“Never mind the army,” Bud answered curtly, his eyes keenly watching for any move the other might make.
“I’m here to find out if that halfbreed Mexican you used to have working for you has showed up here in the last twenty-four hours.”
“How should I know anything about the greaser?” Ricker questioned with an oath. “Your employer hired him to work for the Bar X, didn’t he?”
“Yes, and a precious rascal he was,” the ranch owner replied bitterly.
“He shot at my guest, Mr. Mason here, and stole my daughter’s favorite horse. He’s a man after your own heart, Ricker.”
Ricker shot a hard look at Mason when the ranch owner mentioned his name. Bud was growing impatient.
“You haven’t answered my question, Ricker,” he said in an even voice.
“No, and I’ll be damned if I will,” the man burst out in sudden fury, “and I don’t want any damn sheriff nosing around my place.”
As he spoke, five men from within silently took their places alongside of him.
The lines on Bud’s face tightened. There was a stir among his men and a stiffening of muscles. It seemed to Mason as if the air was suddenly charged with electricity, so tense was the situation.