Mason of Bar X Ranch. Bennett Henry Holcomb
thinks he’s the only thing that ever stepped in boots when it comes to riding a horse,” declared Red testily.
“I don’t see why those two men you speak of should have anything against Miss Josephine,” said Mason, breaking a long silence.
“I can explain that,” replied Red with a chuckle, “one of these men goes by the name of Tom Powers. He came from the East, and is well educated. He had the nerve to try to make love to her, and one day he became offensive. Then she turned him down cold and he got sore on her. The other cuss is a half-breed Mexican, and goes by the name of Pete Carlo. He went to work with Powers for the Bar X outfit.”
“The only thing Pete can do well is to throw the reata,” broke in Scotty.
“Yes, he’s a fiend at that stunt,” assented Red. “Buck Miller is the only man on the range that’s got a chance with Pete. They had a contest a short time ago, and Buck got an even break with him. I expect – ”
Red broke off suddenly and stared hard to the right. Mason following his gaze saw a girl on horseback. She was too far off for him to make out her features, but he could see that she sat her horse with perfect ease, and was riding at a moderate pace.
Scotty saw her at the same instant, and pulled his horse sharply to the right as he whistled shrilly to her. The girl looked around and raised her hand in recognition, then bending low in the saddle she urged her horse at a breakneck pace.
“Miss Josephine herself,” exclaimed Red with a broad grin. “She’s spotted us and wants to beat us in.”
Scotty had accepted the challenge and the race was on. Soon both riders were lost to vision in a cloud of dust.
“It’s two miles from here to the ranch, and Scotty ain’t got a chance to overtake her,” Red said at last. Mason heaved a sigh of relief when Red soon after pointed out the ranch to him. It was a large roomy building with a wide porch and immense cottonwood trees for shade. Mason dismounted and followed Red who was leading his horse to the corral.
CHAPTER II – THE GIRL
Red Sullivan, having secured both horses, started with Mason to the house. As they neared the porch they heard the girl talking in a tone of reproof to Scotty. He was twirling his hat like an awkward school boy. Red stopped Mason and whispered:
“Jack, if you want to hear a man get called down right and proper, listen. That’s her father on the porch,” he added.
Mason drew back and watched the scene with keen amusement.
“Scotty!” the girl was saying, “you have been drinking, I’m ashamed of you, and of all times when you should have kept sober. What will this gentleman from New York think of us?” she demanded imperiously.
Suddenly catching sight of Mason she turned swiftly and entered the house. Red was fairly exploding with laughter at Scotty’s discomfiture.
“Come on, Jack,” he said with a grin. “I’ll make you acquainted with Mr. Walters.”
Scotty had started for the corral. As he was passing them Red could not restrain from a sly dig.
“Guess I was right on that call down stuff, eh?”
Scotty scowled and strode past him without a word.
Red introduced Mason to the owner of the ranch. Mr. Walters was a tall and powerfully built man with a face tanned and wrinkled from long exposure to sun and wind.
“So, you are Mason’s boy, eh?” he said, shaking hands with a vise-like grip. “Glad to meet you. Used to know your dad years ago back East. Hope you will like this country, great air and will do you all kinds of good.”
Mason took to him on the instant, for all of his bluff ways.
“Jack, come into the house; no, wait a minute and I’ll make you acquainted with my daughter. Josephine,” he called in a stentorian voice.
“Yes, coming, Daddy,” came the answer in bell-like tones. Suddenly the girl appeared at the door. Mason gave a start of surprise. When he first saw her on the porch with her father she was dressed in riding habit, but now she wore a dress of some fluffy creation such as the girls of his acquaintance wore back East. It was a delicate shade of blue and matched her hair which was a golden brown. Her eyes were of a grayish blue.
Taken by surprise, he could only stammer through the introduction which her father made. The girl was quick to see his distress and said:
“Daddy, you show Mr. Mason to his room while mother and I see about supper.”
“You must be about famished,” she added, turning to Mason with an arch smile.
He had recovered his composure to some extent by this time, saying, “I am somewhat hungry, Miss Walters, and accept your invitation to supper with pleasure.”
The girl hastily withdrew to help her mother in the kitchen.
“She’s a thoroughbred,” declared her father, gazing after her fondly.
While being conducted to his room, Mason attempted to show Mr. Walters the letter of introduction which his father had given him, but the ranch owner wouldn’t consider it.
“Guess I know your father well enough to recognize his son.”
After a wash and a change of clothes, Mason felt refreshed. Making his way downstairs he was presented to Mrs. Walters. It was a merry party that gathered around the supper table. Red, having been invited, told some stories with such droll wit that he kept Mason laughing throughout the meal. The girl was an interested listener and occasionally put in a word. She appeared anxious to make the Easterner feel at home. After supper the party sat on the porch while the ranch owner entertained his guest with tales of life on the range.
A little later the ranch owner excused himself, saying he was getting old and must retire early to bed. The girl coaxed her mother to remain up a little longer and soon the three were talking on general subjects. The open-hearted hospitality of these Western people was pleasing to Mason, and that night after retiring to his room, he confessed to himself that he was beginning to look upon his new career with growing favor.
The next morning he awoke to find the sun streaming in his window, and hearing sounds of activity below, he dressed hastily. Going downstairs he was greeted with a cheery good morning from Mrs. Walters who was busily preparing the morning meal.
“Breakfast will be ready in about half an hour, and you can look around a bit if you wish,” she announced.
“Josephine is outdoors somewhere,” she added.
Mason nodded pleasantly and started for a walk to the corral. As he turned the corner of the house he came across a sight that filled him with amusement. It was the girl; she was romping with a great St. Bernard dog.
Quickening his pace, he soon came up to her.
“Good morning, Miss Walters,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
The girl looked up quickly, exclaiming,
“Oh, it’s you, Sir New Yorker. Well, I wish to make a bargain with you. You may call me Josephine and I’ll call you Jack.”
“That goes,” he agreed, falling in with her humor.
The girl was fondling her dog again and Mason murmured softly,
“Love me, love my dog.”
“What did you say?” the girl asked, looking up brightly.
He smiled and shook his head.
“Well, it was something about a dog,” she declared.
“You must be great friends with my dog. His name is Rover. Shake hands with the gentleman, Rover.”
The dog offered a huge paw, which Mason shook in solemn friendship.
“There,” declared the girl gaily, “you now have a friend for life.”
“What I would like to know,” he questioned, “is where all the cowboys keep themselves?”
“Oh,”