Mason of Bar X Ranch. Bennett Henry Holcomb
about the machine, making various comments and kidding Scotty who was trying to catch his breath.
“Well, boys, what do you think of her?” queried Mason as he stood off and looked his racer over.
“A hoss is plenty good enough for me,” spoke up Joe Turner with a drawl. “What do you think about it?”
He turned to Scotty with a grin.
“That’s not a fair question for Scotty to answer on his first ride.” Mason interposed, with a hearty laugh. “We burned the wind some in getting here and Scotty was up in the air most of the time.”
Josephine and her father had now joined the group and Mason noticed the eyes of the girl sparkle as she stood close and admired the trim lines of the racer.
He had not found a chance to talk with her since the Trader’s Post incident. It appeared to him that she had deliberately tried to avoid him, a fact which puzzled him not a little bit.
He had learned on inquiry that the incident at the Post had been settled by the ranch owner. He had learned the particulars from his foreman and was for discharging the halfbreed on the spot, but Josephine had interceded with such good results that her father had relented and promised to give the roan another chance. The ranch owner had warned him to go straight in the future or he would be kicked off the ranch.
The girl’s manner was a puzzle to Mason and he determined to meet her coolness with unconcern. He had befriended the Spanish girl as any man would have done under similar circumstances.
He was turning these thoughts over in his mind when he happened to look up and saw the girl smiling at him. His resolution vanished in thin air when she requested him to show her the fine points of the racer.
Josephine proved an apt pupil and was listening eagerly to his explanation of the workings of the car when they were interrupted by an exclamation from Tex.
“Here comes Buck riding like he was mad,” he was saying, as he gave his belt an extra hitch and shaded his eyes with his hand.
Mason looked up and made out a horseman coming towards them leading two horses. It was Buck Miller, and as Tex said, he had been riding his horse until it was almost winded. He seemed to be in a surly mood and it was some time before he answered the ranch owner’s question as to why he had ridden so fast.
“Well, I’ve just come from the Post, and had a run-in with the damnedest freak of a man that it’s ever been my misfortune to see,” he exploded at last.
The ranch owner breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t see why that reason should call for a cowboy to run his horse to death and told Buck as much in plain words.
“Must have been some man to get you riled up that way,” Scotty cut in, smiling broadly.
Buck silenced him with a withering glance.
“Wait until I tell you how I come to meet up with this nut,” Buck retorted, addressing the ranch owner. “And see if you wouldn’t have got all het up same as I did.”
The boys gathered around him and at a nod from the ranch owner he continued.
“After Mr. Mason and Scotty left in the machine, I figured I would go into the hotel, have a few drinks and play a game of pool.
“I had the drinks all right and had lit a cigar and was waiting for some one to turn up that could play pool, when the door opened and the freshest duck in loud clothes I had ever set eyes on came strolling in, walked up to me, calmly took my cigar out of my mouth, lit a cheap stogie with it, and in a voice like a girl, said:
“‘Lovely morning, isn’t it?’
“I don’t know why I didn’t kill him on the spot. He plumb took my breath away. When I got my wind back I pulled my gun and covered him.
“‘Stranger,’ I said in a hard voice, ‘I’ve killed men for less than that.’
“‘Oh, but these are not worth it, you know. I buy them in thousand lots,’ he said in his woman’s voice, referring to his stogie and smiling at me sweetly.
“Then, before I could answer, he asked me if I knew where the Bar X ranch was located, said he was coming out to Mr. Walters’ ranch for a long stay as his health was bad.
“I answered him by saying his health wouldn’t survive his nerve if I had anything to do with it. He wanted me to show him the way out here, and I told him to find his own way.
“As I left, he called after me that I could expect him out here as soon as he could find a horse.
“He’s crazy, or I’m a fool,” growled Buck in conclusion, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
The ranch owner’s face wore an amused smile as he listened to the expressions of indignation that arose from the men at Buck’s recital. Some were for giving the stranger a warm reception when he arrived, while others insisted that he was probably a harmless lunatic.
“Well, boys,” said the ranch owner, breaking in on their conversation, “we won’t worry about Buck’s find until he gets here, and when he comes I want you men to refer him to me before you start any rough work. You may knock off training for the day.”
This advice was taken as a command by the men and they silently made their way to the corral. Mason drove his racer to the shed where he intended to give the engine a general inspection.
That night he had a long talk with Bud Anderson. He gave the latter a minute description of his encounter with the hunchback at the Ricker ranch. He also told him of the hunchback’s revelation that Ricker had known Mason’s father in the past and harbored a deadly hatred for his son. When Mason came to this part of his narrative, Bud whistled and looked keenly at him.
“So, Ricker has got you mixed up in his crooked designs, too,” he said at last, a steely look coming into his gray eyes. “What do you make of it?”
“I don’t know what to make of it,” Mason confessed.
“I wrote home to father telling him of the incident, and expect an answer soon, which I hope will clear the mystery up. I didn’t know that my father had an enemy in the world.”
“All big and successful men have,” Bud replied kindly, as he noticed a troubled look in the other’s face, “cheer up, Jack, and we’ll run this thing to earth together.”
The two men shook hands in sincere friendship and talked far into the night. Mason told Bud of the rich trimmings of cowboy paraphernalia he had discovered at the Ricker ranch and his own impressions of the general air of mystery that surrounded the place. The news threw Bud into a deep study. Mason was more than ever impressed with the strong personality of the foreman and sheriff.
The day set for the games broke bright and cheerful. A group of cowboys had gathered around the corral. They were laughing and jesting, and it seemed to Mason they were just like a lot of schoolboys, all good-natured and jolly. He had taken a position close to the corral with Josephine and her father where they were waiting for the first event of the day to be pulled off. It was to be a horse race between Red Sullivan and Scotty. It promised be an exciting contest, and they were exchanging good-natured raillery while they sat in their saddles waiting for the signal to start.
Bud Anderson was master of ceremonies and raising his gun in the air, sang out:
“Ready! Go!”
The words and the report blended together and the racers were off.
Mason witnessed some of the finest riding it had ever been his fortune to see. The men were to race over a given course, picking up objects off the ground tied up in handkerchiefs, wheel, and continue their run to the corral.
The yelling of the cowboys broke into a roar as it was seen that Red Sullivan had taken the lead. Mason’s blood tingled with excitement as the men cheered their respective favorites. The ranch owner’s face was wreathed in smiles while Josephine was clapping her hands and cheering for Scotty, as he had always been a favorite of hers.
As the riders made the turn and started on the home stretch it was seen that Scotty had pulled