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twg_000012927900 | the Texan approached the outfit, he could hear the sharp crack of the bull whips and the hoarse shouts of the drivers. Twenty-two wagons, and in single file! Against the blue of the horizon, they made a pretty sight, with their white coverings. Kid Wolf, however, was not concerned with the beauty of the picture. Great danger threatened them, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927901 | it was his duty to be of what assistance he could. Touching his big white horse with the spur, he came upon the long train's flank. Ahead of the train were the scouts, or pathfinders. In the rear was the beef herd, on which the outfit depended for food. Behind that was the rear guard, armed with Winchesters. The Texan | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927902 | neared the horseman at the head of the train, raising his arm in the peace signal. To his surprise, one of the scouts threw up his rifle! There was a puff of white smoke, and a bullet whistled over Kid Wolf's head. "The fools!" muttered the Texan. "Can't they see I'm a friend?" Setting his teeth, he rode ahead boldly, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927903 | risking his life as he did so, for by this time several others had lifted their guns. The six men who made up the advance party, eyed him sullenly as he drew up in front of them. The Texan found himself covered by half a dozen Winchesters. "Who are yuh, and what do yuh want?" one of them demanded. "I'm | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927904 | Kid Wolf, from Texas, sah. I have impo'tant news fo' the leader of this outfit." One of the sextet separated himself from the others and came so close to the Texan that their horses almost touched. "I'm in command!" he barked. "My name's Modoc. I'm in charge o' this train, and takin' it to Sante Fe." The man, Modoc, was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927905 | an impressive individual, bulky and stern. His face was thinner than the rest of his body, and Kid Wolf was rather puzzled to read the surly eyes that gleamed at him from under the bushy black brows. He was more startled still, however, when Modoc whispered in a voice just loud enough for him to hear: "What color will the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927906 | moon be to-night?" Kid Wolf stared in astonishment. Was the man insane? A THANKLESS TASK Modoc waited, as if for an answer, and when it did not come, his face took on an expression of anger, in which cunning seemed to be mingled. "What's yore message?" he rasped. It took Kid Wolf several seconds to recover his composure. Was the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927907 | wagon train being led to its doom by a madman? What did Modoc mean by his low-voiced, mysterious query? Or did he mean anything at all? The Texan put it down as the raving of a mind unbalanced by hardship and peril. "I suppose yo'-all know," he drawled loudly enough for them all to hear, "that yo're on the most | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927908 | dangerous paht of the Llano, and that yo're off the road to Santa Fe." "Yo're a liar!" the train commander snarled. Kid Wolf tried to keep his anger from mounting. This was the thanks he got for trying to help these people! "I'll prove it," sighed the kid patiently. "What rivah was that yo' crossed a few days ago?" "Why, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927909 | the Red River; we crossed it long ago," Modoc sneered. "Yo're either a liar or a fool, Kid! And I'd advise yuh to mind yore own business." "Call me 'Wolf,'" said the Texan, a ring of steel in his voice. "I'm just 'The Kid' to friends. Others call me by mah last name. And speakin' of the trail, that wasn't | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927910 | the Red Rivah yo' crossed. It was the Wichita. And yo' must have gone ovah the Wichita Mountains, too." "The Wichita!" ejaculated one of the other men. "Why, Modoc, yuh told us----" "And I told yuh right!" said the leader furiously. "I've been over this route before, and I know just where we are." "Yo're in The Terror's territory," drawled | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927911 | The Kid softly. "And I've heahd from a reliable source that he's planned to raid yo'." The others paled at the mention of The Terror. But Modoc raised his voice in fury. "Who are yuh goin' to believe?" he shouted. "This upstart, or me? Why, for all we know"--his voice dropped to a taunting sneer--"he might be a spy for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927912 | The Terror himself--probably measurin' the strength of our outfit!" The other men seemed to hesitate. Then one of them spoke out: "Reckon we'll believe you, Modoc. We don't know this man, and we've trusted yuh so far." Modoc grinned, showing a line of broken and tobacco-stained teeth. He looked at Kid Wolf triumphantly. "Now I'll tell you a few things, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927913 | my fine young fellow," he leered. "Burn the wind out o' here and start pronto, before yuh get a bullet through yuh. Savvy?" Kid Wolf decided to make one last appeal. If Modoc were insane, it seemed terrible that these others should be led to their doom on that account. Only the Texan could fully appreciate their peril. The wagon | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927914 | train was loaded with valuable goods, for these men were traders. The Terror would welcome such plunder, and it was his custom never