The following morning, and before anybody was astir at Bar X ranch, the form of a man emerged from the bunkhouse and looking cautiously around to make sure that no one was watching him, stealing silently to the corral, he quickly roped and saddled one of the horses. It was MacNutt, and had any of the cowboys seen his face at that moment they would have been amazed. All trace of the half-wit smile had vanished, and in place of the drooping shoulders and shambling gait that had been characteristic of the man, he now moved with the cunning and quickness of a panther.

As his supple body shot into the saddle a pair of revolver butts were exposed to view for an instant. Whatever MacNutt’s mission was, the man was going heavily armed. He rode leisurely as though fearful the noise of his horse’s hoofbeats might strike the ears of some early prowler of the ranch.

When well clear of the outbuildings of the ranch he gave his horse free rein, riding with all the ease and grace of a cowboy. Ten miles from Bar X ranch the trail divided. One trail led to Trader’s Post and the other to Ricker’s ranch.

When MacNutt came to this point, he chose the trail leading to the Ricker ranch!

A grim smile spread over the man’s face.

“I don’t suppose it was necessary for me to sneak out in this fashion,” he spoke softly to his horse, “none of the Bar X outfit take me seriously, only young Mason. I will have to watch out for him, he’s liable to spoil my plans.”

His face grew dark and ominous at the thought. Having a fresh mount he pressed the horse on relentlessly as though to reach the ranch in time to keep an appointment. Time and distance passed swiftly beneath his horse’s pounding hoofs, and when within a few miles of Ricker’s ranch he carefully examined his guns to see if they were in good working order.

As he drew near Ricker’s ranch his tense muscles relaxed, the half-wit smile appeared and with it the awkward poise and drooping shoulders of the man MacNutt. Although he did not know it, his movements had been watched by a guard placed by Ricker.

This man swept the plains with field glasses and word was quickly sent to Ricker by the guard for instructions. He was promptly ordered to hold the rider up at any cost. Since the last time Ricker had been visited by the cowboys of the Bar X ranch, he swore an oath that no more of them should pass farther than a given spot and that was where he had placed the guard.

Ricker had picked a good man for the job, for when he was in a quandary as to who should hold the post, his eyes fell on one of his cowboys, Tug Conners by name, and he was placed about a hundred yards from the ranch where he could command a view of the plains in all directions.

Tug Conners was a daredevil and desperado who would shoot first and ask questions afterwards, and it was to this man that MacNutt would have to pass muster. The guard set himself and studied the rider through his glasses. The watcher swore softly. The slow gait of the horse and its rider’s awkward position in the saddle had him puzzled.

Twice he raised the rifle at his side and covered the stranger, only to lower it each time in disgust. Seizing the glasses again he tried to make out who the stranger was. An exclamation burst from his lips, for this time he had a close view of the rider.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he swore furiously, “I remember that freak, he was with the sheriff when they made that call on Ricker. He looks like a damn fool and acts the part. Wonder what the tenderfoot can want here?”

Tug was bitterly disappointed as he had hoped the rider would prove to be one of the sheriff’s cowboys, and he would have started trouble with any of them at the slightest provocation. He hated them all intensely, but with this fellow it was different.

Tug couldn’t bring himself to pick trouble with a half-wit, so he determined to throw a scare into him and run him off the ranch.

He was crouched behind a small mound and as MacNutt came abreast his place of concealment he sprang up and covered him with his rifle.

“Stretch your arms!” Tug commanded him, his eyes glittering savagely, “I reckon this is about your limit. Who let you out, anyway?”

MacNutt’s hands went up with alacrity, and such a look of dismay spread over his features that he brought a grin to Tug’s face.

“Get down off that horse,” he next commanded him, keeping the rifle on a line with his heart.

“Don’t keep that cannon pointed at me, it makes me nervous,” protested MacNutt in a trembling voice as he laboriously dismounted.

“Oh, the gun makes you nervous, does it, tenderfoot?” Tug sneered with bitter sarcasm. “Well, it will go off mighty sudden if you don’t answer my questions right smart. You’re from Bar X, ain’t you? Who sent you here, and what do you want?”

MacNutt had apparently found his nerve again, the foolish smile appearing on his face.

