Mason of Bar X Ranch

“Your father helped to get the evidence against me and I’ll get you if I have to strike you through your sweetheart, Josephine. Ha, that’s a tender spot, isn’t it?”

Mason had jumped to his feet, startled by the counterfeiter’s vehemence. What if the man should make good his threat and do some injury to Josephine? The thought made a chill run through his frame.

“Come, Ricker, stow that kind of talk. You’re not in a position just now to make threats,” the Marshal cautioned him roughly.

The counterfeiter lapsed into a moody silence and further questions by the Marshal brought no response from him. Bud invited Mason to come with them while they made an inspection of the cellar, after he had first seen that the guards were placed to his satisfaction. In the cellar they found a complete plant for making counterfeit money. They had been there but a few minutes when they heard a commotion above them. They were relieved when they heard Scotty’s voice calling down to them. He wanted Mason to come up as he had brought a doctor.

The doctor put a bandage on Mason’s arm and soon his wound was feeling much better.

“Scotty, you made good time in getting the doctor here,” Mason said gratefully, grasping his hand.

Then a sudden inspiration seized him.

“The Marshal and Bud are in the cellar breaking up the counterfeiting press and apparatus,” he told Scotty. “Do you remember how we had our men drawn around this ranch the night that Pete Carlo, the Mexican, slipped through our lines and got back to the mountains without being seen?”

“Shure,” Scotty nodded eagerly.

“Well, let’s see if we can find out how he got past us. There must be a secret passage leading out of this cellar,” Mason cried enthusiastically.

“I’m game,” Scotty agreed readily.

They started for the cellar, but had they seen the look of dismay and fear that had come into the counterfeiter’s face while they were talking, they would have been puzzled.

Scotty had borrowed the Marshal’s flash lamp and took the lead, with Mason following close on his heels. They carried their revolvers ready for instant use, and as they stole cautiously through the darkness they were amazed at the length and width of the cellar. There were numerous casks strewn around and Scotty stumbled over one of them with such force as to bring a muttered oath from his lips.

“Whisky casks,” Mason said softly, smiling at Scotty’s discomfiture. “Evidently Ricker’s men held wild orgies in this cellar-like cave, but we don’t seem to be finding the underground passage very fast.”

They could still hear the vigorous blows from the Marshal and Bud’s hammers as they kept at their work of demolishing the counterfeiter’s plant.

“You wait right here, laddie, and I’ll get you a lantern. We will stand a better show of finding the underground passage if we each have a light,” Scotty whispered.

This was good logic and Mason readily agreed to the plan, after cautioning him to hurry.

“Keep your gun handy in case you are attacked, laddie,” the good-natured Scot warned him. “When you see two lights coming this way you will know I am coming back. We were damn fools not to think of another light when we started, but I guess I can get one all right.”

Mason sat down on an empty cask and pressed his hand wearily over his forehead as he listened to Scotty’s retreating footsteps. He was beginning to feel exhausted. The past few hours of excitement had told heavily on his nerves. He caught himself nodding several times and, rose to his feet in disgust.

“This won’t do,” he said angrily to himself, “you’ve got to pull yourself together, Jack Mason. We’re going to find that secret passage when Scotty comes back, old top, dontcherknow, as Percy would say.”

He tried to figure out how long Scotty had been gone. It had seemed like hours since he went for the lantern, and Mason began to chafe with impatience at the delay. It was so dark in the cellar that he could not see the hands on his watch, but he knew in all reason that Scotty had not been gone longer than ten minutes at most.

Suddenly he started up violently, his overtired nerves tuned to the highest pitch.

His tense ears had caught a sound like the clicking of some instrument. He strained forward in the inky darkness, his body rigid and revolver drawn.

Had his tired nerves played him a trick? No, the thing was clicking again, but very faint, and he reasoned from the sound that it must be at least thirty feet from him. Was somebody signaling from the far depths of the cellar to Ricker?