to leave a man alive to carry the tale. "Men," he said, "yo'-all got to believe me! Yo're in terrible danger, and off the right road. One man has already given his life to save yo', and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927915 | now I'm ready to give mine, if necessary. Let me stay with yo' and guide yo' to safety, fo' yo' own sakes! Mah two guns are at yo' service, and if The Terror strikes, I'll help yo' fight." The advance guard heard him out. Unbelief was written on all their faces. "I think yuh'd better take Modoc's advice," one of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927916 | them said finally, "and git! We can take care of ourselves." His heart heavy, Kid Wolf shrugged and turned away. The rebuff hurt him, not on his own account, but because these blindly trusting men were being deceived. Modoc, whether purposely or not, had led them astray. He was about to ride away when his eyes fell upon the foremost | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927917 | of the wagons, which was now creaking up, pulled by its straining team. Kid Wolf gave a start. Thrust out of the opening in the canvas was a child's head, crowned with golden hair. There were women and children, then, in this ill-fated outfit! The Texan rode his horse over to the wagon and smiled at the youngster. It was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927918 | a boy of three, chubby-faced and brown-eyed. "Hello, theah," Kid called. "What's yo' name?" The baby returned the smile, obviously interested in this picturesque stranger. "Name's Jimmy Lee," was the lisped answer. "I'm goin' to Santa Fe. Where you goin'?" Kid Wolf gulped. He could not reply. There was small chance that this little boy would ever reach Santa Fe, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927919 | or anywhere else. Tears came to his eyes, and he wheeled Blizzard fiercely. "Good-by!" came the small voice. "Good-by, Jimmy Lee," choked the Texan. When he looked back again at the wagon train, he could still see a small, golden head gleaming in the first prairie schooner. "Blizzahd," muttered Kid Wolf, "we've just got to help those people, whethah they | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927920 | want it or not." He pretended to head eastward, but when he was out of sight of the wagon train, he circled back and drummed west at a furious clip. The only thing he could do, he saw now, was to go to Santa Fe for help. With the obstinate traders headed directly across the Llano, they were sure to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927921 | meet with trouble. If he could bring back a company of soldiers from that Mexican settlement, he might aid them in time. "If they won't let me help 'em at this end," he murmured, "I'll have to help 'em at the othah." The town of Santa Fe--long rows of flat-topped adobes nestling under the mountain--was at that day under Spanish | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927922 | rule. Only a few Americans then lived within its limits. It was a thriving, though sleepy, town, as it was the gateway to all Chihuahua. A well-beaten trail left it southward for El Paso, and its main street was lined with cantinas--saloons where mescal and tequila ran like water. There were gambling houses of ill repute, an open court for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927923 | cockfighting, and other pastimes. The few gringos who were there looked, for the most part, like outlaws and fugitives from the States. It lacked a few hours until sunset when Kid Wolf drummed into the town. The mountains were already beginning to cast long shadows, and the sounds of guitars and singing were heard in the gay streets. Galloping past | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927924 | the plazas, the Texan at once went to the presidio--the palace of the governor. It was of adobe, like the rest of the buildings, but the thick walls were ornately decorated with stone. It was a fortress as well as a dwelling place, and it contained many rooms. Several dozen rather ragged soldiers were loafing about the presidio when Kid | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927925 | Wolf reached it, for a regiment was stationed in the town. Kid Wolf sought an interview with the governor at once, but in spite of his pleading, he was told to return in two hours. "The most honored and respected Governor Manuel Quiroz," it seemed, was busy. If the seor would return later, Governor Quiroz would be highly pleased to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927926 | see him. There was nothing to do but wait, and the Texan decided to be patient. He spent an hour in caring for his horse and eating his own hasty meal. Then, finding some time on his hands, he walked through the plaza, watching the crowds with eyes that missed nothing. He found himself in a street where frijoles, peppers, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927927 | and other foods were being offered for trade or barter. Cooking was even being done in open-air booths, and the air was heavy with seasoning and spice. Here and there was a drinking place, crowded with revelers. It was evidently some sort of feast day in Santa Fe. In front of one of the wine shops a little knot of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927928 | men and soldiers had gathered. All were flushed with drink and talking loudly in their own tongue. One of them--a captain in a gaudy uniform--saw the Texan and made a laughing remark to his companions. Kid Wolf's face flushed under its tan. His eyes