The few remaining days of June passed swiftly and it was nearing the time set for the annual games at the ranch, which were to be held on the Fourth of July. Mason had received word that his car had arrived, and starting out early one morning for Trader’s Post with Scotty and Buck Miller, he drove the machine back to the ranch, giving Scotty the ride of his life.

Buck Miller was left behind with orders to bring the horses in, a job he accepted with relief when he saw Mason and Scotty flash by him at express speed.

“Don’t want to ride in any contraption like that,” he growled to himself as he watched the car disappear in a cloud of dust.

There still remained two days for the men to get ready for the various sports, and they were hard at it when Mason drove his racer into the midst of them with Scotty clinging on for dear life.

Mason said afterwards that he left his finger prints on the car door. The boys crowded about the machine, making various comments and kidding Scotty who was trying to catch his breath.

“Well, boys, what do you think of her?” queried Mason as he stood off and looked his racer over.

“A hoss is plenty good enough for me,” spoke up Joe Turner with a drawl. “What do you think about it?”

He turned to Scotty with a grin.

“That’s not a fair question for Scotty to answer on his first ride.” Mason interposed, with a hearty laugh. “We burned the wind some in getting here and Scotty was up in the air most of the time.”

Josephine and her father had now joined the group and Mason noticed the eyes of the girl sparkle as she stood close and admired the trim lines of the racer.

He had not found a chance to talk with her since the Trader’s Post incident. It appeared to him that she had deliberately tried to avoid him, a fact which puzzled him not a little bit.

He had learned on inquiry that the incident at the Post had been settled by the ranch owner. He had learned the particulars from his foreman and was for discharging the halfbreed on the spot, but Josephine had interceded with such good results that her father had relented and promised to give the roan another chance. The ranch owner had warned him to go straight in the future or he would be kicked off the ranch.

The girl’s manner was a puzzle to Mason and he determined to meet her coolness with unconcern. He had befriended the Spanish girl as any man would have done under similar circumstances.

He was turning these thoughts over in his mind when he happened to look up and saw the girl smiling at him. His resolution vanished in thin air when she requested him to show her the fine points of the racer.

Josephine proved an apt pupil and was listening eagerly to his explanation of the workings of the car when they were interrupted by an exclamation from Tex.

“Here comes Buck riding like he was mad,” he was saying, as he gave his belt an extra hitch and shaded his eyes with his hand.

Mason looked up and made out a horseman coming towards them leading two horses. It was Buck Miller, and as Tex said, he had been riding his horse until it was almost winded. He seemed to be in a surly mood and it was some time before he answered the ranch owner’s question as to why he had ridden so fast.

“Well, I’ve just come from the Post, and had a run-in with the damnedest freak of a man that it’s ever been my misfortune to see,” he exploded at last.

The ranch owner breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t see why that reason should call for a cowboy to run his horse to death and told Buck as much in plain words.

“Must have been some man to get you riled up that way,” Scotty cut in, smiling broadly.

Buck silenced him with a withering glance.

“Wait until I tell you how I come to meet up with this nut,” Buck retorted, addressing the ranch owner. “And see if you wouldn’t have got all het up same as I did.”

The boys gathered around him and at a nod from the ranch owner he continued.

“After Mr. Mason and Scotty left in the machine, I figured I would go into the hotel, have a few drinks and play a game of pool.

“I had the drinks all right and had lit a cigar and was waiting for some one to turn up that could play pool, when the door opened and the freshest duck in loud clothes I had ever set eyes on came strolling in, walked up to me, calmly took my cigar out of my mouth, lit a cheap stogie with it, and in a voice like a girl, said:

“‘Lovely morning, isn’t it?’

“I don’t know why I didn’t kill him on the spot. He plumb took my breath away. When I got my wind back I pulled my gun and covered him.

“‘Stranger,’ I said in a hard voice, ‘I’ve killed men for less than that.’

“‘Oh, but these are not worth it, you know. I buy them in thousand lots,’ he said in his woman’s voice, referring to his stogie and smiling at me sweetly.

“Then, before I could answer, he asked me if I knew where the Bar X ranch was located, said he was coming out to Mr. Walters’ ranch for a long stay as his health was bad.

“I answered him by saying his health wouldn’t survive his nerve if I had anything to do with it. He wanted me to show him the way out here, and I told him to find his own way.

“As I left, he called after me that I could expect him out here as soon as he could find a horse.

