It took some time for Ricker’s men to bring him to, and as he climbed weakly on his horse he pointed a shaking finger at Mason.
“You haven’t seen the last of me, young fellow,” he swore between swollen lips; “I’m going to get you for this, and I want to tell you, too, Anderson, if I catch any of your men on my range, I’m going to make an example of them.”
“That is an idle threat, Ricker,” Bud retorted calmly; “none of my men will venture on your range unless there is a good reason, and then you may be sure I will come with them.”
Ricker frowned darkly at this return to his threat. He gave a command to his men and soon the band were in motion. Josephine watched them in the distance through her field glasses and saw they were taking the fork in the trail toward Trader’s Post.
“Well, I hope this is the last we will see of that crowd,” the ranch owner said with a sigh of relief. “Mason, you sure did beat up Ricker some.”
“I don’t know if Josephine has told you the story or not,” he answered, “but there had been bitter enmity between Ricker and my dad for years, and he came over here mainly to pick a quarrel with me.”
“Josephine did tell me something of the kind,” the ranch owner admitted wonderingly, “but I didn’t pay much attention to her at the moment and it clean slipped my mind.”
That evening, Mason with Bud and the ranch owner’s family were talking over the events of the day and were wondering how far Ricker would go with his threat when they heard a commotion down near the corral. Loud voices reached their ears causing Bud and Mason to spring to their feet. Both rushed out on the porch and at a glance they saw that a tragedy had occurred. Two cowboys were assisting one of their comrades out of his saddle. A third cowboy started on a run for the ranch house. Bud recognized him as Buck Miller.
“What’s the trouble down there, Miller?” Bud called to him.
“One of the Ricker crowd shot up Tex down at the Post!” came the startling answer.