MASON OF BAR X RANCH
By
HENRY BENNETT
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers—New York
Published by arrangement with Richard G. Badger
Copyright, 1920, by H. Bennett
All Rights Reserved
Made in the United States of America
TO
MY BROTHER
IN MEMORY OF A VACATION SPENT IN THE ADIRONDACKS
CONTENTS
I. A Hard Proposition
II. The Girl
III. Mason Meets the Sheriff
IV. A New Arrival
V. The Abduction of Josephine
VI. Josephine’s Peril
VII. The Rescue
VIII. The Mexican Escapes
IX. Mysterious MacNutt
X. Welcome Visitors
XI. Ricker’s Warning
XII. The Raid
XIII. The Counterfeiters
XIV. The Fight in the Secret Passage
XV. The Dance at the Gaylor Ranch
XVI. The Shot in the Night
XVII. Trent Burton Wires Alarming News
XVIII. The Lost Airplane
XIX. The Round-Up
XX. Silver Skies
MASON OF BAR X RANCH
CHAPTER I
A HARD PROPOSITION
Jack Mason, a young man of twenty-one years, was intently watching a
billiard game in progress at a fashionable club in New York City. It
was a hot sultry day in June and he was wondering how people could
enjoy knocking a bunch of balls around a table and getting all heated
up. He had about decided to take a run in his motor when a messenger
boy handed him a message. It was from his father bidding him to come
at once to his office. His father was president of a bank in New York
and independently rich. Mason thrust the message in his pocket, musing
as he did so.
“I’m in for a call from Dad, he’s probably read about the scrape the
bunch and I got into last week.”
Calling one of the club members aside he demanded: “Say, Smithy, how
did the story of my automobile accident leak out in the papers?”
“Don’t know, Jack,” his friend replied; “you know as much about that
as I do.”
“Thought I had that automobile affair hushed up,” grumbled Mason.
“What gets me,” he continued, “is how my part in the club boxing match
got in the papers. I just received a message from the old man and
expect he has heard all about it.”
“This won’t be the first time you have been bawled out by the old
man,” replied Smithy with a broad grin.
“No, but I expect something serious this time,” declared Mason
gravely. “Damn those meddlesome reporters!” he burst out savagely.
“You know, Smithy, I have been in worse scrapes before, but always
managed to patch them up some way. Now, this story gets in the papers,
and that prize fight—well, I suppose the quicker I get this matter
settled with Dad, the sooner I will know my fate.” He finished,
starting for his car.
“Wish you luck, old man,” called Smithy as Mason started his motor,
“give my best regards to your father.” This his parting shot, but
Mason was out of hearing and speeding to his father’s office in his
favorite racing car.
Arriving at the bank he went immediately to the private office. His
father was busy reading a paper on his desk, and Mason sank indolently
into a chair and waited for him to speak. After a period of waiting he
got impatient and remarked:
“Well, Dad, let’s hear the fireworks.”
“Huh,” snorted his father, “you took your time getting here.”
“I started for the bank shortly after receiving your message, Dad,” he
answered quietly.
“What deviltry have you got into now?” the elder man demanded sternly,
pointing to a newspaper on his desk. “Here’s an account of you in the
paper of going into the ring at your club and fighting six rounds, a
choice bit of scandal for the society column. Not being satisfied with
that you had to take a party of chorus girls out joy-riding and have a
smash-up.”
“There’s no use getting excited about it, Dad. I know how you and
mother feel about this affair.”
“You’re a disgrace to the family,” thundered his father. “I was going
to disinherit you, Sir, but I talked the matter over with your mother,
and I am going to make you a proposition.”
Mason was all attention now, he remembered once before when his father
threatened to cut him off.
“Well, let me hear the proposition, Dad,” he said, his face showing
grave concern.
“You know, Jack,” his father continued, “I have done better by you
than you deserve. You won’t work in the bank or try to make a man of
yourself. I’m through paying out good money on you for gambling debts
and to spend for drink. I’ll give you one more chance and if you fail
to make good I wash my hands of you. Early this morning I got in touch
with a friend of mine who owns a ranch in Nevada. You go out there and
after one year come to me and show me you have made a man of yourself.
