“How de do?” he jerked out in an offhand manner, “just rode in from the boundary line. Sort of keeping an eye on the Ricker gang,” he added, addressing his conversation to the girl.
“What’s the matter, Tex, have they been kicking up any trouble?” she queried in an anxious voice.
“Don’t exactly know,” he snapped out, “they have been acting mighty queer since them two punchers joined our outfit. Joe gave me orders to keep watch of them.”
Tex was a tall lanky cowboy and extremely nervous. He had a peculiar habit of pulling his belt up to the last notch and letting it out again while talking. Mason sized him up as a hard man to handle at close quarters.
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
“I know who you mean, Tex,” the girl said, “Powers and Carlo.”
He nodded grimly.
“Never mind, Tex. I guess Bud can take care of them. You ride in with us, we will tire Jack out with all our troubles.”
“I reckon I could take care of them if I get half a chance,” declared Tex with a grunt.
He had hitched his belt up until it seemed to Mason that his waist was small as a bean pole, started ahead, riding his horse like one born to the saddle.