Mason of Bar X Ranch

His baleful eyes were looking gloatingly at his victim. Mason’s blood boiled at the mention of Josephine’s name. He held himself in check, however, as his only hope now was to gain time and give Scotty a chance to rescue him. He figured at the worst he would make a sudden attack on the halfbreed and chance taking him by surprise.

“Don’t be too sure of your game, you yellow cur,” he said scornfully, hoping to anger the halfbreed. “I’ve sent for two of our men and they will be here any minute now, and I want to warn you if you ever harm Josephine, I will kill you like I would a rattle snake.”

He raised his voice purposely as he made the assertion.

“Silence! dog of a Gringo!” the halfbreed hissed, “you talk more, I shoot you dead.”

Mason wondered why the halfbreed didn’t attempt to close the door and take him out through the secret passage. He had just made up his mind to risk an attack on the halfbreed when he heard a slight noise behind him. He turned swiftly, but too late. He heard the swish of some object as it fell with crushing force on his head, and he sank to the floor unconscious.

CHAPTER XIV – THE FIGHT IN THE SECRET PASSAGE

When Mason regained consciousness, Trent Burton the Marshal was bending over him supporting his head and holding a flask of brandy to his lips. The brandy and muffled reports of revolver shots sounding through the secret passage revived him instantly.

“Get Pete Carlo the Mexican halfbreed!” he gasped, staggering weakly to his feet. “The halfbreed was holding me up when I was struck down from behind,” he continued, “and there must be another cut-throat working with him. Where’s Scotty?”

Trent Burton’s two automatics appeared like magic in his hands.

“Scotty is having it out with the halfbreed,” he answered rapidly. “We caught sight of the Mexican just as we came up to you, and thinking you were badly wounded I ordered Scotty to round him up while I examined your wound. You have been roughly handled this night my lad, and you had better report to Jean Barry while I go after this other desperado. He must be somewhere between Scotty and us this very minute. I had no idea there was more than one of them and they may be trying to work Scotty in between them.”

They could hear an exchange of shots at intervals, but the firing seemed to be getting farther away and more faint each time.

“I’m not going back until I find out how Scotty is faring with those cut-throats,” Mason declared firmly. “My head is feeling much clearer now, and I know my hand is steady enough to shoot straight, besides I want a chance at the man that knocked me out. Bud and his men won’t hear any of this shooting down here and we can’t expect any help from them. The halfbreed and his pal will try to get Scotty in between them to finish him off and make their escape.”

“You’re a brave lad,” the Marshal said in admiration.

“Come, follow me. I have a plan to trap the halfbreed’s pal, at least I think we can draw his fire, and that is our only chance to get him in this darkness.”

He bent swiftly over, and Mason could hear him searching about the floor with his hands. Presently he straightened up and thrust a piece of broken table leg into Mason’s hand.

“What’s this for?” the latter whispered in astonishment.

“Just you hand that piece of wood to me in a hurry when I call for it,” came the surprising answer. “We will make all possible speed through this secret passage without using our lights, and for the love of Mike, don’t make any noise!”

“When we get to where that revolver duel is going on you will see something happen.”

Mason followed after the strange and fearless detective with great difficulty. The latter’s speed was terrific, and at times when Mason lagged behind he would find the detective crouched against the wall waiting for him. It was a hazardous undertaking as they might at any moment plunge into some unknown pit or trap. They had traveled some hundred feet when they came to a turn in the passage and now could hear the revolver shots plainly.

The Marshal was moving slowly and with great stealth now. Presently they could see the flash from the muzzle of the men’s guns as they fired. Each time the flashes came from different positions, showing the men had changed their location after firing.

The Marshal was crouched low and huddled against the wall. Mason was sure he had his two deadly automatics trained on one of those flashes.

Suddenly to his horror he saw the flash from a third gun, and it came from a different position from the first two.

He thought he heard a groan follow this last shot and bent low to whisper to the silent being at his feet.

“Hand me that piece of wood and when I throw it, train your gun on the next flash, and shoot to kill,” the Marshal hissed in a thrilling whisper. “Lie flat on the ground. I’m going to draw that murderer’s fire.”

Mason felt the Marshal’s arm grow rigid as he hurled the piece of table leg with great force against the opposite wall about twenty feet ahead of them.

Immediately the third gun began to flash again and Mason could hear the bullets as they pattered on the wall above his head. Before he could return the shots the Marshal’s guns were in action, and a perfect stream of fire leaped from their muzzles.

The third gun was silent! Suddenly the shrill note of a whistle pierced the silence of the secret passage. Bud was coming to join in the fight.

The Marshal sent back an answering call, and Bud, leading four cowboys, came up to them with a rush.

“Keep going, boys,” the Marshal’s voice rang out sharply. “Rush this passage; Pete Carlo, the halfbreed, is hiding just ahead of us and he’s got somebody with him.”

