Mason of Bar X Ranch

Ricker and Jim shot their tie off, the former winning this time by a large margin.

Ricker smiled sarcastically at MacNutt as the latter stepped up in his awkward way to take a position. A titter ran through the group of cowboys as they watched his odd movements. He was likely to prove a source of amusement for them after all.

Ricker suddenly stepped forward.

“Come on, Jim, you and I will set a high record for him. We’ll show him some shooting that will make him go some,” he boasted.

Jim Haley led off, scoring almost the same hits as before.

“You must have your shooting eye with you today, Jim,” Ricker remarked as he took his position.

Then he put six bullets in the bull’s-eye, firing with a precision that was perfect.

“I’ll bet none of the Bar X outfit can equal that,” he boasted to MacNutt with a cynical smile.

MacNutt still wore his good-natured grin.

“Maybe not,” he drawled, “but I ain’t shot yet.”

A howl of derision went up from the cowboys.

“Go ahead and shoot, you tenderfoot,” one of them yelled.

Suddenly MacNutt’s hand went up, and he fired six shots in rapid succession; so rapid was the fire that the reports blended together. All the cowboys were grinning broadly, for it looked as though MacNutt had fired at random. Their faces took on a look of wonder, however, when it was seen that the marker was examining the target with extreme care.

“All bull’s-eyes!” he announced as though completely mystified.

Ricker swore roughly.

“Come on, Jim,” he called out impatiently, “that marker’s eyes must be off.”

There was a general rush for the targets, and an exclamation of admiration went up from the cowboys when it was seen that MacNutt’s bullets were grouped closer to the center of the bull’s-eye than were Ricker’s.

“He’s a freak,” Jim Haley spoke up sullenly.

“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Ricker questioned MacNutt sharply. “Can you do as well with a rifle at two hundred yards?”

MacNutt grinned modestly.

“I reckon I can,” he drawled slowly. “I’ve shot a revolver and rifle ever since I was a kid.”

A rifle shoot was next in progress, but MacNutt declined to wait for that event. Soon, he took his leave after saying a few words in an undertone to his friend Jean Barry. The cowboys watched him depart with keen interest. He had risen several points in their estimation by his accurate shooting.

As he drew near the place where Tug Conners had held him up, he saw the guard leaning on his rifle, watching him approach.

“Guess I can pass you through quicker next time you visit us,” Tug called after him as he rode past. “If you see one of our men at the Post, tell him to hurry up for I sent him to bring me some tobacco.” “I sure will,” he answered cheerfully. “I am going back that way and if I see your man I’ll hustle him along.”

“Yes, you certainly will pass me through quicker when I call on you next time, my friend,” he added grimly to himself as he rode steadily on.

In due time he arrived at the Post, where he spent about two hours looking after some private business and making a few necessary purchases. As he mounted his horse for the run to Bar X he was surprised to see Jim Haley lounging on the hotel veranda.

“He must have followed me,” he mused, a grin playing over his features. “The play is on in earnest.”

He looked around to see if the cowboy’s horse was in sight. Seeing no signs of the animal he decided that the cowboy had put his horse in the hotel corral.

MacNutt soon forgot the incident and riding fast he arrived at Bar X before nightfall.

The first person he encountered after putting his horse up was Mason.

Mason looked at him with accusing eyes.

“MacNutt,” he began, “I want to have a quiet little talk with you. I haven’t as yet said anything to anybody else, but it looks to me as if you are trying to play a double game. Yesterday, I saw you talking in very friendly terms with one of the cowboys from the Ricker ranch. Several other little things have happened since you came here that have made me suspicious of you. You know these are troublesome times. I want to ask you point blank, are you with us, or do you stand with the Ricker faction?”

MacNutt had listened passively while Mason was talking. He seemed deeply moved.

“I know these are troublesome times as you say,” he replied earnestly, “but I want you to trust me a little longer and then I will show you something that will surprise you. I am here for a good purpose and am working for the interest of the Bar X people and you in particular. I take you to be a man of sound judgment and give you my word of honor that I am working here for a good cause. In due time I will explain everything that appears mysterious to you just now, and I want you to have faith in me. Is that satisfactory to you?”

“I suppose it will have to be,” Mason answered, completely mystified.

CHAPTER X – WELCOME VISITORS

Two days later unusual scenes of activity took place at Bar X ranch. There was a general brightening and cleaning up about the place. Cowboys were industriously cleaning horses and polishing saddle accoutrements. The ranch-house was being vigorously cleaned and aired. The reason for all this extra work was a telegram that Mason was reading for perhaps the hundredth time. He whistled gaily as he thrust the telegram back in his pocket and started to tune up his racing car.

The day before, Scotty had ridden in from the Post with a telegram for Mason. When he read its contents he gave a cry of delight. It was from his sister and stated that she was coming with his mother to pay him a visit and they were bringing along a friend of the family for company. The telegram had been dispatched from a town where the party had a stopover and Mason hastily consulting a time-table found that they would arrive at the Post the next day.

The good news had banished all thoughts of MacNutt and his strange actions from his mind.

Scotty had immediately been sent back to the Post to await their arrival.

Mason had broken the news to Josephine and they planned to drive the car to Trader’s Post early the next morning. The girl’s face was all aglow at the prospect of meeting his folks. She had assumed command of the ranch, making the cook brighten up about the bunk-house and mess-room while giving orders to the cowboys about their general unclean appearance that made them gasp in wonder. Mason had come in for his share of the cleaning-up process and after seeing the entire ranch force set in motion, he meekly submitted.

So the next morning after an almost sleepless night found him hard at work on his racing car. He was so deeply interested in his work that he didn’t hear a light step near him until a subdued ripple of laughter caused him to look up in surprise. The mistress of the ranch stood before him and was regarding him with a look of approval. He made her a profound bow.

“Oh, most charming slave-driver, does my work please the little Princess?” he questioned her with mock humility.

Her eyes held him with a smile.

“The machine certainly looks more presentable,” she returned in the same light vein.

She gave the car another sharp appraising look, and glanced at him.

“And you look as though you had tried to clean it, from the appearance of your face and those dirty overalls,” she added.

The smile had cropped out again and with it the appearance of the pretty dimples he secretly adored.

“I confess I do look like a coal heaver,” he said, starting up briskly, “but I’ve had the engine running like a top and it is in fine shape. I will have these duds off and be cleaned up in about a minute. Please run along now, Josephine, and get ready. I will drive right up to the house for you.”

Josephine had already started for the house.