They were riding fast now, and had begun to overtake the party in front.
“Wo don’t want to be too far in the rear when they get to the ranch,” the Scot explained, as he urged his horse faster.
The rest of the ride was made in silence, Mason turning over in his mind the news from his father.
Soon they were approaching the outbuildings of the ranch, and Mason’s blood tingled as he remembered his first experience on this ranch. The cowboys ahead had halted and were waiting for Mason and his party to come up.
“I am going right up and call Ricker out,” Bud said as they came within hearing distance, “and don’t none of you men pull a gun unless you see Ricker start to draw.” The men agreed, but there were sullen mutterings among them, and there was a doubt in Mason’s mind whether they would control themselves if the halfbreed showed himself.
Bud and the ranch owner with Scotty and Red Sullivan rode up to the house and knocked.
“What’s wanted?” a gruff voice called from within.
“I want to talk with you, Ricker,” Bud answered, recognizing the owner of the voice.
“Does it take a small army to come here and talk to me?” the same voice said with a snarl.
The door was flung violently open, and Ricker stood in the doorway with his arms folded across a brawny chest. There was a sarcastic smile on the man’s face as he sneered at Bud.