“You fire your questions too fast,” he protested in his droll voice, and started to lower his hands.

“Keep ’em up!” his captor snarled, raising his gun threateningly.

MacNutt smiled at Tug blandly, his hands held high in the air.

“I rode over from the ranch to see one of Ricker’s men,” he explained with childlike simplicity. “Met him at the Post yesterday. He ain’t got no more use for the Bar X outfit than I have, and I agreed to put him wise to some things I know about them.”

Tug stared at him incredulously.

“What is the name of the cowboy you met yesterday?” he questioned, suspicion in his voice.

“I can’t remember his name,” MacNutt replied readily. “We were slopped up a little, but I can describe him.” This he proceeded to do, and evidently to Tug’s satisfaction.

“You mean Jean Barry,” he said in a modified tone when MacNutt had finished his description. “Come, and I’ll take you to him.”

A curious gleam shone in MacNutt’s eyes for an instant, as he was ordered by Tug to keep six paces in advance of him. On the way to the ranch house, a close observer would have noticed that not a single item of the plans of the buildings or out-houses of the ranch had escaped MacNutt’s notice. Although his eyes held their dull sleepy look, they sought out every object of importance. A group of cowboys were watching the approach and one of them walked out rapidly to meet them. He proved to be Ricker.

“What have we here, Tug?” he demanded, with a suspicious look at MacNutt.

“Claims he knows Jean Barry and wants to see him,” Tug answered tersely.

Ricker scowled darkly.

“Jean is down to the corral. Go get him and see if he knows this fellow,” he ordered Tug, while watching MacNutt sharply.

Tug soon returned in company with a cowboy.

“Jean, do you know this man?” Ricker question with a wave of his hand toward MacNutt.

“Shore, I know him, he’s all right,” the man Jean answered without an instant’s hesitation.

Ricker looked immensely relieved.

“All right, take him to the ranch and make him acquainted with the boys. I’ll hold you responsible for him. We are going to have rifle and revolver practice in a few minutes, maybe your friend would like to join us,” he said, addressing Jean and giving MacNutt another sharp look.

Just a fleeting gleam came into MacNutt’s eyes as he readily consented to join them. He was conducted to the ranch by Jean, Tug having gone back to his post. At the ranch he was presented to Waneda the Spanish girl and to the cook, an old Negress. It was his first opportunity to see Waneda at close range, and he studied her face intently although seemingly interested in what Jean was telling him about the target practice.

Finally Jean left him alone with the two women after saying he was going to help set up targets, and would let him know when they were ready.

MacNutt immediately drew the girl into a conversation after making sure he had nothing to fear from the old Negress, she being quite deaf. MacNutt had again thrown off his assumed role of a half-wit and was alert and thinking rapidly. The girl had noticed the change, and shrank back against the wall staring at him dumbly.

“I know you are a good girl, Waneda,” he was saying rapidly and in a low voice, “I can generally size a person up at first glance, and you have a good face. Now, I wish to clear my mind on one point: did you know the contents of the note you delivered to the Bar X ranch that sent the cowboys into the mountains after Powers and the half-breed?”

“No,” she answered guardedly, her eyes searching his face, eager to read his thoughts.

His face grew stern.

“I was almost sure of it, but your answer proves that point,” he said kindly, “still, that very note came near getting some good men killed. You like young Mason, don’t you?”

A startled cry escaped her lips. With a quick move she seized him by the arm.

“I love him! Is he in danger? Speak quick!”

MacNutt gently released her hold and placed a chair for her.

“Steady, girl,” he warned her; “no, he’s not in danger just now, but you are. This is no place for you, and I am going to get you out of here, but before that time comes you must help also, and in doing that you will be helping Mason, too.

“There’s going to be hell brewing around here before long. What do you suppose Ricker has that guard out there for? And this target shoot is for a purpose, too. I think I can trust you not to betray me, and you also will be able to prove your loyalty to Mason and wipe out the damage you caused by carrying that note.”

The girl was thoroughly aroused now.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her breath coming in quick gasps. “If Ricker finds out that you are against him, your life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel!”

Jean Barry hurriedly entered the room at this moment and interrupted his talk with the girl. A lightning glance of understanding passed between the two men.

