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The Last Drop of Water
(Biograph)
By MARIE COOLIDGE RASK
"T'm going to get rid of that kid.
J He's been loafing around, raising Ned, generally, ever since his mother brought him out here. I'm tired of it. I told Matilda the very first thing, that I wouldn't be responsible for him, and I wont. ' '
The speaker brought his fist down on the table heavily. It was not often that Abner Harris raised his voice in protest, but when he did he waxed vehement.
"I've given that boy every chance in the world," he continued. "He might have settled down in the store here, and made good, but it wasn't in him. He 's too easily influenced. He cant stand being laughed at, and he wont be dictated to. He's off now with Ramsay's bunch of sheepmen, and the whole kit and caboodle will come back roaring drunk. I'll not stand for it. He can strike out tomorrow and get a job for himself. I'm done with him."
But for once, "the kid" did not return, as his uncle had expected. The sheepmen came, heralded by yells, maudlin songs, and the wild firing of revolvers, but the youngster was not among them. An unexpected series of events had combined to keep him out of mischief.
Johnnie Elliot, the gay, the popular one, the wildest yelling, the most reckless riding, the loudest blustering and readiest fighting boy in the neighborhood of Cat's Paw, had literally fallen into a pit. He didn't realize it himself, uncomfortable as the position was, for Mulligan's whisky was decidedly numbing in its effects. It usually sent a little red devil hounding Johnnie's footsteps, with whom he was wont to remonstrate vigorously, much to the delight of the carousing sheepmen.
They had shouted uproariously when they beheld the pedal extremi
ties of their young companion idly waving in the air, while head and arms were well submerged in the muck and filth of a veritable slough of despond. They reasoned not that if they left their capsized companion in that position a horrible death must soon result. They saw only the humor of the situation, and rode boisterously on to " shoot up the town, ' ' and spread the news of the miring of their companion.
All day long there had been a ripple of excitement at the Two-star Ranch. A letter had arrived, announcing that Mary, the pet of the household, was coming home from the academy where she had been a pupil for the past year.
"She'll be here Saturday, for sure, boys," called Jim Burgess, cheerily, as he carried the milk cans toward the dugout. "We'll have to get up a dance, I reckon, just to let her know we haven 't forgot her. ' '
There was no likelihood that Jim would ever forget Mary. The two had grown up together. His father's ranch had adjoined the Two-star. When Jim was six years old there had been an Indian uprising. A small band of Indians, separated from the main body, had surprised the little
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JIM AND JACK, RIVALS FOR MARY S HAND