Bud picked up one of the largest pieces of the crushed glass bottle. The little phial appeared to have been filled with a sticky, yellowish substance, and the odor was not pleasant.
"Whew!" exclaimed Bud as he caught a strong whiff of it. "I wouldn't want to have to take any of that for medicine. Guess I'll ask Snake what he knows of Pocut Pete before I make any inquiries on my own hook. And I'll tell him he'd better bury this glass if he doesn't want to cut his own feet, or that of the others."
"Bunks all right?" asked Old Billee Dobb, as Bud emerged from the tent.
"All ready to turn in," was the answer.
"Which I'm going to do dark an' early," declared the old cowboy. "I have the late watch t'-night."
For it had been decided, with the coming of the additional steers from Square M, that it would be necessary to ride herd, as so many cattle in a bunch might engender a stampede. And at Old Billee's suggestion the night-riding was to start then, to break them in, so to speak.
Bud saw Pocut Pete standing by himself at the cook tent, Buck Tooth having been induced to open some cans of peaches, a form of fruit much in favor on western ranches where the fresh variety is unobtainable.
"You'd better clean up that glass you left in the bunk tent," Bud remarked in a low voice.
"What glass?" sharply demanded the other, and there was in his voice a note of defiance, the boy thought.
"The glass bottle you dropped, and I stepped on," Bud resumed, for he did not hesitate to give orders in his own camp.