Then I’ll start you in business.”
“I can’t see for the life of me, Dad, how my going out there will
benefit me,” he declared soberly.
“Son, I know it is a rough life, but if you come through as you should
it will make a man of you. You have a good college education, and you
can come back East fitted to tackle any business enterprise.”
“Well, Dad, I’m game to try it,” agreed Mason after calm deliberation.
“Here’s your letter of introduction,” said his father, handing him a
letter.
The younger man, glancing at the envelope, read:
Tom Walters
Bar X Ranch, Nevada.
Noting his son’s look of surprise he explained:
“The nearest town is called Trader’s Post, and it is about four hours’
ride on horseback. I got in touch with Tom at Trader’s Post by wire.”
“Whew,” whistled Mason, “I suppose I will have to make that trip on
horseback. You know, Dad, I’m soft for that sort of thing, having had
all my joy rides in a high powered car.”
“Very true,” admitted his father, “you have been living a life of ease
and luxury, and your health is none too good. Now, I want you to get
out of this rut. You will have a lot of hard work to do on the ranch,
and the quicker you get used to it the better.”
“You’re right, Dad, but tell me more about this man Walters.”
“I knew him years ago,” his father began. “Tom made a deal in stocks
here, married and took his wife to Nevada. He invested his money in
land and a few cattle, and now owns one of the finest ranches in
Nevada. I remember that they have a girl, but I can’t recall just how
old she is; I should judge about sixteen or eighteen.”
“This promises to be interesting,” commented Mason. “Do they know I’m
coming?”
The elder man smiled. “You don’t need to worry about that. I received
a wire from Tom.
“I am sending two men with a shipment of cattle to the
Post, and with orders to remain until your son arrives.’”
“Tom certainly showed speed,” said Mason, looking at his watch. “Great
Scott!” he exclaimed, rising to his feet. “Four P. M. I must be going
if I start in the morning as I have a lot of things to see to.
Good-bye, Dad; see you at dinner.”
Hurrying from the office he started his car and drove rapidly home.
Going at once to his mother’s room he told her how he had come to an
agreement with his father.
“Yes, I know, Jack,” she said, “your father and I talked it over this
morning. Perhaps it will be best for you, but it is hard to have our
only boy leave us. Do be careful for my sake. Your sister has been in
tears since I told her you are going away.”
“Don’t worry, mother. I’ll see Ethel and explain matters to her.”
In the summer garden he found his sister reading in a hammock.
“Oh, Jack,” she cried, “is it true you are going away?”
“Yes, sis, I leave in the morning.”
Ethel was two years younger than Jack and very fond of him.
“Listen, sis,” he said earnestly, “I want you to comfort mother while
I am away, and I’ll make you a promise. After I have been on this
ranch long enough to get the run of things I’ll see that you and
mother pay me a visit. Won’t that be great?”
“Yes, I want to visit you,” she agreed, “but I will be so lonesome
until you send for us.”
“Why, sis, you have your girl friends, and let’s see, who is that
young fellow you have been going with quite steadily?” he asked,
smiling down at her.
“Now, you are trying to tease me,” she answered, “that young fellow
you speak of, his name is George Burk, and you know I don’t care for
him.”
“Sis, you’re hard to suit, maybe you can find some one in the West to
marry.”
“I don’t know, Jack, just now I’m not worrying about getting married.
I hope you like it out there and make good. Mother told me that father
wrote to the man who owns the ranch about your coming, and also wired
him. Wish I were going with you now,” she added wistfully.
“Never mind, sis, it won’t be long before I’ll send for you and
mother. Be a good girl now, and help me pack.”
Going into the house, they were soon busy packing and thinking of the
future.
The next morning Mason bid his parents goodbye and started on his trip
West.
