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 like 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 you 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 eyes, 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.