snapped, but he continued his walk. He had too much on his mind just then to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927929 | resent insults. But the captain had noticed his change of expression. The gringo, then, knew Spanish. His remarks became louder, more offensive. More than half intoxicated, he called jeeringly: "I was just saying, seor, that many men who wear two guns do not know how to use even one. You understand, seor? Or perhaps the seor does not know the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927930 | Spanish?" Kid Wolf turned quietly. "The seor knows the Spanish," he said softly. The captain turned to his companions with a knowing wink. Then he addressed the Texan. "Then, amigo, that is well," he mocked. "Perhaps the seor can shoot also. Perhaps the seor could do this." A peon stood near by, and the captain pulled off the fellow's straw | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927931 | sombrero and tossed it into the street. The wind caught it and the hat sailed for some distance. With a quick movement the Spanish captain drew a pistol from his belt and fired. With a sharp report, a round, black hole appeared in the hat, low in the crown. The crowd murmured its admiration at this feat. The captain stroked | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927932 | his thin black mustache and smiled proudly. "Perhaps the seor might find that difficult to do," he mocked. "Quin sabe?" Kid Wolf shrugged and started to pass on. He did not care to make a public exhibition of his shooting, especially when he had graver matters on his mind. But the jeers and taunts that broke loose from the half-drunken | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927933 | assembly were more than any man could endure, especially a Texan with fiery Southern blood in his veins. He turned, smiling. His eyes, however, were as cold as ice. "Why," he asked calmly, "should I mutilate this po' man's hat?" His words were spoken in perfectly accented Spanish. "The hat? Ah," mocked the captain, "if the seor hits it, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927934 | will pay for it with gold." Kid Wolf drew his left-hand Colt so quickly that no man saw the motion. Before they knew it, there was a sudden report that rolled out like thunder--six shots, blended into one stuttering explosion. He had emptied his gun in a breath! A gust of wind blew away the cloud of black powder smoke, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927935 | and the crowd stared. Then some one began to laugh. It was taken up by others. Even the customers in the booths chuckled at Kid Wolf's discomfiture. The captain's laugh was the loudest of all. "Six shots the seor took," he guffawed, "and missed with them all! Ah, didn't I tell you that the Americans are bluffers, like their game | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927936 | of poker? This one carries two guns and cannot use even one!" Kid Wolf smiled quietly. A faint look of amusement was in his eyes. "Maybe," he drawled, "yo'-all had bettah look at that hat." Curiously, and still smiling, some of the loiterers went over to examine the target. When they had done so, they cried out in amazement. It | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927937 | was true that just one bullet hole showed in the front of the sombrero. The captain's shot had drilled that one. Naturally all had supposed that the gringo had missed. Such was not the case. All of Kid Wolf's six bullets had passed through the captain's bullet mark! For the back of the hat was torn by the marks of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927938 | seven slugs! Some one held the sombrero aloft, and the excited crowd roared its approval and enthusiasm. Never had such shooting been seen within the old city of Santa Fe. The Spanish captain, after his first gasp of surprise, had nothing to say. Chagrin and disgust were written over his face. If ever a man was crestfallen, the captain was. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927939 | He hated to be made a fool of, and this quiet man from Texas had certainly accomplished it. He was about to slink off when Kid Wolf drawled after him: "Oh, captain! Pahdon, but haven't yo' forgotten somethin'?" "What do you mean?" snapped the other. "Yo' were goin' to pay for this man's sombrero, I believe," said Kid Wolf softly, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927940 | "in gold." "Bah!" snarled the officer. "That I refuse to do!" The Texan's hand snapped down to his right Colt. A blaze of flame leaped from the region of his hip. Along with the crashing roar of the explosion came a sharp, metallic twang. The bullet had neatly clipped away the captain's belt buckle! A yell of laughter rang out | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927941 | on all sides. For the captain's trousers, suddenly unsupported, slipped down nearly to his knees. With a cry of dismay, the disgruntled officer seized them frantically and held them up. "Reach down in those," drawled the Texan, "and see if yo' can't find that piece of gold!" The officer, white with rage in which hearty fear was mingled, obeyed with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927942 | alacrity, pulling out a gold coin and handing it, with an oath, to the peon whose hat he had ruined. "_Muchas gracias_," murmured Kid Wolf, reholstering his gun. "And now, if the fun's ovah, I must bid yo' _buenas tardes_. Adios!" And doffing his big hat, the Texan took his departure with a sweeping bow, leaving the captain glaring furiously | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927943 | after him. THE GOVERNOR'S ANSWER Judging that it was almost time for his interview with the governor, Kid Wolf saddled Blizzard in the public _establo_, or stable, and rode at once to the governor's palace. Although it did not occur to him that Quiroz would reject his plea for aid, he was filled with foreboding. He had a premonition that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927944 | made him uneasy, although there seemed nothing at which to be alarmed. Dismounting, he walked up the stone flags toward the presidio entrance--a huge, grated door guarded by two flashily dressed but barefooted soldiers. They nodded for him to pass, and the Texan found himself in a long, half-lighted passage. Another guard directed him into the office of Governor Quiroz, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927945 | and Kid Wolf stepped through another carved door, hat in hand. He found that he had entered a large, cool room, lighted softly by windows of brightly colored glass and barred with wrought iron. The tiles of the floor were in black-and-white design, and the place was bare of furniture, except at one end, where a large desk stood. Behind | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927946 | it, in a chair of rich mahogany, sat an impressive figure. It was the governor. While bowing politely, the Texan searched the pale face of the man of whom he had heard so much. By looking at him, he thought he discovered why Quiroz was so feared by the oppressed people of the district. Iron strength showed itself in the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927947 | official's aristocratic features. There was something there besides power. Quiroz had eyes that were mysterious and deep. Not even the Texan could read the secrets they masked. Cruelty might lurk there, perhaps, or friendliness--who could say? At the governor's soft-spoken invitation, Kid Wolf took a chair near the huge desk. "Your business with me, seor?" asked the official in smoothly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927948 | spoken English. Kid Wolf spoke respectfully, although he did not fawn over the dignitary or lose his own quiet self-assertion. He was an American. He told of finding the tortured prospector and of the plight of the approaching wagon train. "If they continue on the course they are followin', guv'nor," he concluded, "they'll nevah reach Santa Fe. And I have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927949 | every reason to believe that The Terror plans to raid them." "And what," asked the governor pleasantly, "do you expect me to do?" "I thought, sah," Kid Wolf replied, "that yo' would let me return to them with a company of yo' soldiers." "My dear seor," the governor said with suave courtesy, "the people you wish to rescue are not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927950 | subjects of mine." Kid Wolf tried not to show the irritation he felt. "Surely, sah, yo' are humane enough to do this thing. I thought I told yo' theah's women and children in the wagon train." Quiroz rubbed his chin as if in thought. His eyes, however, seemed to smolder with an emotion of which Kid Wolf could only guess | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927951 | the nature. The Spaniard's face was that of a hypnotist, with its thin, high-bridged nose and its chilling, penetrating gaze. "Your name, seor?" "Kid Wolf, from Texas, sah." Spanish governors of that day had no reason to like gunmen from the Lone Star State. From the time of Santa Anna, Texas fighters had been thorns in their sides. But if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927952 | Quiroz was thinking of this, he made no sign. He smiled with pleasure, either real or assumed. "That is good," he said. "Seor Wolf, to show your good faith, will you be kind enough to lay your weapons on my desk? It is a custom here not to come armed in the presence of the governor." Suspicion began to burn | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927953 | strongly in the back of the Texan's brain. Was Quiroz playing a crafty game? He was supposed to be friendly toward those from the States, but once before, in California, Kid Wolf had had dealings with a Spanish governor. Instantly he was on his guard, although he did not allow his face to show it. "I am an American, sah," | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927954 | he replied. "Some have called me a soldier of misfohtune. Anyway, I try and do good. What good I have done fo' the weak and oppressed, sah, I've done with these." The Kid tapped his twin Colts and went on: "I've twelve lead aces heah, sah, and I'm not in the habit of layin' 'em down." "We're not playing cards, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927955 | seor." Quiroz smiled pleasantly. "No." Kid Wolf's quick smile flashed. "But if a game is stahted, I want a hand to play with." His eyes were fixed on the carved front of the governor's desk. There seemed something strange about the carved design. He was seated directly in front of it, in the chair Quiroz had pointed out to him, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927956 | and for the last few minutes he had wondered what it was that had attracted his attention. The desk was carved with a series of squares chiseled deep into the dark wood. In one of the squares was a black circle about the size of a small silver piece. Somehow Kid Wolf did not like the looks of it. What | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927957 | it