He was sure that was the reason for the clicking sound. Abruptly the noise ceased. His heart was pumping furiously as he silently turned around and peered into the darkness. To his great joy two lights were coming his way. Scotty was returning at last.

“Don’t speak above a whisper, Scotty,” Mason cautioned him in a low voice as the Scot attempted to explain his delay. “While you were after the lantern I heard a strange tapping noise, something like a telegraph instrument. It sounded to me like someone was trying to signal from this cellar to Ricker. We had better go slow as we may get shot from ambush.”

In the dim light Scotty’s face showed his astonishment. “I supposed we had all the gang as prisoners upstairs,” he said, gazing at Mason in wonder.

“Just the same, I’m sure there is somebody in this cellar besides ourselves,” Mason whispered impatiently; “you take the lantern and I will carry the small flash light. I can tuck it under my left arm and that will give me a chance to use my good right arm. I can handle my revolver all right if I am attacked. You take one wall and I the other, and we will circle this cellar and look for the secret passage.”

This plan was followed out at once and Mason could hear Scotty at intervals as he stumbled over some object while groping his way along the cellar wall. It was a dangerous undertaking, as both carried lights, and they took a chance of drawing a shot from some hidden foe. Mason was closely examining the wall when he heard a sharp exclamation from Scotty.

“Come out of that! what are you skulking down here for?” he heard him say in forceful tones.

Mason straightened up in surprise.

“What have you found, Scotty?” he called.

“Come over and see,” the Scot answered wrathfully.

Mason crossed rapidly to the opposite side and beheld Scotty holding his lantern in the face of the blackest negro woman he had ever seen. The eyes of the negress were rolling in abject fear and her limbs were trembling violently.

Whether her fear was assumed or not, he couldn’t tell, but remembering the signaling noise, he regarded her with suspicion.

“Woman, what position do you fill in this house, and what were you hiding in the cellar for?” Mason questioned her sharply.

The negress looked at him mutely.

“She must be a little deaf,” muttered Scotty.

“Come, tell me the truth,” Mason continued in a louder voice. “We won’t hurt you.”

“I’se de cook,” she faltered, gaining courage from Mason’s reassuring smile. “And when dem gemmen’s done come heah and begins a fighting and shooting, why I done runs into de cellah fo mah life.”

“Sounds good, Belinda, or whatever your name is,” he said, his face growing stern again, “But what were you signaling to Ricker for?”

Her face took on a blank look.

“Signaling,” she repeated in wonder, “’deed I wasn’t making signals to anybody, I was keeping just quiet as a mouse awaiting fo dem mens to leave.”

Mason was inclined to believe the negress was telling the truth.

“Scotty, you had better take her to Bud and the Marshal and let them question her,” he said after a short pause. “I will continue the search until you come back, and it would be a good idea to bring the Marshal back with you.”

From the look on Scotty’s face it was evident he didn’t relish his task, but he complied with the request with fairly good grace and hustled the negress along while she continued to protest her innocence of any wrong. Left to himself, Mason again began a systematic search.

Before the interruption by the negress, he had noted that one portion of the wall appeared to have oak beams running from top to bottom. He now went to this part of the wall and was feeling over one of the oak supports when his hand accidentally touched a knot which projected suspiciously out from the surface. He pressed hard on it, and to his delight that part of the wall began to swing slowly inward! Something was moving on the other side of the wall and he held his breath while waiting for an attack. Standing to one side he snapped his flashlight out and held his revolver pointed into the opening. Unable to resist a sudden impulse, he flashed on his light and found himself looking into the muzzle of a revolver and the villainous face of Pete Carlo, the halfbreed Mexican!

Mason realized his helpless position, and a sneering smile came into the halfbreed’s face.

“So,” he taunted, showing his wolfish teeth, “Ze brave American dog, he walk into a trap, ha?”

“I settle first with the dog of a Gringo, then I steal the fair Josephine again, and she shall watch me torture you, Gringo dog.”