Mason of Bar X Ranch

“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 my question, Ricker,” he said in an even voice.

“No, and I’ll be damned if I will,” the man burst out in sudden fury, “and I don’t want any damn sheriff nosing around my place.”

As he spoke, five men from within silently took their places alongside of him.

The lines on Bud’s face tightened. There was a stir among his men and a stiffening of muscles. It seemed to Mason as if the air was suddenly charged with electricity, so tense was the situation.

“I’m watching you, Ricker!” the word came from Bud like a crack of a pistol. “I see that you and your men are itching for a fight. Steady! Take your hand away from your hip, Ricker, or I’ll bore you!”

Bud sat his horse facing Ricker. Both his hands were carelessly toying with his scarf knot, about breast high where the butt of a six-shooter protruded. It was a position feared by all his enemies.

Ricker laughed mirthlessly.

“Oh, well,” he said in a changed tone, “take a look around, but you won’t find the greaser here.”

Mason breathed a sigh of relief. The danger point seemed past for the moment. Bud left half of his men on guard in front of the house and made a careful search of the premises, but found no trace of the halfbreed.

“I suppose you are satisfied now,” Ricker sneered, as Bud gave the command for his men to leave.

“No, I’m not satisfied,” Bud answered him sharply. “I am certain the Mexican has visited you since yesterday. My men trailed him to Devil’s Gap and he was swinging in a circle towards your place when they lost his trail. That’s all I’ve got to say, but you’ll hear from me again.”

Bud gave a signal and the cowboys set a fast pace for home as the storm showed signs of breaking on them at any moment. Mason rode with Bud, and they kept up a conversation with difficulty amid flashes of lightning and the crash of thunder.

“Gee, this is some storm,” gasped Mason after an unusually bright flash of lightning, followed by a deluge of rain.

“Yes,” Bud roared in his ear to make himself heard, “we get them like this out here, but what I am sore about is that we didn’t get that greaser.”

Mason started to answer, but his words were drowned by the thunder. When the party finally arrived at the Bar X corral it was dark and lights were flashing in and out of the ranch house.

“Something must be wrong at the house,” Bud muttered as they hastily put their horses up.

As Bud and Mason started for the house, some one came towards them with a lantern. It proved to be Mrs. Walters, and she seemed to be in great distress.

“Oh, I am so frightened,” she cried, as she caught sight of them. “Josephine has disappeared. She went for a ride soon after you men left, and here it is nine o’clock and she hasn’t returned. I fear something has happened to her.”

Mason was shocked to think of Josephine out alone and in the storm.

“For God’s sake, Bud,” he cried in anguish, “get the men together and let’s find her.”

Bud blew a whistle and the cowboys rallied around him.

“Boys,” he said sternly, “there’s been hellish doings on this ranch lately. Josephine has disappeared and it’s up to us to find her. I lay this to that halfbreed’s work. Mount your horses and take lanterns along with you and see if you can’t pick up her trail before the rain washes all traces of it away.”

The cowboys obeyed with alacrity and muttered deep threats against the halfbreed. It would fare hard with him if he fell into their hands this night; his punishment would be swift and sure.

Mrs. Walters gave the men the direction that Josephine had taken and they started off with a rush.

Buck Miller was leading the way as he was the best trailer among them. He could follow a trail equal to an Indian. Aided by an occasional flash of lightning, the men picked their way slowly. The rain had ceased, but the wind was blowing almost a gale.

Buck had picked up Josephine’s trail about a hundred yards from the corral. After following it for about an hour they found it led towards Devil’s Gap, a favorite ride of Josephine’s when she wished to be alone. According to her mother, the girl had taken a horse from the corral that had been used as a pack horse to bring provisions from Trader’s Post.

The ranch owner had insisted on joining them in the search, and it seemed to Mason as if he had grown years older in the last hour. His manner was pitiful as the shock of his daughter’s possible fate showed in his eyes. The trail was very difficult to follow on account of the hard fall of rain. The men were proceeding with caution for fear of losing it altogether.