could be, he could hardly guess. The Texan had learned not to take chances. Slowly, and with his eyes still on the official's smiling face, he edged his chair away from it, an inch at a time. His progress was slow enough not to attract Quiroz's attention. "Then," asked the governor slowly, "you refuse, seor?" "Yo'-all are a fine | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927958 | guessah, sah!" snapped the Texan, alert as a steel spring. The governor moved his knee. There was a sharp report, and a streak of flame leaped from the desk front, followed by a puff of blue smoke. The bullet, however, knocked a slab of plaster from the opposite wall. Just in time, Kid Wolf had moved his chair from the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927959 | range of the trap gun. Quiroz's death-dealing apparatus had failed. The Texan's cleverness had matched his own. Concealed in the desk had been a pistol, the trigger of which had been pressed by the weight of the official's knee on a secret panel. Quick as a flash, Kid Wolf was on his feet, hands flashing down toward his two .45s! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927960 | The governor, however, was not in the habit of playing a lone hand against any antagonist. Behind Kid Wolf rang out a command in curt Spanish: "Hands up!" Kid Wolf's sixth sense warned him that he was covered with a dead drop. His mind worked rapidly. He could have drawn and taken the governor of Santa Fe with him to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927961 | death, perhaps cutting down some of the men behind him, as well. But in that case, what would become of the wagon train, with no one to save them from The Terror? A vision of the little golden-haired child crossed his mind. No, while there was life, there was hope. Slowly he took his hands away from his gun handles | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927962 | and raised them aloft. Turning, he saw six soldiers, each with a rifle aimed at his breast. In all probability they had had their eyes on him during his audience with the governor. Quiroz snarled an order to them. "Take away his guns!" he cried. Then, while the Texan was being disarmed, he took a long black cigarette from a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927963 | drawer and lighted it with trembling fingers. "You are clever, seor," said the governor, recovering his composure. "I am exceedingly sorry, but I will have to deal with you in a way you will not like--the adobe wall." Quiroz bowed. "I bid you adios." He turned to his soldiers. "Take him to the _calabozo_!" he ordered sharply. The building that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927964 | was then being used as Santa Fe's prison was constructed of adobe with tremendously thick walls and no windows. The only place light and air could enter the sinister building was through a grating the size of a man's hand in the huge, rusty iron door. Kid Wolf was marched to the prison by his sextet of guards. While the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927965 | door was being opened, he glanced around him, taking what might prove to be his last look at the sky. His eyes fell upon one of the walls of the jail. It was pitted with hundreds of little holes. The Texan smiled grimly. He knew what had made them--bullets. It was the execution place! The door clanged behind him, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927966 | a scene met The Kid's eyes that caused him to shudder. In the big, dank room were huddled fourteen prisoners. Most of them were miserable, half-naked peons. It was intolerably hot, and the air was so bad as almost to be unbreathable. The prisoners kept up a wailing chant--a hopeless prayer for mercy and deliverance. A guttering candle shed a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927967 | ghastly light over their thin bodies. So this was what his audience with the governor had come to! What a tyrant Quiroz had proved to be! Strangely enough, The Kid's thoughts were not of his own terrible plight, but of the peril that awaited the wagon train. If he could only escape this place, he might at least help them. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927968 | What a mistake he had made in going to the governor for aid! His next thought was of his horse, Blizzard. What would become of him, if he, Kid Wolf, died? The Texan knew one thing for certain, that Blizzard was free. Nobody could touch him save his master. He was also sure that the faithful animal awaited his beck | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927969 | and call. The white horse was somewhere near and on the alert. Kid Wolf had trained it well. He soon saw that escape by ordinary means from the prison was quite hopeless. There was no guard to overpower, the walls were exceedingly thick, and the door impregnable. Only one of the prisoners, Kid Wolf noted, was an American--a sickly faced | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927970 | youth of about the Texan's own age. A few questions brought out the information that all the inmates of the jail were under sentence of death. The hours passed slowly in silent procession while the dying candle burned low in the poison-laden air. Kid Wolf paced the floor, his eyes cool and serene. His mind, however, was wide awake. When | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927971 | was he to be shot? In the morning? Or would his execution be delayed, perhaps for days? The Texan never gave up hope, and he was doing more than hoping now--he was planning