Mason of Bar X Ranch. Bennett Henry Holcomb
temple. The girl was deathly pale and watched the stricken man anxiously, as with tender care she loosened his shirt at the front. Bud’s face was set tense as he bent over and examined the wound.
“Bullet just creased him,” he announced briefly, his face lighting up. “He will be all right in an hour or two.”
Josephine’s heart leaped at the words. She had a deep admiration for this Easterner who had come among them to fight life’s battle anew. She shuddered as she realized how close the bullet had struck. Then a wave of reaction seized her and she trembled violently.
Bud had noticed her agitation and said kindly,
“Come, girl, this is no place for you. I will take you to the house.”
On his return, Mason had partly recovered and was talking with the ranch owner, who had bound up his wound. Mason smiled feebly as Bud came up to them.
“Fool stunt of mine to topple over the way I did,” he said, feeling of the bandage gingerly.
“Not so,” Bud protested quickly, while admiring the other’s iron nerve. “That was a close call you had, son. Lucky for you the halfbreed’s aim was bad.”
“I seem to get in bad all around,” Mason answered ruefully.
“The ranch owner tells me that Powers has cleared out, too,” he added.
“Glad of it,” Bud growled, “hope my men run that greaser down, but they ain’t got much of a chance, with him on Josephine’s horse.”
Late that night the men came trooping in. They had been thrown off the trail when darkness set in, but all vowed they would get the halfbreed if it took them all summer. They were overjoyed when told that Mason would be all right in a day or two. He had won them all by his exhibition of strength and nerve, and they would fight for him to the last man. Bud questioned the cowboys about their hunt for the halfbreed, and Buck Miller, acting as spokesman, gave his opinion that when they lost the halfbreed’s trail he was making for Devil’s Gap and would circle back to the Ricker ranch.
“We’ll pay Mr. Ricker a visit,” Bud said grimly, his gray eyes flashing.
“This is the halfbreed’s revenge for your knocking him down that day at Trader’s Post, Jack,” he added.
The following day as the cowboys were starting out to track the halfbreed down, Scotty, who had made an early trip to the Post, thrust a letter in Mason’s hand. It was from his father, and hastily tearing it open he read the contents.
The letter read:
My dear Son:
In reply to your letter I will say that I am greatly concerned about you after reading its contents, and believe you to be in great danger. In brief, this man Ricker you mention in your letter was an old schoolmate of mine. In my early days I was engaged in the lumber business and took Ricker in as my bookkeeper. I had always believed him to be honest, until one day I happened to be looking over the books and discovered evidence that false entries had been made. I had other clerks in my employee and they all came under my suspicion. I then hired a detective and had them watched. The thefts in money ran into the thousands and were traced directly to Ricker. He was a married man and the detective found that he had been spending money lavishly and far beyond his means. I had the matter hushed up as his wife was sickly, and instead of pressing the charge against him, I discharged him from my employ.
The shock of his exposure killed his wife, and he became morbid and several times threatened my life. He finally disappeared after warning me in a letter that in the future he would live only for revenge on me. It has been ten years since I last heard of him, and I had hoped that he was dead.
My son, be on your guard as I believe Ricker will try to strike me through you.
The best news I can send is that your mother and sister are making preparations to visit you soon.
I hear good news of you from Mr. Walters and I’m proud of you, my son.
Mason glanced up from his letter to find MacNutt regarding him with a curious expression in his eyes.
The strange man had taken a great liking to Mason, and the latter found himself in his company a good bit of his time. Mason had come to think that MacNutt wasn’t such a fool as most people seemed to take him for.
The leaders of the searching party were far in advance by this time and, as Mason intended to take part in the hunt, he pocketed his letter and called to MacNutt and Scotty. As they rode he explained the letter to them in detail.
“You have got to get this Ricker or he’ll get you,” Scotty said, after a long silence.
“But I haven’t even seen the man yet,” Mason protested.
“I heard Bud say this morning that we are going to call on that delightful gentleman,” MacNutt chirped up.
Scotty favored him with a warning scowl.
“You’ll have a chance to see him to-day, but I’m going to watch him sharp for he’s the quickest man in these parts with a gun,” Scotty declared, still keeping his eyes on MacNutt and frowning darkly.
The latter, not one bit abashed, was whistling gaily, and opened his eyes in child-like wonder at Scotty’s words. The cowboy mentally put him down as cracked. There was a stiff wind blowing and the sky was overcast with ominous looking clouds. The cowboy was casting an anxious eye on the horizon.
“We are going to get a hard storm before night,” he said uneasily.
“Do you get very hard storms in these parts?” queried MacNutt timidly.
“Well, rather,” drawled Scotty with a grin.
They were riding fast now, and had begun to overtake the party in front.
“Wo don’t want to be too far in the rear when they get to the ranch,” the Scot explained, as he urged his horse faster.
The rest of the ride was made in silence, Mason turning over in his mind the news from his father.
Soon they were approaching the outbuildings of the ranch, and Mason’s blood tingled as he remembered his first experience on this ranch. The cowboys ahead had halted and were waiting for Mason and his party to come up.
“I am going right up and call Ricker out,” Bud said as they came within hearing distance, “and don’t none of you men pull a gun unless you see Ricker start to draw.” The men agreed, but there were sullen mutterings among them, and there was a doubt in Mason’s mind whether they would control themselves if the halfbreed showed himself.
Bud and the ranch owner with Scotty and Red Sullivan rode up to the house and knocked.
“What’s wanted?” a gruff voice called from within.
“I want to talk with you, Ricker,” Bud answered, recognizing the owner of the voice.
“Does it take a small army to come here and talk to me?” the same voice said with a snarl.
The door was flung violently open, and Ricker stood in the doorway with his arms folded across a brawny chest. There was a sarcastic smile on the man’s face as he sneered at Bud.
“Never mind the army,” Bud answered curtly, his eyes keenly watching for any move the other might make.
“I’m here to find out if that halfbreed Mexican you used to have working for you has showed up here in the last twenty-four hours.”
“How should I know anything about the greaser?” Ricker questioned with an oath. “Your employer hired him to work for the Bar X, didn’t he?”
“Yes, and a precious rascal he was,” the ranch owner replied bitterly.
“He shot at my guest, Mr. Mason here, and stole my daughter’s favorite horse. He’s a man after your own heart, Ricker.”
Ricker shot a hard look at Mason when the ranch owner mentioned his name. Bud was growing impatient.
“You haven’t answered