Mason of Bar X Ranch. Bennett Henry Holcomb
ground at a slow canter.
Again his thoughts would travel Eastward to his old friends, and the hope of getting his car soon raised his spirits high. Then he remembered Roy Purvis to whom he had said good-bye just before he had started for the West.
Roy had been a keen and enthusiastic automobile racer along with Mason, and had just gone in for aviation. He had several bad spills in learning, but was keener for flying than he ever had been for automobile racing. He had laughingly made the remark to Mason that he might expect a birdman to visit him in his chosen god-forsaken country.
“Just the thing,” he said aloud to Sport, who was so startled that he broke into a swift run. “Steady, old boy,” he called softly, slowing him down. “When I get to Trader’s Post I will telegraph for Roy to come on, and send in a hurry order for my car at the same time.”
It was an ideal day with a gentle wind blowing, and Mason drank in deep breaths of the pure air for his brain was still whirling with the adventures of the past hour. He could not connect his father’s past with Ricker’s life, try as he would. Then he remembered his father never had taken him into his confidence to any great extent, for he was a man of few words.
Mason knew that he held vast holdings in coal, and in the iron industry, besides holding the controlling interest in his New York bank. As for himself, he never had questioned his father on business affairs, being content to follow his own usual mad pursuits.
Now, he wished he had taken more interest in his father’s affairs, as he was getting old. The two weeks he had been away from home had given him time to think over some of his own mad enterprises of the past, and he mentally resolved he would square himself with his father and prove he was a chip of the old block.
The Masons came of good fighting stock, his father was born in Virginia and served through the Civil War. Mason’s eyes were taking in the surrounding country with keen delight as his thoughts ran in this channel. Like most rich Americans, he had toured the principal cities of Europe and seen little of his own country.
“America for mine,” he said aloud, his eyes aglow with health.
He was but a few miles from Trader’s Post now, and he wondered if he would meet any of the boys from the ranch there. A few minutes later he entered the town and was giving his horse over to the care of a hostler with instructions to feed him well, along with a generous tip, when he heard a woman scream.
Running out into the hotel inclosure he beheld a sight that made his blood boil.
It was a girl struggling in the arms of Pete Carlo, the halfbreed. With a bound, Mason was by her side and tearing the Mexican away from her, he promptly knocked him down.
“Great work,” called a voice from the hotel porch.
Mason turned and saw Bud and Scotty grinning at him. In the same instant, Bud’s hand flashed from his hip, followed by a sharp report.
He heard a cry of pain behind him, and bewildered, he turned again to see the halfbreed nursing a pair of bleeding knuckles.
Bud and Scotty strode toward them with burning wrath in their eyes.
“The dirty skunk,” Scotty was saying, as he kicked a gun out of the halfbreed’s reach. “He tried to bore you. Never turn your back on a greaser.”
“He’s drunk,” cut in Bud, “but that don’t excuse him. Get up, you whelp, and make tracks out of here, you’ll lose your job for this.”
Bud took his gun and the halfbreed slunk away with muttered threats. Mason looked at the girl. She had recovered from her fright and was regarding him with large dark eyes filled with gratitude, and suspiciously close to the point of tears.
He saw at a glance that she was a Spanish girl of unusual beauty. Taking off his hat he made her a bow and in return he was rewarded with a dainty curtesy.
Turning to Bud he shook his hand warmly and said,
“Thanks, old man, you saved my life.”
“That’s all right, Jack,” the big fellow returned heartily. “You have to watch them greasers. Come, Scotty, let’s play a game of cards. Coming in soon?” he questioned of Mason.
The latter nodded. He had turned his attention again to the girl.
“Do you know that brute of a half breed?” he asked kindly.
“Yes,” she answered in a low musical voice.
He was surprised at her command of grammar. She spoke almost pure English.
“He used to work on the Ricker ranch where I work,” she added.
Mason was surprised. So this was the Spanish girl that Josephine had spoken to him about. He remembered she had said the girl was pretty. He remembered, also, his non-committal answer when she had asked him if he liked brunette beauty.
The girl had stood silently while he was turning these thoughts over in his mind. Suddenly with a quick impulse she extended her hand to him, her great eyes filled with deep pathos.
“I wish to thank you for defending me against that beast. Oh, how I hate him,” she said with a shudder. “He made life miserable for me while he was at the ranch, and you disposed of him so easily.”
Her great eyes swept his stalwart build in silent admiration.
“Please don’t mention it. I am very glad to have been of some assistance to you,” he said, a trifle embarrassed.
“May I ask whom I am indebted to?” she questioned, as he turned to leave.
“Certainly,” he answered with a smile, “my name is Jack Mason.”
The girl gave a sudden start, and he fancied her face had turned pale.
“My name is Waneda, good-bye,” she said, and was gone quickly.
“Now, why in the deuce did she turn pale at the mention of my name?” he asked himself, as he started to join Bud and Scotty.
Making his way to the card room he found only Scotty waiting for him.
“Bud has gone on ahead,” explained Scotty, “said he had almost forgotten a package that he wanted to get to the old man as soon as possible.”
“All right, Scotty, old top,” Mason replied cheerfully, “come over with me to that little dump of a telegraph station we have here. I want to send a message.”
The dispatch sent, they made quick time home to the ranch, and Mason told Scotty all about his adventure at the Ricker ranch.
They arrived home about dusk and put their horses up. Mason went at once to the house. On the porch he found Bud and Josephine talking earnestly.
“Good evening, Miss,” he greeted her as he came up to the porch. “I suppose that Bud has told you all about me getting in Dutch at the Post and how I came near getting shot only for Bud here.”
“I heard all about it, sir,” she said with icy coolness. “And also about the girl,” she added as a parting shot, disappearing in the house.
Mason was taken completely by surprise.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said weakly to himself.
CHAPTER IV – A NEW ARRIVAL
The few remaining days of June passed swiftly and it was nearing the time set for the annual games at the ranch, which were to be held on the Fourth of July. Mason had received word that his car had arrived, and starting out early one morning for Trader’s Post with Scotty and Buck Miller, he drove the machine back to the ranch, giving Scotty the ride of his life.
Buck Miller was left behind with orders to bring the horses in, a job he accepted with relief when he saw Mason and Scotty flash by him at express speed.
“Don’t want to ride in any contraption like that,” he growled to himself as he watched the car disappear in a cloud of dust.
There still remained two days for the men to get ready for the various sports, and they were hard at it when Mason drove his racer into the midst of