Mason of Bar X Ranch. Bennett Henry Holcomb
I felt any better I couldn’t stand it, I’d be in the hospital,” he declared one day to the ranch owner, in answer to a query as to his health.
His thoughts often turned to home and at times he had to fight hard to overcome a fierce longing to chuck up the whole thing and return East to his old haunts and habits.
“But I won’t,” he gritted to himself, “I told Dad I’d be game, and I’ll stick. When I get that racing car of mine out here I’ll make the natives gasp.”
Then he remembered he had promised the girl he would teach her how to drive, and his thoughts grew tender, for he admitted to himself that he was growing in love with her each day. Then he thought of her deep friendship for Anderson and his face clouded.
Mason had started out alone this morning and was riding a horse given him by the ranch owner. He had determined to see the Ricker ranch and pay her owners a visit.
“If ever I get in a scrap with Bud it will be over Josephine,” he said aloud to his horse. “Still, he has always used me white, eh, Sport, old boy?”
The horse raised his ears as though in sympathy with his master.
Mason had been covering ground at a good clip while voicing expression to his thoughts. An hour later the dim outline of the Ricker ranch came into view. He intended to make a short stay at the ranch and then make for Trader’s Post. He wanted to send a hurry order home for his car which he had ordered the week before.
Mason slowed his horse down to a walk as he came up to the ranch and was eagerly scanning the premises for signs of life. A moment later he dismounted and tied his horse to a post of a low porch that ran the entire length of the ranch building. About the center of the porch there was a door leading into a spacious room filled with saddles, boots and other cowboy paraphernalia.
He boldly tried the door and found it unlocked.
A spirit of adventure seized him and he flung the door open and entered the room. As he did so, he failed to notice a misshapen creature, who had watched him with bright, gleaming eyes, disappear with lightning rapidity through a door at the end of the building.
The place seemed deserted, but what impressed Mason most was the fact that the boots, spurs and other trappings were richly studded and embossed.
“Hum,” mused Mason softly, “pretty swell outfit for a bunch of low down cattle thieves as Bud seems to think they are.”
He had about made up his mind to make a tour of all the rooms and had started towards a door leading into a hall when he heard a noise behind him.
“Move, and I shoot!” the command was fairly barked at him.
Quickly he raised his hands above his head, glancing over his shoulder as he did so.
Through a hole in the wall a bony hand produced, grasping a long blue-barreled Colt aimed directly at his head. Mason heard his captor fumbling with a lock and slowly a door swung outward revealing to his astonished gaze the most hideous-looking object he had ever set eyes upon. It was a hunchback with massive frame and great powerful arms that reached to his knees.
He advanced slowly towards Mason with a horrible leer on his lips, eyes twitching and bright with rage. Mason’s thoughts flew swiftly as he watched the hunchback close in on him.
He had come away from the ranch unarmed as he never had cared for the use of firearms. Now, he wished most heartily that he had taken Josephine’s advice when one day she had urged him to carry a gun.
“Guess I’ve got maw’s fool in a fuss,” he said grimly to himself as he braced his body for a struggle. “This thing is dippy or I’m foolish.”
When within a few feet of Mason the hunchback suddenly dropped his revolver and grappled with him.
Mason met the onslaught with a terrific swing to the dwarf’s jaw. Hard as the blow was, it did not seem to have any effect. Mason felt the bony hands of his assailant close about his throat with crushing force. Bright lights flashed before his eyes and he could hear the hunchback’s breath come and go in a sharp whistle. Mason realized the hunchback had him at a disadvantage, and allowing his body to become limp, he sank slowly to his knees. The ruse worked, for the hunchback released the strangle hold about his neck.
Like a flash Mason straightened up and throwing his left arm around his assailant’s neck he seized his right arm and exerting tremendous pressure forced it sharply up between his shoulder blades. It was the hammerlock and he soon had the hunchback begging for mercy.
Mason was thoroughly angered by this time and threw the loathsome creature into the corner, a groveling mass.
Picking up the gun he slipped it into his pocket.
“Why did you wish to take my life?” he demanded, gazing down at his fallen foe.
“I know you,” the dwarf grated in a cracked voice. “Your name is Mason, the new man at Walters’ ranch, and I got orders to watch you.”
“Why watch me?” Mason asked, his curiosity aroused.
“That’s for you to find out,” the dwarf answered, a crafty look coming into his eyes.
Mason suddenly whipped the gun out of his pocket and leveled it at the dwarf.
“Tell me the truth,” he commanded sternly.
“I thought you was trying to steal something, and there was nobody about and I was left to guard the place,” the dwarf whined.
“That’s a lie and you know it,” Mason retorted, his ire rising once more. “You claim you were told to watch me, who gave you those orders?”
Great beads of sweat stood out on the dwarf’s ugly face, and his claw-like fingers were working like the talons of some great bird.
“Ricker gave me orders to watch you. He has spies everywhere, he knows you and your father and hates you both. If you want to save your hide you had better clear out of these parts,” he snarled at last.
Mason was astounded. That Ricker should know his father and have set this half-witted dwarf to watching his son was a puzzle. He was inclined to doubt the dwarf’s sanity. So far as he knew his father had no enemies in the world. He determined to sound the dwarf thoroughly.
“Stand up,” he commanded him sternly, holding the gun into the pit of the dwarf’s stomach. “I am going to get at the bottom of this thing. What do you mean by saying that Ricker hates my father?” The dwarf rose in abject terror and started to mumble through chattering teeth.
“Cut that out and talk like a man,” Mason commanded him sharply.
“Ricker claims that your father did him an injury long ago while they were in the lumber business in the East. He says it is in his power to ruin him now and he will ruin you, too,” the dwarf snarled, glaring savagely at him.
Mason smiled grimly.
“I’ve found out what I wanted to know and will act accordingly if it is true,” he said, backing slowly out of the room.
“Tell your precious master I will keep this little toy,” tapping the gun he was holding, “to remember him by, and also tell him I said the Masons are hard to drive.”
Reaching the door he dropped the gun in his pocket and mounting his horse rode slowly towards Trader’s Post. He breathed a sigh of relief when well out of sight of the ranch buildings.
“Well, this is a rum go,” he said softly to himself. “What will Josephine say when I tell her of my adventure. She’ll say right off quick that I need a guardian, and bawl me out for not waiting for her to take me to the ranch as she promised.”
Still, he was troubled over what he had heard, and made up his mind that if he didn’t get a letter from his father soon he would write him all about it, or better still, take a trip East to warn him that Ricker was a desperate character.
He was fast getting on to the ways of the West, and feeling the red blood flowing swiftly through his veins, he felt like getting into action on any trouble that might involve his father in peril.
He