* * * * *
After long and tiresome travel on hot and dusty trains Mason alighted
at a small station on the Union & Pacific where he was to take the
stage that met all trains for Trader’s Post. Walking around the small
platform of the depot he spied a dilapidated stage and a scraggy
looking pair of horses. The driver was busily engaged filling a black
clay pipe while talking with the telegraph operator. “Starting soon?”
queried Mason pleasantly. The driver turned and looking Mason over,
drawled:
“Thought I was going back empty, train stopped to let off some mail,
but I didn’t see you get off. Be you the man the Bar X boys are
expecting?”
“Guess I am,” said Mason, smiling.
“The boys are at the Grand Hotel,” explained the driver. “Jump in,
we’ll be there in about an hour.”
“It’s four miles to the Post,” he added.
It was seven A. M. and Mason was anxious to get started on the long
ride to the ranch. The driver kept up a running fire of talk as the
stage rattled over the rough road.
“Yep,” he was saying, “old man Walters sent two men with a shipment of
cattle to the Post. They have been there two days now, and one of them
is hitting up old John Barleycorn right hard.”
Having delivered this bit of news he started the team at a faster
pace.
“What sort of men are they at the ranch?” queried Mason. “Does Walters
allow them to drink?”
The driver shook his head.
“No, he don’t allow them to drink on the ranch, but the assistant
foreman sent Scotty Campbell and Red Sullivan to meet you and Scotty
had to celebrate, but a better pair of cow punchers never stepped in
boots. Let me tell you one thing, young fellow.”
The driver leaned over confidentially.
“If those punchers take to you, you will have two good friends.”
They were now in sight of the town, and Mason looked it over with
interest.
Trader’s Post boasted of one hotel and dance hall, a general store,
and a few scattered houses. As they drew near the hotel they heard a
succession of whoops that would have put an Indian to shame. Mason
looked at the driver inquiringly.
“That’s Scotty,” he explained.
“Well, he’s got a good pair of lungs,” laughed Mason.
The driver tied his team and Mason followed him into the hotel. As
they entered, two men at the bar turned and looked Mason over. One, a
good-natured looking Irishman, seemed satisfied and asked: “Are you
the man that’s going to Bar X ranch?”
“Yes,” he replied, offering his hand. “I’m Jack Mason.”
Red shook hands and roared:
“Scotty, shake hands with our new recruit.”
Scotty looked Mason over from head to foot.
“Glad to meet you, laddie,” he said slowly, as he lurched heavily
against the bar. “Don’t mind me, I had to have a little fun, don’t
come to the Post very often.”
Red was grinning from ear to ear.
“If you don’t get called down by Miss Josephine when we get back to
the ranch, I’ll buy you the best horse on the range.”
Scotty turned and looked at Mason.
“Laddie, don’t pay any attention to Red, let’s all have a drink on
me.”
“I’m not drinking, Scotty, but I’ll take a cigar with you.”
“Well, Jack, we start in half an hour,” announced Red. “I’ll strap
your luggage on my horse and send the supply wagon after the rest of
your stuff.”
Going out on the hotel porch, Mason watched the scene with interest.
Scotty was leading two tough and wiry looking horses. He appeared so
unsteady on his feet that Red started to help him.
“Steady there!” he called out sharply.
Scotty stiffened and glared at him.
“Don’t think I’m all in,” he growled, frowning at his partner.
With a flying leap he was in the saddle and dashed up to Mason leading
a spare horse.
“What kind of a horseman are you, laddie?” he asked.
“Well, I never took any medals for fancy riding,” he confessed.
Scotty grinned. “We have a nice little ride ahead of us,” he said, as
he turned and watched Red coming up.
Mason mounted his horse and the party started. Scotty was leading and
singing snatches of Scotch songs. Mason lapsed into a moody silence and
Red looked at him curiously as they rode along. The Easterner was
thinking of the girl Red had mentioned and wondered if she was the
girl his father had spoken of. Turning to Red he asked:
“Who is this Miss Josephine you spoke to Scotty about?”
“That’s old man Walters’ girl,” answered Red, as he rode his mount
closer to Mason’s horse.
“She’s the idol of the ranch,” he continued, “and the boys would fight
for her at the drop of the hat. With the exception of one or two,” he
added with an oath.
“How’s that?” queried Mason in surprise.