“He’s crazy, or I’m a fool,” growled Buck in conclusion, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

The ranch owner’s face wore an amused smile as he listened to the expressions of indignation that arose from the men at Buck’s recital. Some were for giving the stranger a warm reception when he arrived, while others insisted that he was probably a harmless lunatic.

“Well, boys,” said the ranch owner, breaking in on their conversation, “we won’t worry about Buck’s find until he gets here, and when he comes I want you men to refer him to me before you start any rough work. You may knock off training for the day.”

This advice was taken as a command by the men and they silently made their way to the corral. Mason drove his racer to the shed where he intended to give the engine a general inspection.

That night he had a long talk with Bud Anderson. He gave the latter a minute description of his encounter with the hunchback at the Ricker ranch. He also told him of the hunchback’s revelation that Ricker had known Mason’s father in the past and harbored a deadly hatred for his son. When Mason came to this part of his narrative, Bud whistled and looked keenly at him.

“So, Ricker has got you mixed up in his crooked designs, too,” he said at last, a steely look coming into his gray eyes. “What do you make of it?”

“I don’t know what to make of it,” Mason confessed.

“I wrote home to father telling him of the incident, and expect an answer soon, which I hope will clear the mystery up. I didn’t know that my father had an enemy in the world.”

“All big and successful men have,” Bud replied kindly, as he noticed a troubled look in the other’s face, “cheer up, Jack, and we’ll run this thing to earth together.”

The two men shook hands in sincere friendship and talked far into the night. Mason told Bud of the rich trimmings of cowboy paraphernalia he had discovered at the Ricker ranch and his own impressions of the general air of mystery that surrounded the place. The news threw Bud into a deep study. Mason was more than ever impressed with the strong personality of the foreman and sheriff.

The day set for the games broke bright and cheerful. A group of cowboys had gathered around the corral. They were laughing and jesting, and it seemed to Mason they were just like a lot of schoolboys, all good-natured and jolly. He had taken a position close to the corral with Josephine and her father where they were waiting for the first event of the day to be pulled off. It was to be a horse race between Red Sullivan and Scotty. It promised be an exciting contest, and they were exchanging good-natured raillery while they sat in their saddles waiting for the signal to start.

Bud Anderson was master of ceremonies and raising his gun in the air, sang out:

“Ready! Go!”

The words and the report blended together and the racers were off.

Mason witnessed some of the finest riding it had ever been his fortune to see. The men were to race over a given course, picking up objects off the ground tied up in handkerchiefs, wheel, and continue their run to the corral.

The yelling of the cowboys broke into a roar as it was seen that Red Sullivan had taken the lead. Mason’s blood tingled with excitement as the men cheered their respective favorites. The ranch owner’s face was wreathed in smiles while Josephine was clapping her hands and cheering for Scotty, as he had always been a favorite of hers.

As the riders made the turn and started on the home stretch it was seen that Scotty had pulled slightly into the lead. It was a straight race now with nothing to pick up, and the riders urged their mounts to the limit, with both horses again running neck and neck.

When almost to the goal, Scotty threw his horse forward in a last heroic effort, flashing by the judge, the winner by a few feet.

A cheer went up from the cowboys as they crowded around Scotty to shake his hand.

“Guess I win that Stetson hat, don’t I, Red?” he called out to his late opponent, his eyes twinkling.

“You sure do,” answered Red, his manner a trifle piqued, “but this thing ain’t settled for good. I mean to have another go with you and it won’t be so close next time.”

“Any time or place will suit me,” answered Scotty cheerfully.

The next contest was to be a roping duel between Buck Miller and Pete Carlo the halfbreed. Buck had protested against having anything to do with the greaser, as he had named him in contempt, but Bud’s reasoning had prevailed and Buck finally agreed to go on with him.

Bud Anderson, acting as the judge, was explaining the rules for the expert ropers to observe, when a commotion was heard from some of the cowboys at the far end of the corral.

“Here comes Buck’s friend,” yelled a cowboy from this group.

All looked, and sure enough, it was the stranger that Buck had told them about. Buck muttered something suspiciously like an oath, and glanced at Mason. The latter was intently watching the newcomer. All sport came to a standstill, and eyes were turned towards the stranger. He was near enough for them to see that he rode a small horse, or else he was a very tall man for his feet just cleared the ground. He was riding at a snail’s pace and fanning himself with a wide rimmed hat. A suit that fairly groaned with loud checks graced his tall and angular form.