“I’ll be with you in a few minutes and join the men at the shoot,” MacNutt said rapidly in answer to an inquiring look from his friend.

Jean nodded, and was gone in the same hurried manner that he had entered the room.

MacNutt turned and looked gravely at the girl.

“Who are you?” she repeated impatiently.

“Your friend,” he answered earnestly; “that is all I can tell you at present, but you must trust me implicitly. Just go on here as before, and if Jean Barry tells you to leave this place at a certain time you must obey him, for he is working with me. If Jean comes to you for any information, give it to him if you can without causing suspicion. You will be helping me and Mason. I can trust you in this, can’t I?”

“You are a strange man,” she answered slowly, “but somehow I have confidence in you. I feel that this ranch is uncanny, and things are not as they should be. At night I hear strange sounds and men come and go at all hours. I am afraid of the men and especially of Ricker; he wants me to marry him and I hate him. The old Negress here has protected me from him many a time when he had been drinking. I wanted to leave here long ago, but I am afraid to leave for Ricker would find me again, and then even the Negress couldn’t save me. He is terrible when he is in a rage and the cowboys fear him too, for he is a dead shot and none of them would have a chance with him. I’ll trust you and do as you say.”

She had crept close to him while talking and her face was deathly pale.

Something like an oath escaped from MacNutt’s lips.

“Be brave,” he said, speaking earnestly. “It won’t be but a few weeks now before I will have you out of here, and maybe in a few days. Ricker is engaged in some lawless business besides mere cattle raising. He has a collection of the worst crooks in the country about him, and I mean to get to the bottom of his game.”

After saying a few more words of comfort to the girl, MacNutt strolled leisurely out and joined the party near the targets.

He had again assumed his slouching gait and halfwit smile. He was greeted indifferently by the cowboys, save by Ricker, who was again regarding him sharply. MacNutt returned the stare with his usual good-natured grin, while engaging Jean Barry in conversation.

“Watch sharp!” Jean Barry cautioned him.

“Ricker seems to suspect you for some reason and may put you to a severe test.”

MacNutt nodded and inclined his head slightly, as he noticed Ricker call one of his cowboys over to him. The man called by Ricker was his foreman, Jim Haley, the most expert shot on the ranch with the exception of Ricker himself. A low conversation took place between the two men.

“Jim, how long has Jean Barry been with us?” Ricker demanded of his foreman.

Tall and muscular, with deep cruel lines written on his face, Jim Haley the foreman turned and looked at the man in question.

“Oh, about a month, I reckon,” he replied, glancing quizzically at his chief.

The answer set Ricker’s brows to knitting.

“Jim, I want you to watch Jean Barry,” he said sharply, as though coming to a sudden decision. “He’s the last man we took on and hasn’t been with us long enough to be trusted too far. As for this man MacNutt, keep your eye on him also. He claimed to the guard that he isn’t friendly with the Bar X outfit and has a grievance against them. I can’t just make him out, and I want you to trail him after he leaves here and find out just what his standing is at Bar X. Jean took up with him mighty sudden, and I don’t like the looks of it. Look sharp now, and make your report to me in the morning.”

At the curt dismissal Jim Haley moved off while his chief mingled with the men and directed the rules of the target practice. MacNutt was ignorant of what had taken place and was calmly looking his guns over.

Jean Barry pressed close to him at this moment.

“Watch out for Jim Haley, the man that Ricker was just talking to,” he hissed in his ear.

MacNutt made no answer to his friend’s warning as the shoot had now commenced. The first contestants were leading off with revolver practice. The targets were set at seventy-five yards and each man was to fire six shots apiece. The men fired in turn, each scoring fair hits, until Ricker and Jim Haley’s turn came. When they had fired six shots apiece it was seen that they had each scored bull’s-eyes, and both had one shot on the extreme edge of the bull’s-eye. Ricker looked at his foreman.

“Guess we’ve got to shoot this one over, Jim,” he called, a trifle nettled.

He was conceded the best shot on the ranch, and it bothered his vanity to have his mark equalled. The marker was closely examining the targets.

“A tie,” he finally announced.

“Put up fresh targets, Jim, and I will shoot off the tie,” Ricker ordered briskly, “and put up another one; we’ll have our friend MacNutt here try his skill with us.”