“Well,” grumbled Red, “there’s two cursed onery punchers on our range
that I don’t trust no more then I would a rattlesnake.”
Mason glancing ahead, noticed that Scotty had pulled his horse in and
was listening with jaws tightly set. “Red, why don’t Walters get rid
of these men?” queried the Easterner, coming back to the subject.
“Oh, they are good men on the range, and the old man hates to let them
go,” replied Red with a vicious look. “Ain’t I right, Scotty?”
“Good, hell,” the Scot snarled, “if I had my way I would have cleaned
up for them long ago.”
“Well,” declared Red with a grin, “he’s got that out of his system.
Scotty and those two punchers get along just like two strange
bulldogs.”
Mason was getting decidedly interested. “What particular thing have
you got against these men?” he asked.
The face of the cowboy took on a grim look.
“I have a suspicion they are running our cattle, and the foreman
thinks so, too,” he explained, “but they are slick about it and we
can’t get anything on them yet. Our foreman is sheriff of this county,
and if he ever gets any evidence he will push them to the limit, for
he is a bad man when he gets started. You see, Jack,” Red continued,
“there’s a ranch up the valley from us run by a man named Ricker. His
boundary line touches ours and these two men used to work for him.
Ricker is as crooked as they make them and we think these two men are
spotting our cattle for Ricker and helping him run them over the
line.”
“It begins to look as if I am going to have an interesting time out
here,” mused Mason to himself.
“Do you know, Red, I think I am going to like this life; that is, if I
can get used to this rough riding,” he finished tersely, as he
squirmed in the saddle.
Red laughed.
“You’ll soon get used to hard riding if you stick with us,” he said.
“Yes,” chimed in Scotty with a grin, “but don’t let that redhead try
to show you how to do any trick riding.”
Sullivan had a shock of red hair, but he didn’t like to be reminded of
the fact.
“Why you grinning idiot,” he said with withering sarcasm, “I can stop
you on any stunt you want to try with a horse.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” flared Scotty; “there’s going to be games
at the ranch next month, and if you can beat me on trick riding, you
can pick out the best Stetson hat at the Post that money will buy.”
“That bet goes,” agreed Red, shaking hands with him.
Mason looked on with an amused smile as he listened to the two friends
wrangle.
“Scotty thinks he’s the only thing that ever stepped in boots when it
comes to riding a horse,” declared Red testily.
“I don’t see why those two men you speak of should have anything
against Miss Josephine,” said Mason, breaking a long silence.
“I can explain that,” replied Red with a chuckle, “one of these men
goes by the name of Tom Powers. He came from the East, and is well
educated. He had the nerve to try to make love to her, and one day he
became offensive. Then she turned him down cold and he got sore on
her. The other cuss is a half-breed Mexican, and goes by the name of
Pete Carlo. He went to work with Powers for the Bar X outfit.”
“The only thing Pete can do well is to throw the reata,” broke in
Scotty.
“Yes, he’s a fiend at that stunt,” assented Red. “Buck Miller is the
only man on the range that’s got a chance with Pete. They had a
contest a short time ago, and Buck got an even break with him. I
expect——”
Red broke off suddenly and stared hard to the right. Mason following
his gaze saw a girl on horseback. She was too far off for him to make
out her features, but he could see that she sat her horse with perfect
ease, and was riding at a moderate pace.
Scotty saw her at the same instant, and pulled his horse sharply to
the right as he whistled shrilly to her. The girl looked around and
raised her hand in recognition, then bending low in the saddle she
urged her horse at a breakneck pace.
“Miss Josephine herself,” exclaimed Red with a broad grin. “She’s
spotted us and wants to beat us in.”
Scotty had accepted the challenge and the race was on. Soon both
riders were lost to vision in a cloud of dust.
“It’s two miles from here to the ranch, and Scotty ain’t got a chance
to overtake her,” Red said at last. Mason heaved a sigh of relief when
Red soon after pointed out the ranch to him. It was a large roomy
building with a wide porch and immense cottonwood trees for shade.
Mason dismounted and followed Red who was leading his horse to the
corral.