carefully. Kid Wolf had a hole card. Had the Spanish soldiers known him better, they would have used more care in disarming him. But then, enemies of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927972 | Kid Wolf had made that mistake before, to their sorrow. Clearly enough, he could not help the wagon train where he was. He must get out. But the only way to get out, it seemed, was to go out with the firing squad--a rather unpleasant thing to do, to say the least. The tiny grated square in the jail door | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927973 | began to lighten. It grew brighter. Day was breaking. "It will soon be time for the beans," muttered the American youth. "Will they give us breakfast?" asked the Texan. The other laughed bitterly. "We'll have beans," he said shortly, "but we won't eat them." Not long afterward the iron door opened, and two soldiers entered, carrying a red earthenware olla. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927974 | "Fifteen men," said one of them in Spanish, "counting the new one." "Fifteen men," chanted the other in singsong voice. "Fifteen beans." Kid Wolf's brows began to knit. At first he had thought that the beans meant breakfast. Now he saw that something sinister was intended. Some sort of lottery was about to be played with beans. "There are fourteen | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927975 | white beans," the young American whispered, "and one black one. We all draw. The man who gets the black bean dies this morning." The hair prickled on the Texan's head. Every morning these unfortunates were compelled to play a grim game with death. The prisoners were all quaking with terror, as they came up to the ugly red jug to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927976 | take their chance for life. As much as these miserable men suffered in this terrible place, existence was still dear to them. One soldier shook the beans in the olla; the other stood back against the wall with leveled gun to prevent any outbreak. Then the lottery began. Kid Wolf viewed the situation calmly, and decided that to try to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927977 | wrest the weapon from the soldier would be folly. Other soldiers were watching through the grated door. One by one, the prisoners drew. The opening in the olla was just large enough for a hand to be admitted. All was blind chance, and no one could see what he had drawn until his bean was out of the jug. Some | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927978 | of the peons screamed with joy after drawing their white beans. The black one was still in the jar. The two white men were the last to draw. Both took their beans and stepped to one side to look at them. It was an even break. Kid Wolf was smiling; the other was trembling. The eyes of Kid Wolf met | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927979 | the fear-stricken eyes of the other. They stood close together. Each had looked at his bean. The sick man's face had gone even whiter. "I'll trade yo' beans," offered the Texan. "Mine's--black!" gasped the other. "I know," The Kid whispered in reply. "Trade with me!" "It means that yuh give yore life for mine," was the agonized answer. "I can't | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927980 | let yuh do that." "Believe me or not, but I have a plan," urged the Texan in a low tone. "And it might work. Hurry." The color returned to the sick youth's face as the beans were cautiously exchanged. Then Kid Wolf turned to the soldiers and displayed a black bean. "Guess I'm the unlucky one." He smiled whimsically. He | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927981 | turned to the sick boy for a final handshake. "Good luck," he whispered, "and if my plans fail, adios forever." "Come!" ordered a Spanish soldier. Waving his hand in farewell, Kid Wolf stepped out to meet the doom that had been prepared for him. SURPRISES At the prison door, Kid Wolf was met by a squad of ten soldiers. It | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927982 | was the firing squad. The Texan fell in step with them and was marched around the building to the bullet-scarred wall. Kid Wolf faced the rising sun. Was he now seeing it for the last time? If he was afraid, he made no sign. His expression was unruffled and calm. He was smiling a little, and his arms, as he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927983 | folded them on his breast, did not tremble in the slightest. The officer who was to have charge of the execution had not yet appeared on the scene, and the soldiers waited with their rifle stocks trailing in the sand. Then there was a quick bustle. The officer sauntered around the corner of the building, his bright uniform making a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927984 | gay sight in the early sun. He was a captain--the captain whom Kid Wolf had humiliated the afternoon before! The eyes of the Spanish officer, when they fell upon his victim, widened with surprise which at once gave way to exultation. "Ah, it is my amigo--the seor of the two guns!" he cried. It was his day of revenge! The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927985 | captain could not conceal his joy at this chance to square things with his enemy for good and all. He did not try to. His laugh was sneering and amused. "And to think it will be me--Captain Hermosillo--who will say the word to fire!" He turned to his soldiers in high good humor and waved his sword. "At twenty paces," | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927986 | he ordered. "We shall soon see how bravely the seor dies. Ready!" The rifle mechanisms clattered sharply. Then the captain turned to his victim, an insolent smile on his cruel features. "Will the seor have his eyes bandaged? Blindfolded, yes?" Kid Wolf returned the smile. "Yes," he replied quietly. "Maybe yo' better blindfold me." Hermosillo laughed tauntingly and turned to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927987 | wink at his men. "He is brave, yes!" he mocked. "He cannot endure seeing the _carabinas_ aimed at his heart. He wants his eyes bandaged--the _muchos grande Americano_! Ah, the coward!" He spat contemptuously on the sand. "He does not know how to face the guns. Well, we will humor him!" The captain whipped a silk handkerchief from his pocket | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927988 | and stepped forward. Kid Wolf's eyes were gleaming with icy-blue lights. This was the moment he had been waiting for! That handkerchief was a necessary cog in his carefully laid plans. Captain Hermosillo was soon to learn just how cowardly this young Texan was. And the surprise was not going to be pleasant. Kid Wolf's hole card was a big | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927989 | bowie knife--the same weapon that had played such havoc at the Alamo. He carried it in a strange hiding place--tucked into a leather sheath sewn to the inside of his shirt collar, between his shoulder blades. That knife had rescued Kid Wolf from many a tight situation, and he had practiced until he could draw it with all the speed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927990 | of heat lightning. When the captain placed the handkerchief over his eyes, Kid Wolf reached back, as if pretending to assist him. Like a flash, his fingers closed over the bone handle of the knife instead. Hermosillo found himself with the cold point of the gleaming bowie pressed against his throat! At the same time, Kid Wolf whirled his body | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927991 | about so that the officer was between him and the firing squad. His left hand held the captain in a grip of steel; his right held the glittering blade against Hermosillo's Adam's apple! "Throw down yo' rifles and back away from 'em!" Kid Wolfe called to the soldiers. "Pronto! Or I'll kill yo' captain!" Hermosillo gave an agonized yell of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927992 | fear. In a voice of quaking terror, he ordered his men to do what Kid Wolf had commanded them. His breath was coming in wheezing gasps. The firing squad, taken aback by this sudden development--for only a few seconds had passed since The Kid had drawn the knife--hesitated, and then obeyed. At best, they were none too quick-thinking, and they | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927993 | saw that their leader was in a perilous plight. Their _carabinas_ thudded to the sand. "_Bueno!_" laughed the Texan boyishly. He pushed the captain just far enough away for him to be in good hitting range. Then he lashed out at him with his hard fist, catching the fear-crazed officer directly on the point of the jaw. Many pounds of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927994 | lean muscle were behind the blow, and Hermosillo landed ten feet away in a cloud of dust. The Texan lost no time in whirling on his feet and sprinting for the corner of the building. He reached it just in time to bump into another officer, who was just then arriving on the scene. Kid Wolf snatched the pistol from | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927995 | his belt and sent him up against the wall with a jar. Before the disarmed Spaniard knew what had happened, he was sitting on the ground, nursing a bruised jaw, and Kid Wolf was gone! The Texan found the streets deserted at that early hour. Racing across the plaza, he raised his voice in a coyote yell: "Yip, yip, yipee-e-e!" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927996 | It was answered by an eager whinny. It was Blizzard! The horse, waiting patiently in the vicinity, knew that signal. It came running down another street like a white snowstorm. Kid Wolf ran to meet the horse. A sharp rattle of rifle fire rang out behind him. The soldiers had given chase! A bullet zipped the stone flags under his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927997 | feet; another smacked solidly into the corner of an adobe house. The alarm had been given. Two gayly uniformed officers ran into the street from the direction of the presidio. They were trying to head the Texan off, attempting to get between him and his horse. But Blizzard was coming at too hot a pace. The two Spaniards cut in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927998 | just as Kid Wolf leaped to the saddle. He fired the pistol's single barrel at one of the officers, and hurled the useless weapon into the other's face. "Come on, Blizzahd!" Kid Wolf sang out. "Let's go from heah!" The powerful animal's hoofs thundered against the flagstones, leaped a stone wall, and charged down the street. Behind them, already organized, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012927999 | came the pursuit. To Kid Wolf's ears came the whine of bullets. "From now on," he cried to his plunging horse, "it all depends on yo'-all! Burn that wind!" Once Blizzard had hit his stride, Kid Wolf knew that no horse in Santa Fe could catch him. Striking off to the eastward in the direction of the Staked Plains, the | 60 | gutenberg |
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