Ricker and Jim shot their tie off, the former winning this time by a large margin.

Ricker smiled sarcastically at MacNutt as the latter stepped up in his awkward way to take a position. A titter ran through the group of cowboys as they watched his odd movements. He was likely to prove a source of amusement for them after all.

Ricker suddenly stepped forward.

“Come on, Jim, you and I will set a high record for him. We’ll show him some shooting that will make him go some,” he boasted.

Jim Haley led off, scoring almost the same hits as before.

“You must have your shooting eye with you today, Jim,” Ricker remarked as he took his position.

Then he put six bullets in the bull’s-eye, firing with a precision that was perfect.

“I’ll bet none of the Bar X outfit can equal that,” he boasted to MacNutt with a cynical smile.

MacNutt still wore his good-natured grin.

“Maybe not,” he drawled, “but I ain’t shot yet.”

A howl of derision went up from the cowboys.

“Go ahead and shoot, you tenderfoot,” one of them yelled.

Suddenly MacNutt’s hand went up, and he fired six shots in rapid succession; so rapid was the fire that the reports blended together. All the cowboys were grinning broadly, for it looked as though MacNutt had fired at random. Their faces took on a look of wonder, however, when it was seen that the marker was examining the target with extreme care.

“All bull’s-eyes!” he announced as though completely mystified.

Ricker swore roughly.

“Come on, Jim,” he called out impatiently, “that marker’s eyes must be off.”

There was a general rush for the targets, and an exclamation of admiration went up from the cowboys when it was seen that MacNutt’s bullets were grouped closer to the center of the bull’s-eye than were Ricker’s.

“He’s a freak,” Jim Haley spoke up sullenly.

“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Ricker questioned MacNutt sharply. “Can you do as well with a rifle at two hundred yards?”

MacNutt grinned modestly.

“I reckon I can,” he drawled slowly. “I’ve shot a revolver and rifle ever since I was a kid.”

A rifle shoot was next in progress, but MacNutt declined to wait for that event. Soon, he took his leave after saying a few words in an undertone to his friend Jean Barry. The cowboys watched him depart with keen interest. He had risen several points in their estimation by his accurate shooting.

As he drew near the place where Tug Conners had held him up, he saw the guard leaning on his rifle, watching him approach.

“Guess I can pass you through quicker next time you visit us,” Tug called after him as he rode past. “If you see one of our men at the Post, tell him to hurry up for I sent him to bring me some tobacco.” “I sure will,” he answered cheerfully. “I am going back that way and if I see your man I’ll hustle him along.”

“Yes, you certainly will pass me through quicker when I call on you next time, my friend,” he added grimly to himself as he rode steadily on.

In due time he arrived at the Post, where he spent about two hours looking after some private business and making a few necessary purchases. As he mounted his horse for the run to Bar X he was surprised to see Jim Haley lounging on the hotel veranda.

“He must have followed me,” he mused, a grin playing over his features. “The play is on in earnest.”

He looked around to see if the cowboy’s horse was in sight. Seeing no signs of the animal he decided that the cowboy had put his horse in the hotel corral.

MacNutt soon forgot the incident and riding fast he arrived at Bar X before nightfall.

The first person he encountered after putting his horse up was Mason.

Mason looked at him with accusing eyes.

“MacNutt,” he began, “I want to have a quiet little talk with you. I haven’t as yet said anything to anybody else, but it looks to me as if you are trying to play a double game. Yesterday, I saw you talking in very friendly terms with one of the cowboys from the Ricker ranch. Several other little things have happened since you came here that have made me suspicious of you. You know these are troublesome times. I want to ask you point blank, are you with us, or do you stand with the Ricker faction?”

MacNutt had listened passively while Mason was talking. He seemed deeply moved.

“I know these are troublesome times as you say,” he replied earnestly, “but I want you to trust me a little longer and then I will show you something that will surprise you. I am here for a good purpose and am working for the interest of the Bar X people and you in particular. I take you to be a man of sound judgment and give you my word of honor that I am working here for a good cause. In due time I will explain everything that appears mysterious to you just now, and I want you to have faith in me. Is that satisfactory to you?”

“I suppose it will have to be,” Mason answered, completely mystified.