Mason of Bar X Ranch

“Slow down,” she managed to gasp, “I can’t talk to you when you drive so fast.”

He obediently slowed the car down.

“I can promise you some exciting times when my friend Roy Purvis gets here,” he said after a long silence.

“Roy Purvis,” she repeated after him, “I never heard you mention that name before.”

“He is an old friend of mine and we used to race together before he went in for aviation. He promised me just before I left New York that he would visit me out here.”

Little did they know what a thrilling part Roy Purvis and his airplane was to play in their future lives.

The girl was deeply interested in what Mason had told her.

“That will be jolly fun,” her eyes were keenly enthusiastic. “I have never seen an airplane, I hope he comes soon.”

Mason nodded.

“Roy is very eccentric, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see him out here any time.”

On the way home he stopped the car and let Josephine take his seat while he instructed her in driving. Soon she was driving the racer almost as skillfully as he.

After about an hour she became tired and he relieved her at the wheel.

“You have accomplished wonders with your first lesson,” he told her with honest conviction in his voice. “I am truly proud of you.”

“I am very glad you think so, and if you will take me out again some time, I think I can do still better.” He fancied there was just the suspicion of an appeal in her voice.

“The pleasure will be all mine,” he answered gallantly.

They were nearing the ranch now, and just as they rode past the corral they were surprised to see MacNutt throwing a blanket over his sweat-reeked horse.

Apparently he had ridden faster and by taking a shorter route had arrived just ahead of them.

CHAPTER IX – MYSTERIOUS MACNUTT

The following morning, and before anybody was astir at Bar X ranch, the form of a man emerged from the bunkhouse and looking cautiously around to make sure that no one was watching him, stealing silently to the corral, he quickly roped and saddled one of the horses. It was MacNutt, and had any of the cowboys seen his face at that moment they would have been amazed. All trace of the half-wit smile had vanished, and in place of the drooping shoulders and shambling gait that had been characteristic of the man, he now moved with the cunning and quickness of a panther.

As his supple body shot into the saddle a pair of revolver butts were exposed to view for an instant. Whatever MacNutt’s mission was, the man was going heavily armed. He rode leisurely as though fearful the noise of his horse’s hoofbeats might strike the ears of some early prowler of the ranch.

When well clear of the outbuildings of the ranch he gave his horse free rein, riding with all the ease and grace of a cowboy. Ten miles from Bar X ranch the trail divided. One trail led to Trader’s Post and the other to Ricker’s ranch.

When MacNutt came to this point, he chose the trail leading to the Ricker ranch!

A grim smile spread over the man’s face.

“I don’t suppose it was necessary for me to sneak out in this fashion,” he spoke softly to his horse, “none of the Bar X outfit take me seriously, only young Mason. I will have to watch out for him, he’s liable to spoil my plans.”

His face grew dark and ominous at the thought. Having a fresh mount he pressed the horse on relentlessly as though to reach the ranch in time to keep an appointment. Time and distance passed swiftly beneath his horse’s pounding hoofs, and when within a few miles of Ricker’s ranch he carefully examined his guns to see if they were in good working order.

As he drew near Ricker’s ranch his tense muscles relaxed, the half-wit smile appeared and with it the awkward poise and drooping shoulders of the man MacNutt. Although he did not know it, his movements had been watched by a guard placed by Ricker.

This man swept the plains with field glasses and word was quickly sent to Ricker by the guard for instructions. He was promptly ordered to hold the rider up at any cost. Since the last time Ricker had been visited by the cowboys of the Bar X ranch, he swore an oath that no more of them should pass farther than a given spot and that was where he had placed the guard.

Ricker had picked a good man for the job, for when he was in a quandary as to who should hold the post, his eyes fell on one of his cowboys, Tug Conners by name, and he was placed about a hundred yards from the ranch where he could command a view of the plains in all directions.

Tug Conners was a daredevil and desperado who would shoot first and ask questions afterwards, and it was to this man that MacNutt would have to pass muster. The guard set himself and studied the rider through his glasses. The watcher swore softly. The slow gait of the horse and its rider’s awkward position in the saddle had him puzzled.

Twice he raised the rifle at his side and covered the stranger, only to lower it each time in disgust. Seizing the glasses again he tried to make out who the stranger was. An exclamation burst from his lips, for this time he had a close view of the rider.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he swore furiously, “I remember that freak, he was with the sheriff when they made that call on Ricker. He looks like a damn fool and acts the part. Wonder what the tenderfoot can want here?”

Tug was bitterly disappointed as he had hoped the rider would prove to be one of the sheriff’s cowboys, and he would have started trouble with any of them at the slightest provocation. He hated them all intensely, but with this fellow it was different.

Tug couldn’t bring himself to pick trouble with a half-wit, so he determined to throw a scare into him and run him off the ranch.

He was crouched behind a small mound and as MacNutt came abreast his place of concealment he sprang up and covered him with his rifle.

“Stretch your arms!” Tug commanded him, his eyes glittering savagely, “I reckon this is about your limit. Who let you out, anyway?”

MacNutt’s hands went up with alacrity, and such a look of dismay spread over his features that he brought a grin to Tug’s face.

“Get down off that horse,” he next commanded him, keeping the rifle on a line with his heart.

“Don’t keep that cannon pointed at me, it makes me nervous,” protested MacNutt in a trembling voice as he laboriously dismounted.

“Oh, the gun makes you nervous, does it, tenderfoot?” Tug sneered with bitter sarcasm. “Well, it will go off mighty sudden if you don’t answer my questions right smart. You’re from Bar X, ain’t you? Who sent you here, and what do you want?”

MacNutt had apparently found his nerve again, the foolish smile appearing on his face.

“You fire your questions too fast,” he protested in his droll voice, and started to lower his hands.

“Keep ’em up!” his captor snarled, raising his gun threateningly.

MacNutt smiled at Tug blandly, his hands held high in the air.

“I rode over from the ranch to see one of Ricker’s men,” he explained with childlike simplicity. “Met him at the Post yesterday. He ain’t got no more use for the Bar X outfit than I have, and I agreed to put him wise to some things I know about them.”

Tug stared at him incredulously.

“What is the name of the cowboy you met yesterday?” he questioned, suspicion in his voice.

“I can’t remember his name,” MacNutt replied readily. “We were slopped up a little, but I can describe him.” This he proceeded to do, and evidently to Tug’s satisfaction.

“You mean Jean Barry,” he said in a modified tone when MacNutt had finished his description. “Come, and I’ll take you to him.”

A curious gleam shone in MacNutt’s eyes for an instant, as he was ordered by Tug to keep six paces in advance of him. On the way to the ranch house, a close observer would have noticed that not a single item of the plans of the buildings or out-houses of the ranch had escaped MacNutt’s notice. Although his eyes held their dull sleepy look, they sought out every object of importance. A group of cowboys were watching the approach and one of them walked out rapidly to meet them. He proved to be Ricker.

“What have we here, Tug?” he demanded, with a suspicious look at MacNutt.