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.

This time he broke down completely and under promise that he would be given a shorter prison sentence he told in broken English how he and his pal had entered the secret passage just as the fight was taking place at the ranch. Knowing Bud’s men to be there in force he had signaled to Ricker that he would bide his time and wait for a chance to rescue his chief.

He had intended to pick up some more men of his own kind, and if necessary cut his way through Bud’s men by a sudden dash and rescue his chief.

He had planned all this with his pal, and they were about to leave the secret passage when they heard Scotty and Mason moving about close to the hidden door of the wall. The sharp ears of the halfbreed heard one of them say he was going for a light and listening closely he discovered that the man who was to wait was Mason. Prudence told the halfbreed to leave at once and bring help to his chief, but his burning hate for Mason caused him to linger with the hope of getting the latter in his power.

As the reader already knows, Mason had succeeded in finding the way to open the secret door and had played right into the hands of the halfbreed, while his pal had crept cautiously behind him and dealt the vicious blow that had robbed him of his senses until revived by the Marshal. The sudden coming of the Marshal with Scotty had caused the halfbreed to change his plan to make Mason a prisoner and he had fled, with Scotty in close pursuit, but the latter had the halfbreed’s pal to reckon with, a fact that nearly cost him his life.

The work of the Marshal with Bud’s aid in breaking up the power of Ricker’s evil gang of gunmen was a notable performance. This man, chief of the counterfeiters and outlaws, had long held the country in awe of his desperate gang of gunmen, whom he controlled with an iron hand.

Many a case of robbery and cattle running had been laid to his master hand, but so cleverly had the work been accomplished that it was impossible to get direct evidence against him.

Dawn was breaking when the Marshal announced his work at the ranch as finished and the cowboys with their prisoners were lined up outside. The plan was for the Marshal to take charge of the prisoners and turn them over to the proper authorities, thus relieving Bud of all responsibility. Two of Bud’s men were to remain at the ranch until they had sealed up the secret passage and to watch out for suspicious characters.

The negro woman was provided with a horse after Bud had decided to take her back with him to Bar X ranch. The horses and cattle of the Ricker ranch were to be taken care of by some of Bud’s men until the courts had decided how many of Ricker’s cowboys were implicated in running the counterfeiting plant.

Bud sent a couple of his men after their horses that had been picketed about half a mile from the ranch, and upon their coming up the party mounted and headed for Trader’s Post. On their arrival there the party separated, after the Marshal had received a hearty handshake from all the cowboys of the Bar X ranch. The Marshal’s duties were to take his prisoners to the little railway station and catch the nine o’clock express, then after seeing them safely jailed his duties were ended. It was with genuine regret that Mason watched him depart. He had come to admire the Marshal’s good humor, and as he recalled in his mind the way the detective had fooled him all along with his half-witted smile and awkward shuffling gait, he smiled at the man’s clever deception.

Trent Burton, the halfwit, and Trent Burton in action, were two different persons.

It was a long weary ride to the ranch, and when the cowboys arrived there they were about fagged out. Josephine and Ethel were at the corral to meet them, and as Mason turned his horse over to one of the men, Josephine noticed his wounded arm and immediately ordered him to the ranch, showing great concern over his injury.

“My wound is nothing serious,” he protested in answer to anxious questions. “My arm will be lame for a few weeks, and then it will be all right again. The doctor at Ricker’s ranch fixed me up in fine shape.”

The sight of the two girls had acted like a tonic to his jaded system. The ranch owner, who had been talking with Bud, now walked hurriedly over to them.

“Bud tells me you put in a hard night of it, Jack,” he said, eyeing him anxiously. “I have ordered Pomp, our cook, to prepare a hot breakfast for you at the house, and we are going to have the negress you boys brought back with you to cook for the boys at the bunk-house. I don’t intend to swap Pomp for the woman until I know what she can do in the way of cooking, and we know Pomp to be excellent.”

“And I will have the doctor come and dress your arm, Sir Jack, just as soon as you have had your breakfast, but I guess we had better call it dinner, as it is almost noontime,” Josephine cut in eagerly; “and then you can tell us all about your adventure and how you got wounded. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you the good news. Tex is feeling much better and the doctor says he will surely recover.”

“I’m very glad to hear that,” he answered, keeping his eyes on the face of the girl.

He thought her eyes looked unusually bright this morning.

They walked slowly to the ranch, Mason between the two girls, who kept up a running fire of questions about his wound.

“You girls are trying to make too much of a hero of me,” he protested, smiling at their eagerness to welcome him back.

At the house he speedily convinced his mother that he was in no danger from his wound, and the girls continued to besiege him with questions concerning the night raid. He was seated in one of the large easy chairs in the library and every once in a while Josephine left him for a mysterious visit to the kitchen.

He could hear the rattle of dishes and a savory smell of cooking filled the room every time she opened the door.

“We are going to have Bud and Scotty dine with us,” Josephine announced after one of her visits. “And there will be just those two, with you, Ethel and myself. Pomp is doing himself proud. I told him he is to be our steady cook, as the cowboys are going to have the negro woman to cook for them in the future. I have arranged it with Dad, and you know he just about lets me have my own way in most things. I have always wanted Pomp for our steady cook and he will take a lot of hard work off of mother. All I can get out of Pomp is, ‘Yes, Missus, ’deed Missus, I will show dem gem-mens I can shore cook,’ and he is grinning from ear to ear.”

Soon Bud and Scotty arrived, and a little later Pomp announced that the meal was served, while Josephine conducted them to the dining-room where plates for five were laid. It was more of a banquet than a dinner, and during the meal Mason, with the help of Bud and Scotty, furnished the girls with all the details of the night’s raid. Ethel and Josephine listened with eyes open wide in astonishment when they came to the part in the story about the secret passage and the counterfeiter’s den, but when Mason told them of Trent Burton’s part in the raid they were amazed.

“And to think that man took us all in like that!” Josephine cried in wonder. “Sir Jack, did you have any idea that MacNutt was anything more than he pretended to be?”

She shook her finger playfully at him.

“No,” he answered slowly, as all eyes were turned upon him. “But I did seem to place a lot of confidence in him, and really I can’t explain the reason why. At times I felt the man was playing a double game, but that was as far as I could get with him, and you may be sure I was as surprised as anyone in the room when he called the turn on Ricker.”

“I admit that I took him for a plain damn fool all the time,” Bud said shortly.

Scotty nodded his head vigorously.

“Me, the same,” he said looking sheepish.

After the meal the doctor came in and gave Mason’s arm a new dressing, after which he was ordered to bed for rest. Josephine laid down some strict rules for him to follow in the matter of giving his arm a much-needed rest, with the healing promise that if he heeded them she would read to him in her leisure hours.