The latter, not one bit abashed, was whistling gaily, and opened his eyes in child-like wonder at Scotty’s words. The cowboy mentally put him down as cracked. There was a stiff wind blowing and the sky was overcast with ominous looking clouds. The cowboy was casting an anxious eye on the horizon. “We are going to get a hard storm before night,” he said uneasily. “Do you get very hard storms in these parts?” queried MacNutt timidly. “Well, rather,” drawled Scotty with a grin. They were riding fast now, and had begun to overtake the party in front. “Wo don’t want to be too far in the rear when they get to the ranch,” the Scot explained, as he urged his horse faster. The rest of the ride was made in silence, Mason turning over in his mind the news from his father. Soon they were approaching the outbuildings of the ranch, and Mason’s blood tingled as he remembered his first experience on this ranch. The cowboys ahead had halted and were waiting for Mason and his party to come up. “I am going right up and call Ricker out,” Bud said as they came within hearing distance, “and don’t none of you men pull a gun unless you see Ricker start to draw.” The men agreed, but there were sullen mutterings among them, and there was a doubt in Mason’s mind whether they would control themselves if the halfbreed showed himself. Bud and the ranch owner with Scotty and Red Sullivan rode up to the house and knocked. “What’s wanted?” a gruff voice called from within. “I want to talk with you, Ricker,” Bud answered, recognizing the owner of the voice. “Does it take a small army to come here and talk to me?” the same voice said with a snarl. The door was flung violently open, and Ricker stood in the doorway with his arms folded across a brawny chest. There was a sarcastic smile on the man’s face as he sneered at Bud. “Never mind the army,” Bud answered curtly, his eyes keenly watching for any move the other might make. “I’m here to find out if that halfbreed Mexican you used to have working for you has showed up here in the last twenty-four hours.” “How should I know anything about the greaser?” Ricker questioned with an oath. “Your employer hired him to work for the Bar X, didn’t he?” “Yes, and a precious rascal he was,” the ranch owner replied bitterly. “He shot at my guest, Mr. Mason here, and stole my daughter’s favorite horse. He’s a man after your own heart, Ricker.” Ricker shot a hard look at Mason when the ranch owner mentioned his name. Bud was growing impatient. “You haven’t answered my question, Ricker,” he said in an even voice. “No, and I’ll be damned if I will,” the man burst out in sudden fury, “and I don’t want any damn sheriff nosing around my place.” As he spoke, five men from within silently took their places alongside of him. The lines on Bud’s face tightened. There was a stir among his men and a stiffening of muscles. It seemed to Mason as if the air was suddenly charged with electricity, so tense was the situation.