The Project Gutenberg eBook of Empty bottles
    
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Title: Empty bottles

Author: Raymond S. Spears

Illustrator: V. E. Pyles

Release date: June 29, 2024 [eBook #73941]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: The Butterick Publishing Company

Credits: Roger Frank and Sue Clark


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMPTY BOTTLES ***



                            EMPTY BOTTLES

                         By RAYMOND S. SPEARS

      What use had any six foot man for an empty one quart bottle?


A rather large, awkward man shambled into the One Way Thru Saloon,
sidled over to the bar and addressed Cock Eye Baer, the mixer. His voice
was so low that Cock Eye leaned to hear and then asked for repetition of
the nearly voiceless words.

“I want a bottle!” the man blurted out.

“Oh, yeh!” The bartender grinned fatly. “The question now is, gent, how
big a bottle?”

“A quart!”

“A man’s size--and now what liquor’ll you have in it?”

The familiar patrons were listening. The visitor was plainly modest, at
least before beginning his drinks; but in buying by the bottleful he
would obtain more liquor for much less money. And there was a certain
aspect which indicated that the visitor was not quite familiar with the
lingo or the customs of this business place. He had asked for a
bottle--not for a quart of liquor. He was a long time coming to the
point, too.

“Why, if you please, I don’t want no liquor; I want an empty bottle!”

“An _empty_ bottle?”

“Yes, sir!” the awkward fellow said, deprecatorily, “I want it
clean--you know--no whisky or anything--”

“As though whisky ever soiled the insides of a bottle!” some one
exclaimed sorrowfully.

“Go in back!” The bartender lifted his flat nose. “Lotsa bottles out
there!”

The man went through into the yard. He returned, smelling alternately of
two flat quart bottles, one white, the other brown. They smelled of
whisky and he rinsed them many times, finally taking the white one with
him down the street.

The saloon crowd watched him take his departure.

“What d’ye make of him?” one asked snortily.

“What he needs is a nipple to go on that bottle!” Cock Eye grinned.

The laughter of the listeners was loud, prolonged, and terminated by a
serious round of drinks. Cock Eye was always good that way. He talked
brightly and smartly. After several had bought, the bartender served a
drink on the house. And then a man came in the front door. The boys
gathered around him, made sure he had a drink and then all of them told
him what Cock Eye had said when a fellow took an empty bottle out the
front door, instead of a full one. It was awfully funny, but Cock Eye
had to elucidate his wit himself, because none of the explainers had
exactly the lingo and tang with which to tell the story.

                   *       *       *       *       *

The following afternoon along Butte Street Cock Eye, who was off for the
day, saw the awkward fellow coming down the side of the square,
shambling. The bartender grinned reminiscently so that the stranger
angled over and addressed him.

“I don’t know’f I thanked ye for that bottle,” the man said. “I had to
have it for a baby a lady had down’t the camp. You see, you fill it full
of pretty middlin’ warm water an’ when the kid has the stomach ache you
put the bottle on the stomach, which warms it. Course you wrap it in
rags.”

“Quite an idea!” Cock Eye approved. “Tha’s all right! But why’d you want
it clean for that?”

“I didn’t know they was going to put warm water in it. I thought it was
for feedin’ or something.”

“’Tain’t your lady had the baby?”

“No, sir, ’taint. There’s a sickly feller there, the husband, I expect.
An old woman come over to my wagon about a bottle. So I come up an’ got
it. I’m just lookin’ around myself.”

Cock Eye went on his way. He rolled in his mind this new opportunity. By
the time night had come and he was in his white apron behind the bar, he
was ready for the boys to come in, which they did in due course.

“Say,” he said, “’member that feller come in last night to get a
bottle--empty? Well, I met’m up the street today. He did want it for a
baby. There’s a lady had a kid down’t the strollers’ camp and an old
woman sent him for it, so’s they could put warm water into it, to warm
the baby’s stomach when it ached.”

“Say, ain’t that funny? You did hit it, didn’t you, Cock Eye? You jes’
knowed it was for a baby-- Huh! Water, too. Say, tha’s funny, ain’t it?
Cock Eye spots a feller wants an empty bottle f’r a baby. What’d he want
a clean bottle f’r, anyhow?”

“He didn’t know’t was for a warmer. He thought it was to feed the kid
out of. Old woman sent him for it. He come here.”

“Tha’s funny--come here f’r an empty bottle!” one of the boys laughed.
“Le’s have a drink!”

                   *       *       *       *       *

Around the Square in Boxelder the boys told about Cock Eye, the empty
bottle and the stroller down at the campground, where there was a lady
had a baby. The stranger again came uptown and shambled to the Emporium,
went to the post office and headed down the creek to the camp, his arms
carrying packages. He was pointed out, and people laughed. He was the
fellow who asked Cock Eye for an empty bottle. That was funny. He wanted
it to put on a baby’s stomach, too.

“Who are you?” The city marshal, Pete Culder, softened his insult to the
stranger by adding, “If it’s any of my business?”

“Why, my name’s Frank Hesbern,” the man answered readily enough. “I’m
kind of looking around for a new country to settle in.”