Silence fell upon the group of cowboys as they watched the apparition dismount in front of them.

Dismount is not the word, for he simply stuck his feet on the ground and let the horse walk out from under him, after which he turned and faced the cowboys.

“Somebody dead?” he questioned, gazing solemnly at the group, and bowing blandly to each one.

“I take it, this is the Bar X ranch,” he rattled on, before anyone could speak.

“Yes, you’ve hit it,” came quietly from the ranch owner. He was trying to figure out if this stranger was a freak or a fool.

“Met one of your men the other day, nice pleasant fellow,” the freak began again, in his small piping voice.

He smiled serenely at Buck Miller. That worthy’s face turned black with anger.

“My name is Ed. MacNutt, at your service,” the stranger rambled on. “I inquired at the hotel for a good place to recruit up, as the doctor says one of my lungs is affected. From the hotel man’s description, I take it you’re the proprietor of this outfit, and I ask you to let me put up here until I feel strong again.”

The request seemed fair enough, and after a short talk with his wife the ranch owner told MacNutt he could stay with them, after first warning him against the fresh way he talked to the cowboys.

It was arranged for him to have quarters at the bunk house. On account of the delay caused by MacNutt, the match was called off between the halfbreed and Buck Miller, much to the latter’s satisfaction.

The next event was to be a wrestling match. Tom Powers, the man that Mason disliked, was one of the contestants. He soon proved himself a superior wrestler, throwing all his opponents in rapid succession, and boasting loudly that he could throw any three men on the range within an hour’s time.

Mason had been observing Powers’ methods closely, and remarked to Bud, who stood close by, that the wrestler appeared muscle bound.

He had spoken in a low voice, but Powers overheard him and a sneer came into his face.

“Perhaps the dude would like to try me out!” he said insolently, motioning towards Mason, the sneer curling the corners of his mouth.

Mason felt the hot blood rush to his face. Quickly throwing off a light sweater which he wore, he stepped towards Powers. Anderson and the ranch owner caught him by the arm, telling him it would be madness to wrestle Powers, as he was regarded as the champion for miles around.

“Oh, let him come on, and I’ll show him up,” sneered Powers.

Mason laughed in his face.

“I’ll go on with him,” he said briskly to Anderson.

Walking up to Powers he said, “I am going to warn you, Powers, that I’ve wrestled before, so be on your guard. I don’t wish to take any unfair advantage of you.”

“Bluff,” sneered Powers, glaring at him.

MacNutt was apparently enjoying himself to the fullest extent. He was here, there, and all over, talking to each and every person as if he had known them all his life. Ambling up to Josephine, he whispered:

“Young feller’s got it all over the other guy,” pointing to Powers.

The girl nodded. She wasn’t sure if she liked this stranger or not, and just now, she was worried for fear the Easterner would get hurt.

The wrestlers were circling about each other looking for an opening. Suddenly they came together with Mason underneath. Powers tried several holds which he broke with ease. There were surprised remarks from the men, who had expected to see the Easterner crushed. The girl was staring with wide open eyes expecting every minute the life would be crushed from his body.

“Didn’t I tell you?” said a voice in her ear, and turning she beheld the stranger again.

“Oh,” she cried with a shudder. “Do you really think the young fellow has a chance?”

“Sure thing,” he answered in his high pitched voice. “The young lad is merely playing with him.”

The girl rewarded his assurance with a grateful smile and turned her attention again to the two men. Mason had broken every hold his opponent had tried and had the fellow pretty nearly winded.

Baffled at every turn, Powers resorted to dirty work. He fouled Mason again and again, until the latter worked to his feet and cautioned him against fouling. As he was protesting, Powers rushed in and securing a body hold, lifted Mason off his feet. As he felt himself falling he twisted his body in the air, bringing Powers underneath him and pinned both his shoulders to the ground, scoring a clean fall.

There was a burst of applause from the men, the girl joining in, her face radiant with smiles.

All present had thought sure that Mason would lose the first fall when they had seen him lifted off his feet. This was scientific wrestling, and the men began to appreciate it. Powers was furious over his defeat and swore the fall was a trick. The black nature of the man had Mason fighting mad by this time, and when the next bout was called, he darted in on Powers.

What followed brought a cry of wonder from the crowd. Powers’ heels had described an arc in the air; and he fell with such force that he lay stunned. Mason had secured a hold called the flying mare and had used it with telling effect.