Before Waneda could answer two riders rode past them on their way to the ranch. Tex looked after them in surprise.
“Bruce and Lem Gaylor from the Gaylor ranch across the valley from us,” he said in a puzzled tone. “Wonder what they want this early in the morning?”
“Probably nothing serious,” Mason answered, briskly, turning his attention to getting his car in running order.
“People can begin to enjoy life again in this part of the country, now that the Ricker gang has been cleaned out,” he resumed. “Tex, doesn’t it seem good to know you can ride this range without bumping into some of Ricker’s cut-throats?”
Tex frowned darkly.
“Huh,” he snorted, “he’s got plenty of friends scattered around these parts, and I have been tipped off that Nick Cover’s cousin is going to get me on sight; his cousin works on a small ranch that joins Gaylor’s boundary line, and they say he is dead sore because Nick was jailed on my account.”
Tex was fingering his gun as he talked, and Mason could see the hot blood mount into his cheeks and his voice grew hard and stern. The raw deal he had received at the hands of one of Ricker’s men had left a bitter hatred in his soul. As he slowly recovered from his wound he vowed revenge for the cowardly shot that laid him low.
“I’m telling you, Jack,” the lanky cowboy continued impressively, “that you ain’t seen the last of Ricker’s gang of cut-throats, and you want to pack a gun when you’re riding this range. I’ve got it straight that you are a marked man since the raid, and the friends of Ricker will get you if they have to shoot from ambush.”
Mason was a bit startled at Tex’s vehement manner.
Waneda had kept silent up to this point, but Tex’s words had seemed to cause her great agitation.