“Understand you got a baby with the stomach ache?”

“Me? Oh, my, no! ’Tain’t my baby. I never did get to marry. It’s a
lady’s. She’s camped on the flat. The man he’s sickly. The old lady
asked me to get an empty flat bottle to put on the kid’s stomach, tha’s
all.”

“I see--” Culder nodded--“that’s funny!”

“What?” Hesbern’s gray eyes squinted. “The baby was crying, sir. They
wanted to put warm water on its stomach, ’count of the ache.”

The city marshal laughed and strolled on while Hesbern watched him
wonderingly. Thereafter in the days that followed, sometimes one,
sometimes five or six inquirers would speak to the stroller, asking him
about the empty bottle. After listening to the explanation they would
say:

“That’s funny!”

Then they would go on their way, leaving the awkward stranger puzzled
more and more.

                   *       *       *       *       *

One day Cock Eye, waddling on his short legs and with his rotund stomach
protruding, was again strolling around the square in the afternoon. It
chanced that he met Hesbern, who greeted him.

“Say, mister,” the stroller asked, “What’s there funny about me getting
an empty bottle?”

Cock Eye bristled angrily.

“Who you talkin’ to?” he demanded.

Hesbern’s gray eyes looked wonderingly into the man’s face, steady,
narrowing and losing their sparkle in an odd, moon colored opacity.

“Ten-twelve fellers told me you said it was funny,” Hesbern answered
quietly. “I want to know why?”

Cock Eye’s face swelled a blotchy white, red and purple.

“What’s it to ye?” Cock Eye cried, his voice rising from a growl into a
shrill hawklike shriek, which attracted attention far and wide.

“I got that empty bottle for a baby with the stomach ache,” Hesbern
declared. “An old woman ast me to, so’s they could put it on the kid,
account of the lady what had it being in bed, an’ her man sickly. I
don’t see nothin’ funny in a baby having the stomach ache.”

“I don’t care a damn if you do or not!” Cock Eye snarled.

“Uh-huh!” Hesbern grunted, going on his way with two store bundles under
his arm.

“Hey, you!” Cock Eye called after him. “I wanta know what’s aching you
’bout me? Anyhow, you mind yer own business ’bout me!”

Hesbern turned to gaze at the short, thick, angry man.

“Course,” Hesbern answered presently, “I mind my own business. I always
do, mister. I’ve been hearin’ some talk, tha’s all.”

“I don’t care what ye hear!” Cock Eye growled into a shriek.

“Tha’s what I thought!” Hesbern said shortly, and the bartender’s lower
jaw dropped.

                   *       *       *       *       *

That night instead of just a few of the boys coming into the One Way
Thru Saloon, the place was crowded. About every one had come out. Cock
Eye Baer, with flat face and glowering eyes, served the drinks, very
tart in his few words.

“Hear that stroller insulted you, Cock Eye?” a newcomer inquired.
“What’d he say?”

“Why, he ast me what’s funny about that empty bottle! I told ’im to mind
his own business, bellyaching around. I stood right up to him an’ tol’
’im I didn’t care what he thought! An’, by Gawd, he said he didn’t care
what I thought! I’m gettin’ sick of him standing up to me thataway. I
don’t have ta take anything from him, I don’t!”

“Tha’s right, Cock Eye!” the listeners exclaimed. “Don’tcha let ’im
bluff you a dad blamed inch, no sir!”

“Don’t worry ’bout me!” Cock Eye snorted. “He won’t be the first man
I’ve handled.”

“Tha’s so, Cock Eye!” approved City Marshal Culder who had dropped in
for a warm. “That feller’s got a bad eye. I could see’t when I talked to
’im.

“I’ll look, Marshall. Trust me!” Cock Eye allowed himself to grin a bit.
“All I want’s you to testify to that to the inquest.”

“You bet, old boy!” Culder shook his head. “I got an eye on ’im myself!
You c’n see he’s thinking something, the way he steps off.”

                   *       *       *       *       *

Saturday night in Boxelder was an occasion boisterous and full of life.
Music from crowded dance halls, whoops from exuberant men, the rustling
of an active throng filled the community around Court House Square with
jubilee. Just after ten o’clock when an unusual throng had come in, due
to cattle droving exigencies, with nesters, homesteaders and bad land
scatterers all at hand, an agile little fellow with a face pointed like
a rat’s, dashed into the One Way Thru Saloon and, stooping low, hissed
to Cock Eye Baer for attention.

“I say, Cock Eye!” he whispered. “Com’ere!”

“What’s it?” Cock Eye leaned to listen.

“I jes’ seen that Stroller Hesbern goin’ inta the Claybank Delight
Saloon. My lan’! He looked hateful!”

“Liquorin’ up?”

“Yeh; he bought a big bottle, two quart. I seen it!”

“Much obliged, Skinny,” Cock Eye said. “I’ll remember that. I don’t
ferget favors.”

