of sleep, and couldn't stay awake. The fact was that it was some time before Dolly really went to sleep. He had feigned sleep deliberately, for he knew Randy would have to sleep some time, and Dolly wanted to be awake, and very much awake, when that young man finally succumbed to the demands of nature.
RANDY had plenty of time to think undisturbed. He watched Dolly as he lay sleeping, as peacefully as if nothing had happened to excite his mind, This little man had done much for him. Had it not been for Dolly, he would have gone on a debauch the night his brothers were killed. Had it not been for Dolly, he would never have been man enough to face this situation.
And so his thoughts ran on, taking all the incidents for the last three days. It was far toward night when Dolly opened his baby blue eyes, looked about him, and glanced at the sun.
“Reckon I must have slept a nap.”
“About four hours,” said Randy. “We'd better ride from here if we want to get home before night.”
They rode back into Silver Bend, seeing no one as they went. When they came out on the little prairie, they saw four riders just approaching the ranch. Two of them they recognized as Con and Sankey. The other two, they didn't know. When they reached the ranch, old Railroad was talking to the two strangers, whom Randy recognized as the man called Bud and the one called Turk, who had been at the round-up with the Holderness boys.
“What do you want with us?” demanded Turk.
“I don't know yet,” drawled old Railroad. “I don't aim to hang you for awhile. If you tell the truth, I may not hang you at all.”
“That sounds fair,” smiled the handsome Turk, while Bud scowled and darted a vicious look from his gimlet eyes. “What's this truth you want told about?”
“Who killed Asa, who killed Ben Tarleton, and who shot the judge?”
“Don't you know?”
“Yes, we know, but we want to see if you fellows would rather tell the truth about it than be hanged.”
“Don't squeal, Turk!” snarled Bud. “They don't know nothin'.”
“Maybe not,” laughed Turk, “but I'd rather be a live welcher than a dead stayer. Shoot your questions, Mr. Ross, one at a time.”
“All right. Who killed Asa?”
“Steve.”
“Who killed Ben?”
“Bell Holderness.”
“Who shot Judge Tarleton ”
“Red Mangus.”
“You know all that, do you?”
“Yes, sir. I saw Steve and Bell do the killing, and I was in ten feet of Red, when he shot the judge, and got shot for his trouble. I didn't even tell anybody Red was dead. I don't believe in laying in the brush and potting people.”
“Is he telling the truth, Bud?”
“Oh, hell! Yes, that's right.”
“All right. There's a new log smoke-house with a door that you can't break. I'm going to put you in there, give you grub and blankets, and lock the door. When I call on you again, if you tell the same story, I may turn you loose. If you don't—”
Randy listened to all this without a word. When the men were locked in and he and his father went to the house, he asked:
“What was the idea of all that? We know we didn't shoot Judge Tarleton. What difference does it make, anyway? We'll have to shoot the judge and the boys, all three, whenever we meet them. Better hang these two, while you can.”
“I give 'em my word, Randy, and my word's generally pretty good. They've got some law on this side of the river, and we're apt to need witnesses before this mess is over.”
Randy didn't believe his father was likely to pay much attention to law in a mess like this, but he didn't argue the matter. Instead, he said:
“All right. We'll talk about that in the morning. I didn't know I was sleepy until right now. I want to eat something and go to bed.”
Railroad didn't insist on knowing what had happened that day. In half an hour Randy was asleep in bed. He couldn't have kept awake even if he had known what would happen while he slept—and he didn't know.
TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.