“Watch out for their guns and fire at the first flash. I think they got Scotty, the poor fellow, but if not he knows we are here now and he won’t shoot in our direction.”

All this was said as they almost ran through the secret passage, their lights searching every nook and corner.

They were braving the chance of drawing a shower of bullets from the hidden foe, but the Marshal was determined to clean out the secret passage at any cost.

Rounding a sharp turn in the passage they came upon Scotty huddled in a niche against the wall. He was clutching his revolver tightly between his knees while his head was sunk forward on his chest. A tiny stream of blood was trickling down his cheek, showing where he had been hit. Mason dropped quickly down beside him and felt over his heart.

To his great relief there was a little heart action.

“Quick! the brandy!” he cried in an overjoyed voice. “He’s alive, I think the bullet only stunned him.”

The Marshal, producing his flask, bent over and forced a small portion of the liquor down Scotty’s throat. They had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes and stare about in a dazed way. His gaze finally rested on Mason and he rose to his feet with alacrity.

“I’m all right,” he said almost savagely, shaking off the Marshal’s detaining hand. “The bullet only creased my head and knocked me senseless. It takes more than a dirty greaser to kill this canny Scotchman. Have you looked for the half breed? I think I got him in that last exchange of shots, then a third gun cut in from a different direction, and I went to sleep.”

They were startled at this point by a cry from one of the cowboys who had pressed on through the secret passage.

“I guess I can answer for your third gunman, Scotty,” the Marshal said tersely. “Come, let’s see what the men have found.”

Rapidly making their way to where the men were flashing their lights, they came upon the form of a man stretched on the ground. It was the halfbreed’s pal, and he was dying. He was still breathing, but with great difficulty. Trent Burton’s guns had cut short his villainous career, and forty feet from him lay the halfbreed. Bud made a hasty examination of the latter’s wound, and to his surprise he discovered that the bullet had not reached a vital spot.

The halfbreed had been hit in the right side just above the hip and was unconscious from loss of blood.

Just above him through a small aperture in the roof the stars were faintly shining.

A thorough search proved this to be the outlet for the secret passage, and it was evident the halfbreed was about to make his escape when a bullet from Scotty’s gun had laid him low.

Under Bud’s order the two men were carried out of the secret passage and taken to the ranch, where they were placed under the doctor’s care. The man of medicine quickly pronounced the one that had fallen under Trent Burton’s guns to be past all earthly aid, and set vigorously to work to revive the halfbreed.

An hour later, his wounds properly dressed, the halfbreed was placed under guard.

He sat glaring sullenly at his captors, and his eyes gleamed savagely whenever they rested on Mason or Scotty. It was Scotty’s gun that had laid him low and gotten him into his present trouble while he was attempting to escape. He cherished a bitter hatred for Mason since the time the latter had tumbled him out of his saddle with a well placed shot when the rescue of Josephine was accomplished.

The bullet wound had nearly cost him his life and caused him to take to the mountains in hiding, save for an occasional visit to the Ricker ranch, which was made possible by his almost superhuman knowledge of the mountains and the existence of the secret passage. The halfbreed’s shifty eyes finally turned in the direction of the chief of counterfeiters, who sat staring moodily into space.

A slight cough from the halfbreed succeeded in attracting his chief’s attention and a series of signals passed between them by means of an almost inaudible sound made by a light tapping of their bootheels.

Mason had left the room in answer to a call from the Marshal, and on returning to watch the captives his sharp ears instantly caught the sound, faint as it was. Remembering the signals he had heard in the cellar he regarded the sound as of deep significance. He promptly made the Marshal and Bud aware of his suspicions that the two were signaling each other, with the result that the halfbreed was taken into another room and put through a grilling third degree. At the end of an hour of this sweating process he was taken out, and Jim Haley, the foreman, was given the same treatment. Others that were close to the operations of the chief of counterfeiters were taken in turn. Through the answers wrung from the captives they learned that the secret passage had originally been the bed of a creek that had long ago changed its course or had become dried up. As the bed of the creek ran close to the ranch, Ricker conceived the idea of using it as a means of exit to and from the ranch. He had it tunneled deeper and roofed over with extreme care. The work had been accomplished so cleverly that none but the men who were in on the counterfeiting deal knew of its existence. Even Jean Barry, the Marshal’s deputy, had been among the counterfeiters and had not become aware that the secret passage led out of the cellar. A telegraph instrument, cleverly concealed and partly muffled, was found in the room where the fight had taken place, and tracing the wires out they found they led to the secret passage.

In the secret passage another telegraph instrument was found, showing that Ricker had been in communication with the halfbreed. All the wires and instruments were destroyed by the Marshal, and the halfbreed was again taken away from the other prisoners and given a more severe grilling.