Cock Eye ran his hand under the bar, where he had a long barreled .45
revolver, and made sure that there were loads in it. A minute later
another man came in, leaning over and whispering to the bartender:

“Look out, Cock Eye! That stroller bought two quarts to the Claybank--”

“Aw right, Sam! I’m ready!”

Then two men came in from the alley, hurrying.

“Say, that feller Hesbern bought two quarts down to the Claybank, er
somers. We seen ’im _emptyin’_ it out back jes’ now!”

“Pretendin’ to liquor up, eh?” Cock Eye grimaced. “An’ keepin’ steady,
eh--huh!”

“That’s so,” an awed whisper ran around, some one saying, “Better get
set, Cock Eye!”

The bartender swallowed obviously, his beady little eyes rolling in
their fat sockets. He took a couple of slugs himself. He needed a
bracer. He was a humorist, not a fighting man. At the same time he
wasn’t deficient when it came to a showdown. He’d bashed in a man’s
skull, served as a bouncer innumerable times, and had come clear on the
charge of shooting Dingo Washington in self-defense. He wouldn’t back
down in face of necessity. He hung up his apron, and the proprietor of
the One Way Thru quietly took the bartender’s place, spelling him.

Grimly, looking neither to right nor left, Cock Eye Baer sallied forth
into the darkness of the alleys. No one followed him. Men sauntered
casually out into the gloom and stood, listening. Then they heard two
shots, almost together, but none could tell by the echoes from blank
walls and bad land bluffs just whence came the sounds.

                   *       *       *       *       *

In a few minutes the One Way Thru Saloon was crowded to overflowing,
every one waiting expectantly. Cock Eye Baer did not return in ten
minutes, nor in half an hour. In an hour or two men went scouting
cautiously around in the alleys. But it was dawn before any one learned
anything of importance. Then on the shortcut path down to the strollers’
camp ground City Marshal Pete Culder found Cock Eye lying dead with a
bullet buried in his thick chest, driven in the direction of his heart.
In Cock Eye’s hand, held in _rigor mortis_ was his heavy revolver, with
one bullet gone from its cylinder.

“Doggone! I knowed that Hesbern’s bad!” Culder gasped. “I’ll go down to
find ’im, ’f I can!”

He hurried to the strollers’ campground, where the strangers usually
stopped. He saw Hesbern’s wagon and his two heavy draft horses staked in
the grass on the creek bottom; but Hesbern’s saddlehorse, a beauty, was
nowhere in sight.

The city marshal went over to the outfit where the strangers had been
delayed by a baby and by the sickness of a man.

“Where’s Hesbern?” the city marshal demanded of the weak but
convalescent man.

“Why, Marshal--” the man shook his head--“I don’t know. Las’ night my
wife’s mother broke a bottle we had to put on the baby’s stomach to keep
it warm, an’ Mr. Hesbern went uptown to git another. My wife figured a
two quart’n ’d be better, and so he brought one back, a big ’n. He
seemed kinda excited, nervous, swearin’ to himself. Same time he didn’t
say anythin’, exceptin’ he kissed the baby. My lan’! He sure favored
we’ns! I don’t know what we’d done, me sickly, my wife took bad an’ that
new baby, ’thout him. Him never married, too--an’ he saddled his horse
to ride away down the branch. He ast if we’d get along right, ’fore he
went. Course, I c’n git around, now. He left this order to look after
his outfit, account of him gettin’ important news.”

City Marshal Culder returned to Boxelder Court House Square. He told the
sheriff, coroner and prosecutor what he knew. They had a jury sit over
Cock Eye Baer’s remains, and they rather side-stepped the question of
who, why and whence the killing. That night in the One Way Thru Saloon
the boys gathered sorrowfully along the bar, staring at Cock Eye’s
apron, spotted, large and limp, hanging right where Cock Eye himself had
hung it, just the other night.

“Poor Cock Eye!” City Marshal Culder shook his head. “We’re goin’ to
miss that boy, yes, indeedy!”

“That’s so-- Don’t seem possible, does it!”

Another shook his head.

“My lan’, he was funny, too, the way he talked!” another sighed. “I tell
you, he was awfully bright, that old boy!”

“Yeh! ’Member that one he got off the night Frank Hesbern come in?
Hesbern, he wanted an empty bottle, an’ Cock Eye he said afterwards what
Hesbern needed was a nipple on to it; yes, sir, that’s what he said! My
golly, but the way he said it was comical. No sir! Long’s I live I’ll
never forget it!”

“Well, boys! Le’s drink to Cock Eye Baer,” the proprietor said. “It’s on
the house. Bright of tongue; everybody’s friend; always all there; big
hearted and square dealing. He could crack a joke an’ handle a
situation. A man’s man, old Cock Eye! He lived on the level an’ he died
in his boots. Here’s how, old boy! May you rest easy where you lie
tonight! It’s a deep sleep ye’re in. Here’s hoping you’ll awaken with a
smile on yer lips an’ a joke on yer tongue!”

“Doggone!” somebody choked. “I can’t believe Cock Eye’s daid! It don’t
seem possible!”


[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the July 1, 1928 issue of
_Adventure_ magazine.]





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